Under the raven banner (A Norse Scandinavia AAR)

[Herbert West]

Informations:
Game version: Victoria, Revolutions
Mods: Victoria Improvements Project for Revolutions
Country: Sweden, then Scandinavia

Goals:
pessimist: do not loose rank after unification (hopefully rank four), do not loose any national provinces
normal: unification of all scandinavian and baltic territories, colonisation of Africa, be always at least one rank above Russia (after unification), have at least 500 more industrial socre than Russia
more than normal: become a very significant player in the world, have colonies in Africa and Asia, have a decent navy, and the millitary potential to got toe-to-toe with the germans
very optimistic: as above, with the adition of forcing danegeld upon the insolent anglosaxons


So, this will be my first AAR ever, I hope I will not f** it up. I have only played one full game with Vicky yet, and it was on easy, I must say, but I think I know how the system works, and I am a man of ambitions.
While my first test game is finishing, and while I experiment around with VIP, this AAR will be words only, telling the story of how Sweden became a nation of the Old Faith once again.

Inspiration for the story is taken from swedish history, the Poetic Edda, and various Therion albums and lyrics, Secret of the Runes and Gothic Kaballah in particular. I guess the final push was their awesome symphonic concert saturday (but that is OT).

And now, the backstory. It will have good amounts of esotericist, kaballist, runist expressions, some will be explained, some will be not. Feel free to ask, though.)
Hmm, it seems writing this story isnt so complicated at all. Maybe this will remain awords-only "AAR".

Feeling lost, cant understand a word? Posts 92 and 86 should help. Also, Wikipedia is your friend here, not your fiend.

Chapters online:

Threads Of Fate
Adulruna Rediviva
Tuna 1613
One Rode To Asa Bay
Staves
Offret
Nattens Madrigal I
Seelenfeurer
Walk The Path Of Sorrow
To Turn The Wheel
Blót
Nordegard
Patterns Of The Soul
Sturmvogel
Lokasenna
Wolves In The Throne Room
Vargtimmen
... from the claws of ...
Vem är du?
Dies Irae
Tomhet
Midnattssol
Middansumar
A call to arms, repulsed
When a thousand moons have circled
Winds
The Art Of Coffins
Of Gardens
Whack-a-pole
Into The Breach
Suuri Shamaani
Forging
Friggas wager

[OAM]

Looks interesting, just have lots of picture Also when you unite to be Scandanavia, you lose cores on Finnland, you might want to edit that.

[Herbert West]

The Threads Of Fate

Roots of Yggdrasill, near the Well Of Fate

The Norns were weaving the strings of Fate, as they did from the dawn of Time, and as they shall continue until Surtr burns the Nine Worlds.
But the Norns know of this, as they know of everything.
It has been long since they have spoken to each other. Their once fair hair was beginnigs to grey, Skulds once-beaming smile was beginning to fade and her expression became more and more crooked with each passing day.
Once, she smiled almost all the time, filled with energy from all the belivers, filled with pride at the fates she and her sisters had woven. Now, she smiled only very rarely, and even then, with more than a bit of sorrow in her smile, as her smiles were for those of the Old Faith who had finally died and joined their loved ones in Helheim.
The Old Belivers were beginning to die out, the servants of the Nameless God converting more and more proud norseman to a life of forgivness, of meekness, of weakness and of cowering in fear.
She had grown tired of weaving fewer and fewer strings each day. She found herself wishing for Ragnarok, the Great Burning.

But then, one day, her old smile returned to her face. The Halls Of The Aesir would be filled with great warriors anew.

She looked to her sisters, and saw only bright smiles, beaming almost as bright as the Flames with which Surtr will burn the World.




The Fields Of Asgard

Odin sat in the yellowing field of grass, Frigg by his side.

Our strength is waning, fewer and fewer ships burn in the sea with each passing century, my bride. I fear our final hour is nearing.
Frigg replied:
Fear not, your halls arent even half filled, and neither is Sessrúmnir. Our strength is not what it once was, thought, you are right, Aldaföðr. Fewer and fewer belive in us, and more nad more belive in the Nameless One. They prefer his white pearly gates to our golden stone halls. Hel's Halls are wide open, but they are nigh empty. We need more believers.

Thor interrupted them, his boots still wet from the stream.
Father, I bring you great news from Heimdallr! The servants of the Nameless One are fighting amongst themselves! They are in dissaray. We must use this opportunity.
Gather our war concil, my son




War Concil of the Aesir

Thor: We must strike now! We must gather our belivers and guide them to great victories against the faithfull of the Nameless God! We must bathe them in their blood so they might become strong again!
Odin: You are too rash, my son. Now, deception is the key to victory, not strength.
Freyja: Look! One of the new folk is casting our runes! He is using our seid for the Nameless One! He is using the sacred ability of my followers! Insolence! He must be destroyed!
Odin: No. An opportunity presents itself. If we show ourselves to our people, they will be of confused heart and confused mind. We must progress slowly. This new seiðmaðr may be our key. We must use the runes to purge the Nameless One from his soul, and we must use him to bring the Norseman back to our Halls! Ve, call the Valkyres!
(a few moments later)
Sigrún: You called us, Giver-of-Runes. We are at your bidding.
Odin: Ready yourselves, you will escort a man of great skill to my halls. But he will not come freely. He is a man of the New Faith.
The Aesir were shocked at this. A new-faither, in these fields?
Be at ease, my brothers and sisters. He will be the first of our new followers, wether he accepts my decision, or not. I have had enough of the arrogance of the Nameless One!

[Herbert West]

Adulruna Rediviva

The Room of Johannes Bureus, Uppsala


The light of the candle was too weak to keep the darkness at bay, but was strong enough to force the shadows to dance in otherworldy patterns.
A bearded, old man was sitting alone in the room, writing in strange script into an old pergamen tome.

Enter the path of Runa
And drink from the well of Urd
Taste the fruits of Iduna
Decipher the signs from the north

UruR
Thurs
AnsuR
Raidho
Kaun
Uthark
Runa
MannaR
LaguR
IngwaR
DagaR
Odal
Fehu

Life is eternal for you
When you pass the gate of Hel
(And) come to the end of the row
(Where you find)
The Beast and the God conjoined

(originally by Thomas Karlsson, part of the lyrics for Uthark Runa from Therion)

He continued in another script, on the edge of the skin.

I can not interpret my latest vision. All was so perfect. Everything fits. The Wisdom Of The Gods can be fitted into The Ladder Of Life. Or at least, that is how I thought of it.
But this! This is impossible! The rune-cross must fit! And still, it does not. Something is wrong, somewhere, the hidden meaning was lost to me! I must find it, even if it costs me my life. The knowledge of the gods must be preserved!

Bureus closed the book with a loud slam, spilling ink over some astrological graphs. The old man cursed a bit and then blew the candle, and set down in the middle of his chamber. He began to chant the old alchemist mantra in a low growl:
Visita interiora terrae rectificando invenies occultum lapidem, Visitainteriora terrae rectificando invenies occultumlapidem, Visitainterioraterraerectificando inveniesoccultumlapidem

His chant was gaining speed, his word becoming more and more one continous murmur than separated words, his vision was slowly becoming blurred, he had to close his eyes. He began to raise his voice, slowly, but steadily. After a minute, his crescendo vibrated in the cold stone room, turning the silence of the night into a cacophony akin to a battle.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. His body hit the floor, but he would not notice until the morning.



The Dreamspace


He was standing on a misty field covered with lush grass. It must have been a few hours before morning, as the horizon was only beginnig to grow filled with danicing cloors of orange, violet and yellow. He took a few steps forward, his legs shaky and unsure, his eyes struggling to accustome to the slowly growing light.
Out of the mist, a runestone appered before him. He leaned close to it, and removed the moss covering it, and began to read the runes.

Haidz runo runu, falh'k hedra ginnarunaz. Argiu hermalausz, weladauþe, saz þat brytz. Uþarba spa

He sprang back, shocked and puzzled from what he had read there. Then, he knew. This was a dream. It was a test. It may be the final key before the Door To Knowledge opens up once and for all.

And then, he spoke words he heard in another vision, loud and clear. He had accepted the price.

His words rang in the eerie silence. The stone began to crack, first slowly,m as if contempleting wether or not Bureus had apssed the test, then quicker, loud with the noise of a thousand otter attemptees who failed the Test Of The Key. It then crumbled to dust with a thunder.

Bureus stepped forward, over the dust of the rune-guard.

A fair-haired woman reached out for the old mans hand, and took him to a place only the Gods know.

[Herbert West]

Tuna 1613

War Council Of The Aesir

Odin: Is it done, Freya?
Freya: He will doubt greatly. But he believes now.
Thor: I still dont see the reason for this crawl. We are Gods! Not some Kings Of Man, but Gods Of Man.
Jörð: Gods you are, but Gods Of Man. Gods only to those who belive in you. Your strenght depends not only on your belt, my grandson, but on tohse whose hearts and soul belong to us and not the Nameless One. You should listen to the cloaked one.
An inpatient Njörðr interrupted Jörds speach: I come from the Vanir as their envoy. Tell us, Aesir, what are your plans with this mortal?
Nótt replied from under her raven-black cloack she always wore:
He is the teacher of the King Of Svealand. He will tell tales of us to him. He will how our wisdom to him. He will bring him to us.
Skaði's breath chilled even the warm air of Asgards green fields:
That is only one man. He may be the King, but his faith is the Nameless One is still strong. What if he does not belive Bureus?
The Hanged One replied in a low tone:
He will belive if he walks Freyas halls after his death. But before that, only the Norns know, and they do not answer anyone.
Váli spoke with a fierce tounge, eyes burning with fire of revenge:
And when can our believers slay the insolent weaks again?
Snotra calmed him with her smooth voice:
In time, in due time. Only the Norns know Orlong.
Odin ended the council, as always:
So shall it be.



The room of Bureus, the next morning

The old man scribbled on every piece of pergamen he could find, in a hectic way very unusual for someone his age and knowledge.

I have seen it. I have seen the Wisdom, the Way, the very Fortress Of The Gods! I have heard the sweet voice of Freya whisper into my unworthy ear. I have seen the Hammer Of Thor! And I know my purpose, my Fate. I will lead my Old Gods to glory again.
What Burden. May The Gold help me, give me strenght. For I must not fail, becouse that would bring about The Fate Of The Gods. How terrible it must be for Váli to see the Ash burn, and survive! Truly, the Norns have a cruel taste of humor.

Then, his vision faded out again. His hand began to shake, the pen writing down strange scripts, powerfull runewords and strange sigils from the Kaballah. The ink flowed out in patterns even he could not decpiher, and than he realised that this must be another vision coming upon him. The world turned into a nightly black, then into a morning orange. A soft voice whispered from beyond the horizon of his dreams.

You have received the runes of Wisdom, Bureus. Use them wisely.

As suddenly as the vision appeared, it faded back into the dull grey of the stones. His script lay before him, and began to read, and with each runeword, his world swung around with him. Such power had to be consumed in small sips. Ha lay down for a moment, closed his eyes, and emptied his mind of all but the runes. Then, he went back to deciphering his crooked wrinting.

The runecross was complete. His work in the Dreamscape was complete. The Runes were all shown to him.

Now, the more delicate matter of teaching the king had arrived.

[Herbert West]

Somebody?

[thrashing mad]

Very damn interesting. Cthulhu-like ocultistic, dark, mysterious journey for ancient knowledge, mixed with Scandinavian pantheon and myths, and 19th century Scandinavians returning to the old ways - Great Situation of fading strength of Gods dependent on number of their followers remind me some old Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay addon. Looking forward to this AAR. But if you want to lure more readers consider my advices:

- Put some images (even one per post) cause many people flee from bare-text AARs - good image (not screenshot) can really magnify scene you are writing about

- Make bigger spaces between paragraphs - it`s more clear and easy to read then

[DerKaiser]

A very interesting take on things. Accentuating the mythology is certainly pretty different for a Victoria AAR! Should be intriguing to watch....

And if you're being Norse about things, are you going to raid the British and French coasts? Now that would be ambitious...

Good luck with your first AAR!

P.S. In reference to the "Somebody?" comment- don't feel discouraged when things start slowly. People take time to pick things up (particularly on Victoria), even when they read it they don't necessarily comment, and especially when someone's written as much as you have so quickly, people find it difficult to find the time to read it all and respond suitably. Have patience!

[Khaosliege]

An AAR with Therion's lyrics and northern mythology?

I subscribe!

The snow turns red from all the blood
Severed limbs and heads
A sacrifice to one-eyed God
He will claim the dead!

Under the winter skies
We stand glorious!
And with Oden on our side
We are victorious!

I like the incipit, and I hope I will have time to comment in detail later.

[Herbert West]

Hmm, 150+ views. It seems people like this after all

And thanks for the encouragement, Der Keiser and Thrashing Mad. I am going to write at least one new part today. (I have the whole backstory planned out more or less in my brain)

Khaosliege: \m/

Also, if you spot any spelling errors, feel free to PM me to correct them.

[Ringelnatz]

This looks very interesting, I'll stay tuned.

No pressure intended, but this looks like a very ambitious piece.
Just take your time and set your own pace, the best AARs go on and on over months, even years!

[Remble]

Interesting start. I shall be following along.

Echoing DerKaiser, do not be discouraged by lack of comments, especially early on. So long as people are reading that is what counts.

[Yuriswe]

Nice A Swedish Vip-R Aar =) And realy interesting.

[Garuda]

An interesting start Mr West. Will you be introducing the Brits to a new Danelaw perhaps?

[Herbert West]

An interesting start Mr West. Will you be introducing the Brits to a new Danelaw perhaps?

Well, I hope I will be able to do so.
I am going to write an update today, continuig the story of Bureus. I wanted to write more, but a chapter takes about an hour to get written.

[Herbert West]

One Rode to Asa Bay

Ritual Chamber of Johannes Bureus, Uppsala


The lone ritual candle gave off a strong, musky odor, adding to the cacophony of scents and smells present in the small room. The strange, otherworldy digarams written into the stone with a fine chisel seemed to dance like the dervishes of Arabia, the sheets of pergamen and papyrus hanging from the cold stone became illuminated for only a blink of an eye to vanish into the darkness again. The glowing golden runes decorating the ceiling joined themselves into eeire arabescs froming a dragon biting into its own tail.

In the midst of all this sat a bearded man, holding a silver pendellum from which thick, red blood dripped onto a carefully drawn map of Norrland.

The pendellum swung out strongly, guided by an unseen force, and then, as quickly as it came to life, fell back into its original position, the blood dried on its tip, no longer dripping.

Bureus examined the map closely in the dim light, marked every drop, then held the old pergamen into the falme of the candle, where it burned quicker and colder than it could burn in any fire made by man.

The kaballist stood up, made an almost unseen nod towards the dragon-like runescript on the ceiling, and then left his chamber, closing the door and writing the Guardian Rune into the dust of the heavy wood.

Once back in his ordinary rooms, he ordered his servants to prepare a sturdy horse, packed with food for two weeks, with tools of fire, and equipment for the harsh winter of Norrland.


Throne Room of Gustav Adolf, the next morning


Your majesty! Honour me with a moment of your time!
Speak quickly, my dear tutor, the matters of the state are a great burden upon my shoulders. What is it you wish to speak of? Tell, is the rune-cross complete?
Not yet, my lord. Its completion depends on my meditation, far away from the noise of this bristling city, and close to the nature and the land, where God can speak clearly to me.
I have built you a stone tower in wich God only knows what horrid things you perform, is it not enough?
I fear not. The 72 names will only dance in the right patter when away from the non-belief of the common cityfolk.
I trust your word, wise man. My servants are to listen to all your commands.
My needs are humble, my lord, and I have already made my preparations.
Very well then, when can I expect to see your beard again, old man? -said the king, with aslight tone of a laugh in his normally so serious voice.
If I do not come back for the first of April, then I will not come back at all.
I understand, dear friend. The black powder under your tower will destroy everything.

Bureus bowed deeply before his king, than turned and left the room with slow, well positioned steps. From now on, everything would be part of the Ritual.

Later that day, almost into the night, he left Uppsala on his horse. As he reached the woods around the city, he unbuckled his magistrial garment from underneath the heavy protecting cloth he always wore in the city. On these garment, above his heart was a new patch of silk, upon which a rune was drawn with dark ink.



Deep Woods Of Norrland, many days later

The chilling wind took the cold to the bones of the ageing kaballist. The fine snow powder was beginnig to cover him and his horse in crystal white.
This had to be the way. He could not fail. Yet, desperation was slowly sinking its cold claws into the heart of the rune-caster. He had ridden more than he thought he would need, and still, there was no sign of the Old Belivers.

The wind began to blow stronger, as is whipped by an unseen power, spraying shards of ice into the eyes of the lone wanderer. The falling snow danced under the whim of the wind, the trees slowly groaning under the power of the growing storm.

His horse struggled against the elements, but its rider saw that it was at the end of its power. He had find shelter, but the forest offered him none.

Then, out of the grey skies, lightning struck into a nearby pine, cracking it in two with the loud thunder of a thousand cannons. The horse, frightened, truned from a slow paced crawl into a maddened sprint, his rider clinging into its fur with nails biting into the flesh. Suddenly, the world fell silent and dark and cold. Bureus felt that he had fallen of his steed, and was now lying face down in the unforgiving cold hands of the snow. He tried to get up, tried to continue with his mission, tried to complete, the Ritual, but the wind did not yield to him. He closed his eyes, awaitnig the Halls Of Hel in his heart.


A fur-cloacked, coarse hand reached into the snow and dragged an unconcious body away from the fury of the elelments, into a safe haven nearby.

[thrashing mad]

Man it`s great! So our main character Bureus have access to king of Sweden? Grand plan seems to be quite advanced then. Really good descriptions very suggestive and surreal at once. Like Lovecraft mixed with Lynch and Scandinavian mythology - can`t wait for next update

[Herbert West]

Actually, Bureus was an exsisting man, and the main court alchemist/magicken/tutor/kaballist of Gustav Adoplh

[Khaosliege]

Herbert West:

\m/
....

It took me a lot to figure out what this symbol means!
It a clear sign that I am too old to surf the net and that I should retire and become a grumpy old man.

Bureus initiation journey begins in an interesting way and I look forward to see what happens next... up to know it seems to follow a classical "quest for the Grail" scheme ...(the symbolic meaning of the Holy Grail is truly not far away from that of the runes) ... but it is too early to see..

Is there any special reason for the choiche of the Odal?

Carry on!

P.S.
The title of the chapter made me feel a little sad...
Quorthon was a great man..

[Herbert West]

Staves

Dark Woods Of Norrland, Hamlet of Hœnirby


Look, the wanderer is coming to his senses! What shall we do with him? - said a young, angry voice out of somewhere beyond the reach of Bureus' still-shaken hearing - He has violated our territory! Vinterblót is near, he will be a perfect offering to the Gods!

A loud slap interrupted the vicious speak. Now, an older, calmer voice began:
Silence, you fool! Loki has taken what remained of your judgement! Didnt you see the rune on his colthes? He is the one sent to us.
A middle-aged, melodic tone responded with an edge of insult in the word:
Bah! Everyone can wear a rune! Besides, what is he to inherit? This rotting hamlet we are forced to call home?
The old, calm man interrupted once again:
I am your godi. I have guided our community to many a perilous day. You all saw the runes of blood on the snow near our most ancient runestone. And yet, you dare to doubt the wisdom of Oden?

At his words, the room fell silent. Buerus could only hear the heavy thumping of age-old cow-hide boots and an old staff on the cold earth floor of the longhouse.

A hand tuched his shoulders. He slowly opened his eyes, and looked at the man beside his improvised bed of hay. He saw a very old face with a very long, snow-white beard, and from underneath the beard, a silver hammer necklace was showing.

Stand up, chosen of Odin. You are welcome, and safe here.

Bureus forced himself to stand up, his legs acheing from the cold snow he lay in, then, as he did at the kings court, bowed down before the wise man.

No need to bow, traveller. We have all awaited your arrival. Excuse for the harshness of my folk. It is very rare we get visitors here, and none of them have left in the past sixhundred years. -seeing the expression on Bureus' face, he added, calmingly: No need to worry, you will leave here alive and stronger than you came. Tell us your name, for the vision only told about your arrival, but not about yourself.

Johannes Bureus, tutor of the King Of Svealand. -responded the kaballist, his voice still unsure.

Then, come, and meet those who would have had you slain a few moments before -joked the old godi- This rash young man is the leader of our few remaining berserkers, Þórri Gripsson -the wise man gestured to the owner of the voice Bureus heard first - , and this silver-tounged man is our kvæðamaður, Sveinbjörn Beinteinsson - now it was time fro the owner of the second voice to bow before the court alchemist.

Bureus nodded towards both of them, but had to realise that he was very, very hungry. As if he had read his mind, the village elder guided him to a table groaning with freshly-roasted wild and strong-smelling mead.

Eat, for tomorrow, you will have great tasks to perform.


Later that day, in the longhouse


The full meal and the sweet mead filled Bureus with strenght, and he was now stinnig comfortably on a finely-decorated chair while listening to the godi. He had listened for many hours now.

And this -the godi gestured towards an old tome - is our only copy of the Edda, the Deeds Of The Gods. You must have heard of it in your tall stone city. - Bureus nodded- But, of course, we have removed the taint of the Nameless One from its words. Snorri was a good man, worthy of the title of godi, but he added a bit too much and substracted even more. For four generations, our goðar have corrected his mistakes, added what he substracted, and substracted what he added, with the help and by the grace of Freya and Odin. I have personally written all I know about the runes onto the last pages. Now, it is complete. It hold all we know about the Nine Worlds. Take it with you.
Bureus was shocked at this.
But what of your village? What of your wisdom?
The godi responded with the calmness of someone who has known and accepted Orlong from the day the blood was first sprayed upon his face.
The Gods know, what they are doing. For the new to be born, the old must die. Even Ragnarok is but a change.
The kaballist was puzzled, he did not understand. Soon, he would, though.
And these, the godi gestured to even older tomes and tablets and bones with runes upon them, are our sagas, collected from the last of our runesingers. They tell you about the deeds of Man, of our great ancestros, of the time when Ingaland feared the roar of our sons. These times shall come again.
A tear of former glories ran down the cheek of the old man. He did not wipe it away.

But now, sleep, tomorrow, the old shall die.



Well into the night, outside the hamlet


Bureus could not sleep well upon the hard earth floor. Suddenly, he heard a noise, akin to the growl of an angry bear. He got to his feet, and drawn by some primal instinct waking up in his guts (something he though had long defeated with meditation and self-restrain), left the longhouse and followed the noise.


Halls Of Freya, Asgard


The long-dead godis looked down upon Midgard. They were all smiling. It had begun now.