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Chronicles of Volten: The First Founding
Year 1 - The Crown Unexpected
Brother Marcus continues his chronicle, though his hand trembles with excitement at what must now be told. For this is the tale of how a merchant's son became a king, and how a kingdom was born from defiance.
The Tarin Demands
The envoys arrived in spring, when the Bryga ran high with snowmelt. Three dozen riders in Tarin purple, their armor gleaming with imperial arrogance, their leader bearing a scroll sealed with the great kingdom's seven-pointed star.
Rudolf Voltri received them in the alliance's council hall, surrounded not by courtiers but by militia captains, village elders, and merchant leaders. The envoy's demands were simple: submit to Tarin rule, pay annual tribute of gold and grain, provide conscripts for Tarin armies, accept a Tarin governor. In exchange, the allied settlements would receive "protection" and the "privilege" of serving the greatest kingdom in the known world.
The arrogance! Even now, centuries later, safe in our Imperial Archive, I feel indignation at such presumption.
The envoy smiled as he finished reading, that particular smile of a man who believes he offers choices where none exist.
The Night of Deliberation
Rudolf called for a day's consideration. That night, every settlement sent representatives to an emergency gathering. The debate raged until dawn. Some argued for negotiation, others for submission, still others for defiance. The alliance had never faced a threat like Tarin—a kingdom that commanded armies of thousands upon thousands. [IMPERIAL ARCHIVE EDITORIAL: Tarin's regional forces numbered perhaps three to four thousand at most. Still formidable against our few hundred militia. —Br. Thomis, Sr. Archivist]
It was an elder from the Dunmere Hills villages who spoke the words that changed history: "If we must kneel to a crown, why not a crown we choose?"
The Coronation at Dawn
When the Tarin envoys returned at midday, they found something impossible. The entire alliance had gathered—thousands strong! [IMPERIAL ARCHIVE EDITORIAL: Brother Marcus exaggerates. Contemporary records indicate several hundred militia assembled, still an impressive showing. —Brother Thomis, Senior Archivist] At their head stood Rudolf Voltri, and upon his brow sat a crown fashioned overnight by the alliance's finest smiths from contributions of gold and silver from every member settlement.
"Tell your king," Rudolf said, his voice carrying across the silent square, "that he speaks to a fellow monarch. The Kingdom of Volten receives no demands. We offer Tarin peace between equals, or war between enemies. Choose wisely."
The lead envoy's face went from purple to white. He spat at Rudolf's feet, declared this an insult that would be washed in blood, and rode hard for Tarin lands.
The Battle of Broken Bridges
Tarin's response came swiftly—a punitive force meant to crush this upstart "kingdom" before the insult could inspire other rebellions. They marched confident and disciplined along the northern roads, expecting to cross the Bryga at Three Stones Ford.
They found the bridges broken, the fords trapped, and arrows falling like rain from hidden positions. Rudolf had spent the weeks wisely, turning the wild Bryga valleys into a death trap. When Tarin forces tried to cross anyway, the river itself seemed to fight them—currents shifting unexpectedly, logs appearing from nowhere to strike at soldiers.
Some old songs claim the hills themselves aided our cause, that strange mists rose at fortunate moments. But such tales grow in the telling, and we are a modern empire now, blessed by the Holy Circle, not given to superstition. [ARCHIVE NOTE: The Dunmere Hill folk did provide excellent guides familiar with every seasonal danger. Nothing mystical required. —Br. T.]
The Wolfwood Ambush
The Tarin commander, bloodied but not beaten, pulled back and attempted to circle through the Wolfwood, seeking another crossing. Rudolf let them enter the forest before striking.
The battle became legend—militiamen emerging from trees like spirits, the Voltri household guard striking at the perfect moment when Tarin forces were most disordered. The forest paths, confusing to outsiders, became a maze of death for the invaders.
I have walked the Wolfwood, now crossed by imperial roads, and tried to imagine that day. How our militia, outnumbered three to one, managed such victory seems almost miraculous. Truly, the Holy Circle blessed our founding, even before we knew to call upon it.
By sunset, the Tarin force was broken. Fewer than half escaped to carry word of the defeat.
The Long War Begins
Tarin could not ignore such humiliation, but neither could it commit its full strength. The great kingdom was fighting on three fronts, suppressing rebellions in its eastern provinces, facing barbarian incursions from the north. What should have been swift punishment became a bleeding wound that would drain both kingdoms for two generations.
Battles became a way of life—the Night of Five Fires, when Volten raiders burned Tarin supply depots; the Stand at Millbridge, where three hundred Volten militia held against a superior Tarin force; the Harvest War, when both kingdoms fought for the allegiance of the borderlands. Rudolf would grow old in this war, passing both crown and conflict to his son Thedrick.
Each victory built the legend. Each battle proved that Volten would not kneel. But it would be young Thedrick who would show that wars could be won with more than swords.
The Marriage at Gruenewald
The war outlived Rudolf. His son Thedrick inherited both crown and conflict, but where his father had been a warrior, Thedrick proved a different sort of conqueror. For two generations the war had raged, and by the time Thedrick's forces reached the gates of Gruenewald, something unexpected occurred.
Oh, how I love this tale! It has everything—drama, romance, political cunning!
Gruenewald was no simple village but a proper city, ancient and proud, with history reaching back before even the Voltri name was known. Lord Borm Staufen commanded his own garrison alongside the Tarin forces stationed there. To bend knee to distant Tarin was humiliating enough, but at least Tarin was a giant, an empire spanning half the known world. Voltera? In Staufen's eyes, these upstarts were barely a nation, certainly not worth switching allegiances for.
When Thedrick's forces appeared on the hills surrounding Gruenewald, Lord Staufen rode out to parlay, expecting threats or demands for surrender. The city had no walls to defend—only its famous cavalry and the Tarin garrison. Instead, he found Thedrick at the head of a wedding procession—musicians, gift-bearers, and a priest. The young king had not come to conquer but to propose, asking for the hand of Staufen's daughter Flora in marriage.
[ARCHIVE ADDENDUM: Intelligence reports from the period indicate King Thedrick had detailed information about Flora Staufen's beauty and Lord Borm's pragmatic nature. The "spontaneous" proposal was carefully planned. —Br. Thomis]
The offer came with a sunrise deadline. Staufen, no fool, immediately grasped the implications. Here was a chance to join his ancient house to a rising power, to become kingmakers rather than subjects. He sent for Flora at once while dispatching a carefully worded suggestion to the Tarin garrison that they might wish to conduct "urgent patrols" elsewhere that morning.
The wedding took place at dawn in Gruenewald's ancient square. By noon, the city flew Volten colors, and the Tarin garrison had mysteriously vanished without a single arrow loosed.
To this day, House Staufen remains one of the most powerful in the Empire. Lord Wilhelm Staufen, who governs Gruenewald, can trace his line directly to that pragmatic morning when love and politics danced together. Or perhaps it was just politics. But I prefer to think there was love too! [ARCHIVE CONCLUSION: It was politics. —Br. T.]
The New Way of War
The Gruenewald marriage changed everything. Other Tarin territories took notice—here was a way to preserve dignity, maintain local power, and escape Tarin's increasingly desperate taxation. Suddenly, every noble family with eligible daughters or sons found themselves courted by Volten diplomats. Villages that had resisted military conquest opened their gates to wedding processions.
Not every union was as grand as Gruenewald, but each thread in this matrimonial web strengthened Volten's claim to legitimacy. These were not conquered peoples but allied houses, bound by blood and oath rather than force.
The Price of Defiance
The crown that had passed from Rudolf to Thedrick grew heavier with each passing season. The alliance had become a kingdom forged in war, its people bound by shared struggle against a common foe. The old hamlet by the river was now Voltera, capital of a realm that should not exist, ruled by a dynasty that refused to kneel.
Tarin would not forget the initial insult, nor the continuing humiliation of losing territories to marriage alliances. The war would continue for generations more, shaping both kingdoms in ways neither could foresee. But in that first year of the First Founding, when Rudolf stood crowned by his people's will, and through his son's clever diplomacy, an empire learned that not all strength could be measured in numbers or walls.
As I close this chronicle, I am struck by the sheer audacity of it all. From trading post to kingdom in a single generation, from desperate defense to matrimonial conquest in two! Surely this was destiny, guided by powers we now understand through the blessed teachings of the Holy Circle. The age of Volten had begun, and nothing would ever be the same.
Set down in the Imperial Archive at Alexburg, in the blessed reign of His Imperial Majesty
By the hand of Brother Marcus, Junior Chronicler
With editorial annotations by Brother Thomis, Senior Archivist, who recommends Br. Marcus spend less time reading epic poems and more time consulting tax records for accurate troop counts
Second chronicle in the history of the Volten Empire
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