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You wanted it, you got it. The Rule of St. Benedict was actually historically very important, as it was the first such ordinance in the Western Church. The famous quote ora et labora (pray and work) is taken directly from it. All the monastic orders in later centuries up until today based their ways upon the Rule of St. Benedict. It was the template, upon which everyone else worked to codify their own standards.
Yes, we certainly did get it. The friar and the consequences of his teaching are my bad.

It's funny how we built the statline of a fighter, and the character of an intellectual, and how living the life of a warrior led us to the breaking point.

For what it's worth, the friar did help us ditch the alcohol, at least, but that's a small consolation because I'm pretty sure at least some of the others could have as well.

My hope is now with our family and Marzowsku to help us not go insane in a different way. Monasticism definitely isn't a happy end here.
 
More on “Fantasy”
Just a few more things regarding fantasy.

Besides clothing, your very hairstyle could be seen as very... trendy. Fo instance, Zaporozhian Cossacks were famous for the osełedec, that is a single long clump of hair, that they grew from the top of their heads, while shaving the rest. Add the long (and I mean long) moustache and tie it up together with the long osełedec and you have peak fantasy, that even the nobles appreciated.

A real-life example: one infamis and his band of misfits were drinking in some tavern in town. Suddenly they decided to make a bet: they'll go to one of the town entries and beat up the first man that exists the place. So, when they arrived a carriage was just leaving. The passenger happened to be a Jesuit priest. The band shouted "Huzzah, get him!" When the terrified priest asked why are they assaulting him, the group calmly explained their bet. So, the Jesuit then responded immediately:

"In that case you are mistaken sirs. I wasn't the first to leave town, it was my coachman."

The band laughed at this witty display of fantasy and promptly beat up the poor servant instead.

In general, the more crazy, outrageous, outlandish and downright death-defying stunt you pull off and escape the consequences, the more fantasy you have.
 
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[X] "In the armies of Your Majesty."

More fun facts: war was approached by the nobility of the Commonwealth in a very peculiar way. Sure, your average noble hated war, since is brought death, destruction and high taxes. Therefore the Sejm was very disinclined to ever start a fight. Of course if the country itself was attacked, then it was a different matter. However, should there be a war many nobles flocked to the banners, especially the poor ones. It was a very profitable venture with chances for great plunder. Indeed, there were stories, that some poor hamlets incurred great debts to sent a group of their brothers and cousins to war with decent equipment, hoping that they will return with great riches robbed during the conflict. These were exceptions however and very few at that. The poor went to war with whatever terrible weapons and horses they had, hoping to strike it rich.

More interesting is the fact, that people which had a problem with the law could earn redemption while fighting in a war. The nobility had a soft spot for war heroes, therefore if a infamis, murderer or other scoundrel that was hunted like a dog before won great fame while fighting the enemies of the Commonwealth, he could be sure that all his transgressions will be forgotten, no matter what things he'd done. Of course his victims and personal enemies are a different matter, but the point is, that the country and populus will forgive him and suddenly forget every murder, rape or kidnaping he had done up until that point.
 
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Kir on Sarmatism
I have to say a few words about the second (after freedom) most important thing for the nobility of the Commonwealth. I'm talking about fantasy (yes, you heard me right). It's hard to explain exactly what fantasy was, since it's a very cultural-specific thing. However, I shall do what I can. It may be understood as a combination of charm, wits, honour, eccentricity, valour, high alcohol tolerance and oratory. The nobility showed a great deal of respect to men, who behaved according to certain cultural standards, that were understood as fantasy. It is exactly why the various scoundrels and murderers mentioned here were protected by the general nobility and held in high regard (with the exception of their victims of course) as paragons of fantasy. Any man can become an infamis in absentia. However, to be a true infamis required a great deal of fantasy, therefore in time the term ment not just criminals, but heroic outlaws Robin Hood-style. Of course the vast majority of them were terrible people, but for the noble populus they personified what it is to be a truly free nobleman, that can do whatever he wants.
And the historical mythos was used as "justification" for this cultural phenomenon. Eastern Europe was a bit of a latecomer to Renaissance trends, but collecting Roman-era maps and writings became an especially popular pastime. Since the Romans often extended "Sarmatia" all the way to the Baltics on such maps, it became a popularized metaphor of the Commonwealth, and the nobility enjoyed the idea of themselves as Sarmatians (with whom they associated fancy clothing and hair styles, particular armor and armaments, great cat skins etc.), and even used that idea to promote their particular feudal system and conquest, downsizing entire peoples, or even their own peoples, into being the denizens of "Scythians, who got conquered by Sarmatians", thus claiming the right to rule over them.
How did the "Scythians" react? Some took pride in it, like a rebellion of sorts, example being Hryhoryi Hrabianka. Some disagreed, arguing that Scythians and Sarmatians were already close relatives to make much distinction between them. For example, Samiylo Velychko wrote: "Look, you free neighboring peoples of all tribes and languages, at what then was done in defiance of God's and natural rights to the free noble, Sauromatian, Cossack-Ruthenian, people, who had long been famous for their courage and courageous warlike deeds not only in their own Europe, but in distant Asian countries, and another folk, also a Sauromatian one - the Poles, which has always been a brother to the Cimbrians, Scythians and Cossacks!"
So, while Sarmatism was undeniably firstmost a Polish "thing", Lithuanian and Ruthenian nobility also got onto it, although the latter continued to make up new weird quasi-historical analogues. Extrapolating from the location of Alania (East Sarmatia, now known as Ossetia) at the Caucasus mountains, they tried to tie the Khazars (spelled in Ukrainian as "Hozary") to the whole Sarmatian mythos (you can already see that in Hrabianka's writings), and from there make a linguistic "link" towards Cossacks (in Ukrainian also spelled with an "o", despite the word's seemingly obvious origin in the Turkic "Qazaq", possibly because there was still the influence of the word «Cosac», meaning watchmen or guardians, mentioned in the 14th century's Codex Cumanicus as a Cuman word). Thus 18th century Cossacks practiced not just Sarmatism, but also "Khazarism", associating Khazar's with Cossack-specific boldness and military campaigns. In both cases, little actual study of the history of Sarmats of Khazars was done to support these justifications.
Aside from Khazars, another Sarmatian-adjusted myth amongst the Ruthenians was specific to the Roxolani tribe (another Indo-Iranian tribe of late Roman era, either a part of the Sarmatians, or adjusted to them), with Roxolania/Roxolana being used as synonymous of Ruthenia/Ukraine when translating into Latin. Various figures of culture of the described era used "Roxolan" as a pen-name/self-id of sorts, to describe their land of origin. Furthermore, in Muscovy Ivan the Terrible also chose the Roxolani as an origin point of history for his realm, although in the next century it would be moved all the way to the grandsons of Noah.
 
[X] "As a steward of Your Majesty's."
Goddamn. Surely something dreary and provincial.
This could be interesting, depending on the province. In Poland we'd be lacking contacts with the most of our allies. In Lithuania we could actually make good talk with our friends the Sapiehas. And "a dreary and provincial" job in Ukraine would mean a dangerous neighborhood with the "Wild Fields" and their raiders and adventurers.
Could also be good to learn some humility and hopefully become a better husband. Alternatively...

[X] "In the armies of Your Majesty."
Even if it's "in a soldier's tent" on a dangerous mission, a noble's purpose and glory is in knighthood. If we survive through fire and war, we'll come out much more respected than our current status of "meh, he's smart, but not a good fighter".
 

Scheduled vote count started by Rolman on Feb 23, 2024 at 8:07 AM, finished with 28 posts and 16 votes.
 
X-II: February 27-28, 1574. Wawel, Kraków, Polish Crownlands.
In moments such as these, God calls for tranquility, for patience, for a level head. You want to yell, swear enmity against him, but what would Christ do? What would Friar Gosiewski say? That this is a mere flesh wound upon the mind and soul, no, this is hardly even a scratch, dealt out by a man with a miniscule soul. Wherever you go, God will go with you. Play his game.

"As a steward of Your Majesty's."

"Very good," says the king, devoid of any real reaction. "Congratulations, then. We hereby bestow upon you the castellancy of…" he looks back at his desk, at the parchments splayed across its tabletop. "Orsa Rutheniae. Congratulations, too, then, on your senatorial rank."

Orsza. You try to calculate in the blink of an eye: Witebsk Voivodeship, by the Muscovite border, smaller town… Krzysztof nearby… Castellans don't usually have to actually manage a damn thing… And you are a senator… "I am honored, Your Majesty."

"Mhm. You will report to that city by mid-April where we expect you to work closely with a man named K— kuhmeet— Kmita, your… Deputy? How is it said… But he's also a spymaster of ours, with a web all across Muscovy." Oh. Oh. And, as if the King can read your mind: "Thusly we expect neither substitution nor absenteeism, no matter how customary it may be among your people. We have men who will be in touch with us regarding your performance."

Blast. It won't be a sinecure. And are "men" spies? Surely. This Kmita fellow himself? O, Lord — Orsza, who ever talks about Orsza? What a mess. "I am honored, Your Majesty," you say again.

"Although you may be of superior rank, we expect you to defer to and help Lord Kmita, on account of his importance and experience. Besides that, ensure taxes are paid, people are protected," he waves his hand. "You understand."

"I do, Your Majesty. God guide me."

"Yes, let us hope," says the King. He does that thing that he does – checking his nails, that is. "You are a most interesting Prince." You don't say anything. "Picking townsman-work over battle or a position as our cellar-master, willing to speak against us in France and here, make your mind known at Meaux and at this… Confederation." He smiles. "Yet unwilling to say a thing against us now. The pious humanist, the shy orator – the brave coward?"

Just breathe. Bear the wounds. Jesus guides you, not him. The King continues: "we are most interested to see how you fare on the border; it may be a nasty place. Best of luck. That is all. Congratulations again."

"Your Majesty," you say as a farewell with a bow. That's all you could say.

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit. You danced around in a little circle, angrily swinging at the air, feeling like a child, as soon as you could find a quiet corridor. You went to Friar Gosiewski that night – before Mariana or Marszowski or anybody – and you found yourself frustrated with him. The Rule possesses very little to say on a matter so secular and so all you got was Daniel and David again. In short, the usual. Make like a good judge from Deuteronomy. Such as in Corinthians and John, he said, those without love exist without truth anyways – his duplicity could never win and will undo him. And, yes, fine, lovely, the man's bound for the Pit, we know that.

"Mariana," you say, making her look up from her tapestry-weaving.

Things have changed. You've calmed her down some. You worry she may just be a little scared of you. "Yes, husband?"

"The King gave me an office. Castellan of Orsza."

Her big eyes blink. "That… Sounds lovely? You're a senator now."

You sigh. "But I'm expected to be at Orsza. As in genuinely, really there. Working."

"Oh."

"So we're going to Orsza. By the end of March if we can help it."

"Alright." She doesn't betray anything save for that blinking. "As you say, husband. Won't you come to–"

"I haven't prayed Compline yet. I'm sorry."

"Shall… I can join you, maybe? You know the Hours are different in my church. But prayer is prayer, says I."

You snort. "Don't be silly. There ought not be women around for me, and you can't just sidle in without knowing the Breviarum."

Hear me when I call, o my righteous God.

Thou turnest men to destruction; and sayest, "Return, ye children of men."

Stabilitate. Conversatio morum. Oboedientia. Ora et labora.


Holy oil upon Aaron's head, in his beard, down his tunic, washing over him. Such is the love of God for man. One need only look up.

You exhale through your nose. Scripture doesn't account for much of the Rule, the Rule doesn't account for all the scripture. "I don't mean to be severe, Mariana," you say, knowing that you are, in fact, being severe.

Her head cocks ever so slightly. "Thank you."

"It's just… Now is not the time. I need to be clean. I've faced such punishment and received such messages and I need to be clean." And now an inhale. Clench and unclench your fists. "Perhaps I'm… Trying too hard. Benedict calls for stability and balance above all else, but…"

"Dare I say, you're trying to be somewhat… Somewhat paschal? You just… One day, everything's back to life?"

"Yes, maybe, and that's blasphemy." She stays silent. "You? For saying that. Me? For, well," you look down at the blue you're wearing. "I mean, by God–" you catch yourself. You pull at the fabric. "What am I, a Pharisee? Who am I trying to impress?"

"Maybe yourself?" she asks meekly. Her smile and chuckle is even more furtive. "Clothes making the man?"

"Maybe. Let me pray on this." You're thinking about too many things at once, too many little sparks flying about in your head. Is it always war, must it always last forever?

The answer is complicated, you decide. You'll need to talk to the Friar about this but, upon a night of meditation on the psalms, of your lessons in France both formal and informal: yes, it is war, and, yes, it must last until the End Time. Yet the Armor of God cannot be found in mere blue cloth; when the Christ said He brought not peace but a sword, He spoke not of war on earth but the division of the world, the separating of parts by clean cuts. Cropping your hair is no tonsure, no. Shaving your mustache purifies nothing. To be sure, drink and dance and fine food leads to the Devil, but you wonder, perhaps, about moderating the moderation.

Thankfully, there's a perfect way of testing the waters. In fact, you're the island. Indeed, Kraków has been alive for days now, a great French-style coronation tourney just about ready to unfold, raucous and dangerous and brimming with what used to be fun for you. A few hundred florins in damage, Samuel Zborowski on the run for ax-murder, and thousands of gallons of alcohol poured into the gullets of thousands of nobles.

What do you wind up doing?

[] Tilting.

See if you can remember what you picked up in France, while simultaneously putting the rumors of cowardice to rest in front of just about everybody. Show off Sztylet in challenges of arms and borrow a destrier for a real joust. Sporting isn't the worst sin!

[] Feasting.

Alright, so, you lost yourself a little. Temptation all about. Enjoy the festivities, the pleasures, have a chat with old Marszowski and make a few new friends, too. However – if a man wishes to politick, gluttony may just have to be the spiritual price.

[] Getting to Orsza.

Let's get out of here. This place smells like Hell.
 
A sincere and hearty thanks to my power behind the throne, the ever-sage @Sertorius, for picking out the perfect, bespoke, mildly humiliating exile-job.
 
[X] Tilting.

I'd rather not relapse into old habits so quickly with feasting, but if we want to party, then I'll take tilting. Maybe it'll remind us that we really ought to start getting into shape.

Failing that, getting to work is a good idea.

[X] Getting to Orsza.

Love how Marianna is calling us out on our own stupidities despite our mean character. We married a good person.
 
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