The Adventures of the Crovan Clan

Alfred Thurcytelsson Crovan

King of Norway and of Serbia


Ruminations on the second part of his rule, 1385-1388











You know the old saying: give a man money and he will waste it on whores. Give a man mercenaries and he will bankrupt his realm in the desperate attempt to keep them loyal.










I swear. I know killing Cuthbert and Eadbert’s wife were sins, but come on. The guy had it coming.

Nevertheless: Pages! Come! Carry my crippled ass to church.











The Pope has sent over a Grand Inquisitor to “help” me destroy the memory of Olaf Crovan, Christ, by destroying everyone who even thinks his name. Excluding me, of course. Oh, and the Inquisitors.

I guess I can always find more peasants.











I guess that old war wound I got fighting Eadbert isn’t improving as nicely as I’d hoped.












I caught a peak inside the bedpan this morning and found the contents more than a little disturbing.

The indignities continue.











The Duke of Epirus entered the jousting lists with a bedpan on his head and his lances painted to resemble giant, toothed worms.

I suspect someone has leaked word of my malady.











Apparently being the commander of the largest army in the largest nation in the world wasn’t enough for Marshal Sigebert.

No, he has decided to “return to his roots,” moving to Uppland and commanding the Duke’s army of starved serfs and their oxen.

Oh, and fighting polar-bears and frostbite.










Every morning I wake up terrified I will start oozing pus form another orifice, or more worms will come out from somewhere or that old wound will hurt and act up even more, or even that someone will just smother me with a pillow.

I hate that this is how the House of Saxe-Crovan will end…not with Grandfather’s roar, but with Alfred’s whimper.

Plus, I just know I look like crap.












Euboia, despite being riddled with pneumatic plague and only able to field maybe a few dozen shepherds, has decided to take advantage of my condition and rebel. Little did they consider the fact that my generals and sizeable army are not also bed-ridden invalids.

I have ordered Marshal Gudrod to bring me along in a litter. I should like to see the action unfold and personally cough in the face of the rebel count.

Interestingly, Marshal Gudrod and Bard Crovan, my heir, have become close friends in recent years. I never really knew that before.

What’s that Gudrod? Well sure, I guess the sea air is good for me. I do appreciate you binding me to the litter…I agree it would be unseemly for me to tip out onto the floor every time the ship rolls, but I don’t know if the railing is all that safe a place to set it.

Hey! What are you doing! Come on! I’ll be dead soon enough!

*splash*

*glug*

*glug*

*glug*













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Bard II Torbjornsson Crovan

King of Norway and of Serbia


Genealogy, Part 1, 1388











Greetings, I am Bard Torbjornsson Crovan. King of Norway and of Serbia!

Ha! I have waited all my life to say that.

But, you should know: this moment is not merely the pinnacle of the career of a man named Bard. No, this moment is one long sought after by my family, my lineage, if you will.

We have struggled for this day for the last 303 years. Waiting for our chance, committed to our ancestor’s dying Oath.










Like all Crovans, I trace my line back to this man: Duke Gudrod Haraldsson Crovan. The first of our breed. All that we are is due to him and his children.

Some of you wonder, no doubt: Who is this Bard? How do we know he is not merely some cheap country cousin.

Well, I will tell you: My bloodline is the most pure of any living Crovan and now, finally, my bloodline has claimed the glory and the place in the Sun which cruel, cruel fate denied us so many centuries ago. Let me share my family history with you.

It all starts with this man: Saint Aslak Gudrodsson Crovan, Count of Tir Eohgain and once-Duke of Ulster.










And here he is, my ancestor and the rightful heir to Duke Gudrod and Duke Erlend: St. Aslak Gudrodsson.

Now, you all know that he drove the frogs from Ireland and many of you know that, as Gudrod’s most effective son, he nearly gained the throne at the death of his brother, Duke Erlend, but what you do not know…what no one knew except for his direct descendants: Duke Gudrod wanted him to rule.

It surely was no coincidence that St. Aslak was sent to a military fort in Tir Connail as a youth, to learn how to command. His father was marking him out for a future leadership role. That is why Erlend Murdered Gurdrod and usurped the title…he knew St. Aslak would be named heir if he did not. The Saint masked his plans well, even naming his oldest son after his usurping brother, though he never forgot that Erlend sat on his throne.

Erlend sought to bury The Saint’s memory by sending him to rule over a swamp, never knowing that in that swamp, The Saint would find his life’s work. St. Aslak’s power would grow, as more lands were added to his Irish Dominion, though he still had to kneel to the murderous usurper Erlend.

Together, the brothers worked to fulfill their father’s dreams of revenge, even though they did still have difficult dealings with each other. Feelings that did erupt into Murder Most Foul, although there is no proof it was St. Aslak. In fact, it was probably Halkjell’s idiot son. As proof, I offer the simple fact that The Saint proudly supported Erlend’s son Ossor in the small family civil-war of the 1120’s and through his many early Crusades. Indeed, St. Aslak would clearly have served alongside his nephew, proudly protecting a Throne and Title that should have been his own, and marching in the forefront when Ossor conquered Norway, except that the Lord called him in a different direction. In 1139, he began his most legendary feat, the ending of Amphibian Life on Ireland. What St. Patrick began, St. Aslak completed.

Even when King Ossor went mad and killed himself, St. Aslak continued to support the family, fighting both Irish rebels and the Frog Menace and uniting a large portion of the Island under his banner during Skofte the Heretic’s Civil War.

Although The Saint did rebel against his Grand-nephew, he really had no choice. A Saint could never serve a Sinner, and St. Aslak willingly paid the price for his honor, losing his Duchy and many of his lands, but gaining freedom from the sinner. When he died in 1146, the Pope moved quickly, beatifying and then Sainting this most holy man. What no one ever knew is that, on his death-bed, and in the presence of his oldest surviving Grandson Tor, St. Aslak swore a great and holy oath that his descendants could never rest until we had gained our rightful inheritance: Leadership over the Crovan Family and Mastery over the Crovan Dominions.









This is Aslak’s son Ottar, remembered for fathering Torre and dying to guard Tir Eoghain from Skofte’s vile hordes.









Tore held out, resisting the call of gold and titles that lured many of St. Aslak’s other grandchildren into service with the Heretic King. So, while Skofte the Heretic was busily producing children of dubious parentage, Torre produced actual sons carrying the precious Crovan Blood in their veins and stayed away from The Excommunicates’ accursed court until his death in 1173. It was with Tore’s son Svein that The Aslak Lineage began to move in Norwegian Circles.





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Bard II Torbjornsson Crovan

King of Norway and of Serbia


Genealogy, Part 2, 1388











Svein Toresson Crovan made the initial advances in our plot. At great personal risk Svein first allowed our Irish lands to be overrun and conquered by vile Saracens and then applied for the oft vacant job of Personal Bishop and Confessor to King Gunnar in 1219. For the first time, we had real access to the corridors of power in Viken.

His first act of service was to quietly do away with the Evil Spymaster Audun, suffocating the terrorizing madman with a pillow and saving countless innocent lives…including his own.










Gudbrand’s lifespan largely matched up with the diminutive monarch known properly as Half-Dan the Great, who I am given to understand had Alsak Blood from his mother’s side. Gudbrand, dazzled by Half-Dan, made no moves against him. Curiously, he also failed to do much during the early years of Skule’s Regency, although records from that era are spotty at best. In time, Gudbrand may even be found to be the most active of the Aslak Lineage!











Hakon headed the Aslak Line during Skule’s Great Collapse. No one knows exactly when we gained control of the Duchy of Oxford. It might have been during Half-Dan’s rule, or it was assigned during the chaos of Skule’s rule. All we know for sure was that Hakon used this powerbase to move against the Usurping Line during Skule’s reign. Although you might think that accepting a peace treaty which left the Aslak Line stranded in England, and far from the centers of Crovan Power might not have been the best plan ever for someone committed to replacing the Royal Family with his own lineage, I submit the fact that I am here talking to you now proves that this was yet another shrewd move in our march to power.










Harald died defending his father’s lands from Vile King Skule’s Hordes. Grief over his dead kid might have prompted Hakon to have signed that peace treaty.












My Grand-Father, Skofte surrendered the Bald-Plate that had served the Aslak Clan so well for so many centuries in order to fit in with the Hair-Style of Power, made popular by his hated cousin.











Finally, here is my Father, Torbjorn Skoftesson Crovan. He sat quietly in Oxford, biding his time. Sometime during the reign of Wulfhere, he switched his loyalty from the King of England to the King of Norway and then, at the death of Wulfhere, he launched an attack on Thurcytel, a plan so brilliant, that to this day I do not understand it at all! Nevertheless, it resulted in him keeping his lands and him getting to marry Thurcytel’s oldest daughter – my beloved mom, in 1353.

How he knew both of Thurcytel’s sons would grow up to be impotent degenerates is beyond me. The Blood of Saint Aslak clearly flowed strongly in his veins.

He did jeopardize our position by making a premature play for the throne in 1360.


We regretted this mightily when King Eadbert “The Madman” assigned all of his English Lands to some random and incompetent cousin, rather than his Brother-In-Law.

Poor father died, not realizing his marriage secured the Aslak Family Goal.










My older brother Inge, shrewdly befriended King Alfred, knowing we stood to inherit everything, but Alfred betrayed that friendship. While my dear brother was in the fight of his life to keep Oxford from that bastard Havard, Duke of Lancaster, Alfred sent a band of undisciplined and violent mercenaries who first refused to fight, then sacked Oxford, then murdered my brother and sold the Duchy to Vile Havard.

I danced a merry jig when that bastard Alfred died. Two merry jigs once I realized I would succeed his throne.

My personal Hatred for the man led me to seek a job as Spymaster in the Duchy of Epirus and then, by befriending Marshal Gudrod, shortened the Diseased Monarch’s reign.

It is appropriate that a Gudrod Crovan got the chance to right that wrong from 303 years ago.


Now, with my Golden Lineage Properly enshrined in Crovan Lore, I am ready to begin my reign.

It will be one worth remembering.


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