Under the raven banner (A Norse Scandinavia AAR)

[Herbert West]

The Art Of Coffins

In The Court Of Christian the Fouth, København


The Lion was striding back and fourth in the hall that would soon open into the danish kings audience chamber. He travelled to København relatively alone, and in the greatest amount of secrecy possible for a royal visit. This was to be no pompous show-off for the crowds, but a detailed meeting behind closed doors.

This secrecy saved him from the usual onslaught of courtly riff-raff, bootlickers, opportunists, lowly nobles wanting to acompany him to show their "satus", even lower nobles almost begging for a title, a promotion, a place in the army, anything to clim up the social ladder, and, of course, the same, or, even worse would have happened at the danish court, with the adition of some toady nobles openly, or secretly, trying to get itno his favours, something that bordered on treason.

Normally, he would not have minded this that much, as getting allies to stab your enemy into his back was a good thing, but now, he would need all his skills, patience, and power, to convince Christian to declare war.

Finally, the door opened, and a cream-puff, irritating court member told the Lion that Christian the Fourth, the Most Powerfull and Terrifying King of Denmark, Duke of København, duke of this, claimant of that, and so forth, and so forth. The Lion interrupted halfways, pushed the pale-faced aide, and stepped into the room.

Christian raised his head, and motioned everyone else out of the room.

Roar then, oh, "Lion of the North". - his mocking tone was dripping with irony.

I see your ego matches the amount of your titles. Oh, and speaking of these titles and claims, dont be so sure upon that one of Scania. But anyways, we are both Kings, we both now how politics work. So, lets skip this fanfare, and be about our business.

Surely, if you dont want to hear about Scania anymore. I, for one, am perfectly fine with this. Now, I hear you.


Having expended the necessary show-off arrogance, Christians tone was now devoid of the extra arrogance, and only the arrogance of a king remained in there. The Lion was content with that. He knew he would be the underdog here.

Sitting down, he told the king of the danes:

I come to you with a proposal. I am sure you have heard about the events in Bohemia.

Indeed, I have. My spies are very good, you see. I heard you finally expelled the catholics from your land.

Yes, I have, but this is not the matter now.

This, this room here, is in my court, and I deceide what the matter is.

Very well, then I shall leave, if you continue to act like a ten year old girl.

The stab hit home, Christians face turned pale, and his voice became calm.

Sit down, and talk.

That is better suited for you, King Of Danemark. Now, surely, you must also know that this violence will not remain confined to Bohemia, but will spill into all of Germany, and create a truly huge war, one with many profists to be reaped. And, I am also sure that the protestant powers have already asked you as well to protect them.

Ineed, they did. And it seems they asked you as well. Now, am I right to assume that you turned their offer down as well, and that you come crawling into my court to beg for my assisatnce.

I dont beg, I barter. You will finally get that blasted fort you wanted in the treaty, and Sweden will offer you some of her coffers of gold to cover a part of your expenses.

Seems almost reasonable. Almost. What guarantee do we have that you will not stab me in the back?

My word of honour?

Its something, but I want something a little more handfast. What about Sweden paying for ten thousand mercenaries in forward, so I cna be sure your economy will be crippled for some years, while I reap the profits.

Damn you, but, well, if these are your terms. What do you promise in return?

I will attack the catholics in five years at utmost, and I will keep raiders, pirates, and everything else off your neck, and, I will even open up my ports to your traders. Its not like you controll the cruial forst, after all - the king grinned. - and now, let us discuss the loot. You can have what you take east of Scania, bu I want Holstein and all its neighbouring cities and ports. Also, Sweden may not take any land west of Danemark.

That is unacceptable. We need a port west of you. We both now these treaties will at best last as long as we live.

Good, you can have a blasted port. under one condition.

Namely?

Sweden must provide coffins, made from the finest Norrlandian pine wood, for all fallen danes. I think, a forward delivery of ten thousand wouldnt hurt.

[Herbert West]

Of Gardens

House Of The Wolf And The Bear


The year of 1620 arrived in Uppsala with a chilling bite. Thick, white snow covered the landscape, the tracs of animals and man quickly obscured by the ever-present winds. Still, despite the strong frost, there was an upbeat mood in the city. Carpenters were working day and night to provide the requested coffins for the King, for Gustavus had accepted the bizarre deal offered by Christian the Fourth. The price for ten thousand coffins was quite a drain on the royal treasury, and this was only the tiniest of costs that came with bribing the danes, but the money was son to be flowing in to the treasury. The House Of The Wolf And The Bear was also comissioning new wings to be added, for more and more woman of the warriors were now moving into the house. So were craftsman, for the warriors may have been excelent in the trade of keeping their tools and weapons in shape, they were, after all, warriors, and excercises drained a lot of their time. Besides, some craftsman of the city actually roumored that these northeners were more skilled in crafts then they were, and, thus, sent their sons, and some of their appetriences, to learn from this distant, but yet ever-so-related man from their past.

New warriors were also starting to flock in to the house, most of them drawn there by the call of the void in their hearts, and its yearning for being filled, some of them by the promise of power in arms, and, lastly, some of them commanded there by their king, and now taking up residence in the House, for in there, they could more-or-less hide from the noise and hectic of their city.

And, of course, there were those few ones, who were drawn there by the roumors, or by the direct power of, Bureus, the Godi.

The old man was lecturing one such ambitious fellow, a disillusioned little minister from some götalandian church.

So fate is predestined?

Bureus sighed. These christian thesises. So difficult to overrrule, so difficult to remove.

You do still not understand. Why do you think that mortals can so easily understand the actions and designs of our Gods?

Once, I thought that I could understand my God. Or, rather, that I could understand creation, this world, and, trough it, God, the All-Father himself.

But how can you understand creation, if you no longer truly believe in what you call, "miracles"?

What do you mean, master?

Your faith, that of Luther, has banished the saints, has banished much or the rituals, rewritten your holy texts, has robbed your mass of much of its secret and otherwordly meanings. You do not longer have masses in latin, you do not longer believe that you are really eating and drinking the body and blood of your saviour, Christ.

Yes, this is true. But still, what has this to do with not understanding the world? Is the knife of skepticism not suited better for man to understand Nature, than the clpouded judgement of faith?

Are you without faith?

Of course not! I have seen the Great Ash, as you have shown me! I do believe in our Gods!

And yet, you claim that skepticism if the best tool for everything. It is not. Skepticism in only the first step on a very long road. You see, protestantism, by giving people the knife skapticism, but taking from the the warm hug of faith, has created a huge void in the hearts of man, one that makes them mad, one that always yearns for filling, yet, very few can see this.

This does make sense, but, with all due respect, my old faith did have a God!

Oh, yes, it had one. An afar, cold, distant, solitary God, with no messengers, no promise of true salvation, no real feeling and substance left of him here on this world. You took everything from catholicism that was still alive, that sill glowed under the huge crust of human stupidity and filth that slowly surrounded Rome. You wanted to throw out the filth, but instead of that, you threw out the glow. Now, your faith is but an empty husk, a substinence, a wine turned sour, yet forced down your throat. Was not this realistaion that drove you unto your journey of search, that ended here, with me and with your Old Gods?

Yes, yes. But I still dont understand how this keept me from understanding the world, and God.

Bureus smacked his pupil on the head.

Did you feel that?

Yes, I did. What are you trying to prove?

Bureus now levitated a few inches above the ground.

Do you see this?

Yes. But how? Why? With what powers?

Now, you see. You cna explain me smacking you on the head without miracles. You can not explain me levitating without them. Remove miracles, and you remove a part of the world. You can not understand Midgard without understanding Asgard.

I think I am beginnig to see. But still, about Fate.

Ah, yes, our debate has wandered off too much. Now, you see, your ultimate Fate, where, and how you will die, is woven of fine silk by the Well Of Urd. But, although your Fate is written, you can later your own course with your own actions.

The pupil gave a puzzled look.

Ach, let us take an easier metaphor. Fate is like a garden, with no limits. You can plant in the garden whatever you want, but once you reach its limits, for even endless things can, and do have limits, you run out of space. Same with fate. You can do what you want, but when you die, you die.

What an odd concept.

The debate dragged on for some time more.

Elsewhere, the King draw up paths and wrote notes onto a large map. Coffers were to be refilled by the most easy of ways. By emptying those of someone else.

[Herbert West]

To all readers I have not lost yet:

Sorry for the very spare updating, but the university is powering up to full steam, using my coal, to complete the metaphor.

I'll try to keep some regulatrity in updates, like at least once a week, but I cant promise anything aside from:

This is not dead! Nor will it die in the future.

[Piko]

Very nice, *subscribed*

[Herbert West]

Thank you!

Good news: I'll update this week (probnably friday).
Second good news: once I figure out my weekly shedule, and hex it a bit, I'll probably start a story about the templars in the CK section.

And now, probability and theoretical mechanics homeworks. Yay!


Oh, and a little teaser: Some chapter titles from around the peace of Nystad:
-The devil rides out
-Dragons of the north
-Bræður munu berjast
-War in Asgard

[Herbert West]

Whack-a-pole

Outskirts of Riga, november 1620

The first fangs of winter were beninnig to gnaw away at the land, frost chilling the sunrise. The main body of the swedish army was trying its best to stand firm against the sinking temperatures. The sun was already high up in the air, and only some smoldering told tales of the fires that the Lions paws warmed themselves at night.
The Lions roars, the great cannons cast in the finest iron and bronze, coming straight out of the scorching great maws of royal cannon-workshops, were also still, their iron mouth spewing no death, for now.
Fighting, all in all, had reached a low level, as both armies were preoccupied with getting set up for winter.

In his own tent, the Lion himself strode about like a chained animal. This was not the way he wanted this war to progress, damn it! It was ment to be but a small raid, securing even more baltic ports, and filling his own coffers by the oldest and easiest way known to mankind: looting.

How much did this blasted war cost me until now? - he yelled at one of his aidies.

I can not tell you precisely, your majesty. - the courtman said, bowing.

Then tell me inprecisely, you dolt! Ach, no, whats more important, tell me, how much did my soldiers get me in gold?

Sadly, not too much in terms of surplus, mylord.

Thrice-damned! - the King cried out, and then stepped to a camp-desk, and observed the delicately detailed map of Riga and its surrondings on it.

I want this city taken by the months end! You, there - he pointed to one of his messengers- order that lazy arse of a count who is in charge of our cannons to open fire in two hours. I want that northern bastion levelled by tomorrow! Go!

You two, get me all fiscal reports you can get. I want to know how many a coin stopped flowing down here!

Angrily, he trodded out of the tent, his cohort of advisors and messengers close behind. With a wave of a hand, he ordered most of them to stay where they were, and he only took a band of four man with him, to the stalls.

Þórri was one of them. As they rode along the tents of the camping army, the smell of raw soil, and the stench of man filled his nostrils. His mind was taken back by these impulses to the days when his world was a small village in the northernmost forests of Midgard. The picture of his mother taking him on his first trip to a lake close by brought joyfull memories, yet, tears flowed down his wrinkled face. For all that, his village, his mother, his father, the strong blacksmith, was no more. He tried his best to cope with rememberance, but, every time his past life flashed in, it always ended with the picture of a great fire, almost burned into his eyes. He accepted the will of the Gods, and the way of the world long ago, but he was still angry at the World for having turned in such ways. He was angry at everything not norse for having turned his peacefull world upside down, he was angry at the christians for forcing his new Godi to commit such at thing, that bordered on crime.

Most of his anger, though, had long lost its target, and now burned with a self-consuming, acid flame inside his heart. He had long been searching for a target, burting into shouts and then tears occasionly, targeting his companions, or Bureus, or some of the recruits. He took a look at the city, and then, he felt a surge of rejuvenation, a feeling of purpose, finally, a vent for all that steam bulit up.

For he saw one of the church-towers of the city, its rock structure piercing the sky. And this picture, with that thrice-damned cross upon its peak, reminded him that all his suffering was caused by the Nameless God, who had denied first his people, then his village, and now, him, the way and method of a true life, of a life of old, of a life with his Gods. Damn him! Damn his followers! Damn every wretched golden embelm of this self-righteous, balant, ignorant arsehead of a diety, and thrice-cursed shall be all his followers!

His cry of rage sounded only inside, not a sound or tell-tale sign penetrated the hardened shell of his face. Only a faint smile flickered in the edge of his mouth, for he knew how he was to give his King (a christian, but he saw that the King no longer belived in the word of these priestly word-mongers) Riga, with all its riches, on a silver plate.


The small group strode, ironicaly peacefully, on the swedish controled side for more than an hour now, and had reached the sea.

Þórri, do you see that fort over there on that islet? That is the fort of Daugavgrīva, also under our siege. If we do not take these forts by the spring, all commerce will stop here.

That might force them to surrender, my leige. - responded the warrior, though he did not understand why the King told him this. It was ballantly obviuos. Did he take him for a fool?

Surrender, yes. But, I want money from this little venture. Riga will be of no use if all the merchants leave and all burghers die off, you see.

I do, my lord. And I can help you.

What do you have in mind? -asked the Lion, after a minute of silence.

The town will be yours by the day after tomorrow, I promise. We will go into the breach.

Adolphus thought this to be another show-off of the berserker. He responded coldly: There is no breach.

Yet. I have seen the destruction that your metal dragons cause. Give us a breach three man wide, and we will take the city.

Hmmmm. - was the response. Then, the King turned sharply, and galopped away, towards the camp, his followers close behind. Þórri was happy. He would get his revenge soon.

[Herbert West]

Into The Breach

The berserker's camp, the night

A heated debate was raging between the berserkers and their leader:


With all due respect, Þórri, this was most foolish! You may be our elected leader, but we still have our own council!

Are you afraid? Is that really fear I hear in your voice, my brothers??

Þórri, what has happened to you? You are not yourself since we set foot on this land? Should you not enjoy the fight? Has your spirit for war burned off?

Nonsense! I can feel the burning urge inside me. Perhaps it is truly you who has lost his will?

Nay! But we ougth to wait. Our methods are old, and this new art of war is alien to us, isnt it? I know Yngve has been studying this new kind of battle, but we have not? Perhaps you are to old, set in your ways, unable and unwilling to aknowledge that our methods need refining?

Our way of battle has been good enough for the last thousand years, and will be good enough for the next thousand years!

He threw his sword into the ground, driving its blade feet-deep into the earth, and thundered out of the great tent. He could no longer hide his tears, and did not wish his companions to see them. Their words stabbed deep into his heart. Perhaps he really did lose his will to refine, to learn, to live.

To live? Was this it? Was he really lost to this world, as the world was lost to him? Was there really nothing more to live for, except a glorious death? Gods!

He fell down to his knees, praying aloud, in the most archaic tounge he has ever heard, to his god up in Ásgarðr. He prayed for a clear mind, or a big fight the next day, so he may die with honour worthy of a berserker.

The Gods granted him both.

He gathered himself up from the ground, and walked back into the tent. His brothers were waiting for him in silence, for theymay not agree with him, but he was their leader, and they were oath- and honour-bound to obey him.

You mentioned new arts of war. What better way to learn them than a battle? Also, never forget that our Úlfhéðnar brothers are away in the siege of that fortress by the mound? Am I the only one who wants to show them that we are still the better of the two?

That sank. The Úlfhéðnar and the Berserkers may have been brothers in arms and in faith, but the rivality between them was always high. Noone of the Berserkers wanted to miss an opportunity to impress the other band with their exploits. All agreed that by the next nightfall, Riga was to fall.

The night then shook with the roars of the berserkers, as they danced aronud a great bonfire, calling to the Bear Father to grant his powers to them. Slowly, the dancing man transformed into something else. Their bodies seemed to grow stronger, more muscular, their sight sharpened, their ears now picking up the snorting of those swedish soldiers who could still sleep, their nostrils smelling the earthworms beneath their feet, their tounges tasting the air, their minds becoming more and more obsessed with the urge to hunt for human prey, to rend their enemy into parts with bare hands, or to gut them with their great swords. The shouting, dancing, the noise, the light, the aura of otherworldly power this ritual emitted brought fear into the hearts of the defenders of Riga, and brought a fear-mixed awe into the hearts of the swedes, for they now felt the Gods on their side. Riga will fall!


The next afternoon, near the walls of Riga

The meeting with the Kings cannoneers was surprisingly easy. Of course, the Kings presence and his clear orders helped a lot. At the signal of a sigle little gun, all swedish cannons were to fire at a single section of the wall, the berserkers waiting nearby. A thousand swedish soldiers stood further away, ready to exploit thev gap made by the berserkers.

As the time of that fatefull shot drew near, the berserkers had trouble controlling the rage inside them, some of them visibly shaking from it. Their eyes hungered for blood, their blades drawn and shimmering in the sunlight.

First, a small "bang", and then came the thunder of the cannons, like tha thunder of angry fire-beasts from the Múspellsheimr, the iron balls shattering the walls. The stone cried out lound under this assault, and gave away. A section of the walls collapsed with great noise.

Commanded by their rage, the berserkers charged forward, howling like rabid beasts. Þórri was the first to enter the gap, cutting down two defenders with a single well-aimed blow. The rest of his brethren followed close behind. Their battle-cry, a praise to Odin and Thórr shattered the will of the first line sent to met them.

The Bear-warriors, like thundering whirlwinds of destruction, brought terrifying carnage to bear. Their great swords cut trough the hurried defenders like kinves trough tallow. Their cries froze the blood of their enemies. Þórri, thier leader stood at the front of the carnage, cutting a bloody swath trough the ranks of the latvian and polish defenders. His sight now only saw men as prey, his ears only hearing their death-cries, his nostrils smelling their sweat, their blood, the stench of their spilled guts. His hans were slippery with blood, and he threw his great sword into one of the defneders, then gripped the next one with his bare hands, squeezing his throat, and breaking it with ease. He ran forward, almost on all fours, towards his next foe, and, wtih the senses of the bear, and his power, ripped the veins from his nech with a single movement, then threw his body into the quickly-grwoing pile of dead. By now, the Bear had taken over him almost completely, he was almost reduced to simply watching and enjoying the carnage around him. His next enemy met his death in an eyeblink, as Þórri's hands cracked trough his ribs into his abdomen, and ripped him open at an instant.

But even a bear grow tired. He felt his movements slow down, almost to the point before the ritual. His hands had now difficulty hoding onto his targets, and he noticed a deep wound in his side, caused minutes ago by a sword or axe hitting him. He felt no pain, but he knew he would die soon. Fueled by this relevation, his strenght returned once more, to burn itself out completly, and he threw himself at the next polack, grabbing his sword by its blade, cutting his own fingers half off int hte process, hitting the pole in the face with his swords button, and charged toward a group of more organized fighters, and impaled them on his sowrd. But their weapons had not left him unharmed, for he felt sharp pain in his ribs. He looked down, and saw his own guts spilled all over the ground.

He heard a beautyfull song next, and, looking up, saw a bridge streching up inot the sky, and saw a Valkyre flying towards him, holding out one hand towards him. His purpose had been fulfilled. He showed his brothers how a leader has to die, and earned himself a place in Valhöll, beside all his ancestors.

After the battle was over, his brtohers found Þórri with a smile on his face.

The next night, near the sea

Sadly, all the berserkers knew that Þórri could not be buried with the proper rite, as as long as the swedish army was still christian, they would at veryleast not understand it. They also lacked a proper godi, so they gave their borther's corpse a burial their own way.

They found a small ship nearby, left behind by the poles, probably. Þórri's body was placed on the ship, along with what meager posessions he had, for he was a warrior, not a men of waelth, but a men of strenght and noble spirit.
They gathered what little firewood the sea washed ashore, and built a great pyre to place their borthers' body upon.
The ship was launched into the sea by nightfall, a fiery arrow fired into it when it was already in deep water. All night long, as long as the ship burned, the berserkers sang songs of lament, rímúrs of times long gone, told sagas to the sea and to their borthers spirit.

The bears in the nearby forests howled for three days.



A year later, in the kings courtroom

The Lion of The North was pleased. The exploiuts of his newest warriors brought him great wealth. Riga fell on the very day the berserkers assaulted it, the defender shocked by the carnage brought by these ancient warriors.
Daugavgriva fell a few moths later, and the Poles agreed to a truce. Sweden gained Riga and its surrounding parts. A new port was now giving all its taxes to the swedish crown. New gold now flowed into the treasury. Soon, Sweden was to controll al trade in the baltic. And then, Sweden would go to war in Germany.

[Herbert West]

Come on, guys, are the updates really that horrible?

[Thorgrimm]

Come on, guys, are the updates really that horrible?

Actually, I quite enjoyed it. I like the way you allowed Þórri to go out as a proud Norse warrior, leading the charge into Riga. Good stuff.

I have just been silent, but have not abandoned this AAR.

Remember, keep an eye on the number of views, that is a good indicator if folks are still reading your AAR or not.




Cheers, Þórgrímr

[lordvagrant]

This is a great story. The images invoked of the beserkers is wonderful.

[Herbert West]

Whoo, commenters

Þórgrímr: at aldri deyr dómr of dauðan hvern.

lordvagrant: Welcome aboard.

And a sepcial math cookie to anyone identifying the picture of the last update.

[Ahura Mazda]

And a sepcial math cookie to anyone identifying the picture of the last update.

Something you draw in paint?

[Herbert West]

Suuri Shamaani

House Of The Wolf And The Bear


Almost two years had passed since the siege of Riga. Proseprity and peace had returned to the Swedish Kingdom. The treasury was full to its limits, even after paying Christian his bribe. The swedish army was expanded at a quick pace, gold providing steel for swedes, and payment for any mercenraies Adolphus wished to employ.

The House expanded as well, albeit at a slower rate. The successor for Þórri has been found, a young but energetic berserker, with the claws of the Bear now marking the skin of his back, a testimony of the unusually violent choosing. Perhaps his role was to be more violent than that of his predecessor, as his name, Aggi implied.

New rqruits were also flocking into the house, the tales of bravery under Riga inspiring many a young man to join the House, first only in arts of war, then, slowly, answering the call of their hearts, in faith as well. A new wing was built to accommodate them, the Lion’s Wing, named after the King Of Sweden.

Bureus was preparing for a new lesson to be thought to these newcomers, when a black bird burst trough an open window into his room. The animal was very large, with a body akin to an owl, but jet-black instead of the normal colours. It gave a screech that froze the blood of Bureus, and then flew straight towards him.

Bureus found himself awake, in a landscape obscured by mist, with light seeming to glow from inside the mist, rather then coming from a sun high above. The heavens were dark, with patches of black ink as clouds, and unreal, formless, eerie coloured cold was where the soil should have been.

Sielulintu, the bird of souls, circled high above, his voice now that o fan old man:

- Johannes Thomae Bureus Agrivillensis, great gödi of Sweden, I am Väinö, shaman of Finmark. Follow the bear.

And Otso, the great bear spirit of Finnland, metsän kuningas and mesikämmen came. His great body thundered trough the mists. He made something like a bow before the gödi, and let him mount. Bureus knew that whatever it was he has been called for, must be very urgent, because the Great Bear Spirit does not allow the honour of riding him to but the very few select, the chosen of all finns.

They travelled the netherworld, the insubstantial barrier, the sea of non-determination, the land of change and unchange between the real world and Tounela, the lands of the dead.
Bureus expected the bear to take him upwards, into the real world, so he may speak to the shaman, but Otso plunged down into the blackness of the river Tuonela, and swam trough it with ease, for the waters only repell those who are alive, and Otso was neither alive nor dead, for he was the power of forests and rivers, of meadows and darkwood, living, breathing, dying, and being reborn constantly. Bureus, on the other hand, felt sick, the dark waters and their vapours going trough his spirit, and punishing him for being alive. Tuonen piika was far away, occupied with the truly dead, however, and they crossed without accidents, for had they met the maiden of Death, Bureus would surely have been cast back into the lands of the living.

The isle of Tuoni is a sorry place when viewed with eyes that are alive, and used to the real world, or, as it was with Bureus, used to seeing other lands of the dead, Valhöll, and not Helheimr.

Otso thunderd back into the void as the made landfall, leaving Bureus alone int he Isle Of The Dead. A lone man came towards him, his figure uncertain, opaque.

- Greetings, high gödi! I am Väinö, shaman of Finnland. Tread carefully on this land, for we, who are alive, can only be there as long as we are undiscovered.

- Your body seems strange indeed. Tell me, great shaman, what has become of mine?

- You are, as I am, hovering between life, and death, int he nether mists you have come trough. A Sielulintu watches over my body in the northern reaches of Lappland, where the Swedish priests have not yet dared venture, and my faith is strong. The bird carries my soul back and forth between the lands of those alive and those dead, never resting in either place. As for your body, I have given you a bird to guard your soul and body during this journey, but I fear this thread is becoming weaker by the minute. I have been sent here, and have called you with an urgent offer from our Gods, Athi and Akka, Ukko and Illmarinen, Louhi and Taipo, Tursas and Perkele, all gods, goddesses and spirits that reside within the halls of our faith.

- It is an honour to be your guest, and to be of service to your gods. What is your errant?

- Our Gods offer an alliance. They have seen your exploits, have seen the Halls of Ásgarðr grow strong again, Vallhöll shining again in all its glory. They have seen that your people are slowly finding their way back to their own faith, not that falsehood of the Nameless God and his bastard son. – The shaman spat with anger at the last words. Clearly, he was not very fond of Christendom – Our Gods wish to see such success in Finnmark as well, but the Swedish priests have turned many of my kind against their original gods. Your army, your gods, your faith can free us of Christian oppression, but we will not regain our own faith thus.
So, my Gods offer and alliance, to be lasting as long as the World is, against the Nameless One and his servants.

- Your Gods want us to help you cleanse yourself of Christian taint, to grow stong again? What do they offer in return?

- I offer eternal brotherhood and companionship to all Swedes in the name of my people, of Old Faith or of Christian blindness, and my Gods will fight alongside your Gods when Ragnarok comes. Our Gods lands will become one with the lands of your Gods, prayers to anyone strengthening all Gods in Ásgarðr and our Halls alike.

- In the name of my people, I can, and do accept your bond, for swede and finn shall be brothers in arms, hearts, soul, spirit and faith until the end of the world, but I have to discuss this with my Gods. I can not promise anything, you understand.

- I do, and my Gods do. Hurry, the thread is getting thinner by the minute. I give you knowledge of our kind, so that you may offer it to your folk and Gods. Hurry!

A great pull turned Bureus’s world upside down. He felt the cold water of the river around him, and then, from high above, a bird appeared, and took him back to the land of the living.

He awoke, in his own body, covered with sweat. The bird was nowhere to be seen.

Now, a great work awaited him. Forging an alliance between Gods.

[Rex Angliae]

Herbert, Just thought you'd like to know that I have chosen you as Character WritAAR of the week for your fine protrayal of Bureus in this epic tale. Congratulations!

[rcduggan]

congrats on your AARward! well deserved!

[Herbert West]

Herbert, Just thought you'd like to know that I have chosen you as Character WritAAR of the week for your fine protrayal of Bureus in this epic tale. Congratulations!

Thank you very much!

:bows:

And dont worry, neither AAR is abandoned, I just have not found the time to update

[Herbert West]

Forging

War council of the Æsir, in the fields of Ásgarðr


The Æsir were now all gathered, as were the representatives of the Vanir, for most of them were away, tending the needs of Miðgarðr. Óðinn sat at the highest of seats, addressing the Gods:

We are gathered here today to discuss an offer of alliance from the Gods Of Finns. As it is our custom, we sit council. We hear you now, Envoy Of Ukko!

A great, brown bear made its way to the centre of the circle, and addressed the One-eyed:

Hear me, Great Óðinn, for I speak for all Gods Of Finnland! Our followers are hunted! Our lands are taken over! Our memory and our strength fades with every day the Nameless One walks on our lands! We have seen your strength rise! We have seen the numbers of your followers grow! We have seen that it is in your power to help us get rid of the Nameless Plague! Therefore, we offer you our alliance.

This an issue of great importance, Honoured Envoy.

And I am against it! – interrupted Týr, shouting. - You all remember what happened the last time we trusted one outside our world! You all remember what happened when we let our gard down and let White Christ sap away our power! By this missing hand of mine, this shall not pass!

I must agree with you, Týr. Is it not so that in times past our followers used to battle each other for glory, and raced each other in whom we may look more favourable upon? – Freyja told, in a much calmer voice. Why should that change? Are we thus, not enemies?

This is true, honoured Freyja, but the times have changed, and we have never viewed you as our enemies. Our followers may battle each other when there is not greater threat around, but we must all see that either we unite against the nameless one, or we are destroyed, forever, with no tell-tale sign of us left in the mortal world! – howled the bear, shaken in pain.

You speak wise, yet your temper boils. I see further than any of the Æsir, fear better than any of the Vanir, and I, Heimdallr tell all of you, the speaks the truth. I see the forces of the Nameless One slowly pushing the followers of Finnish Gods back. Already, only the northernmost areas of Lappland remain untouched! If we act to help them, we must act now!

The Finns are honourable people, and Honour lies with their Gods. I trust your word, Great Bear. To you, doubters, I say, do our warriors not worship the Bear as well, and beg him for their strength? I say we accept their offer. – Forseti backed Heimdallr

Hear! Hear! – most of the Gods shouted, with a few exceptions, one of them, Þórr, rising to speak.

There is truth in your words, Bear, but our followers battled each other in times past, and may do so again. What is to tell this wont happen.

Mighty Þórr, sadly, there are many servants of the Nameless One, and our servants are few in number. And if you want a fight, you can always journey to me – the bear grinned, and charged towards the Thunder God.

Þórr laughed hard, and packed the bear, and, laughing still, shouted:

So it shall be! Let all the Nine Worlds hear! From this day onward, Gods Of Finnmark and We are allies until Ragnarök!

Óðinn, One-Eyed, thumped his staff. The Æsir and the Vanir had given their word. The alliance was now, forged.

Good. Let us now discuss the alliance. Who shall be revered in Finnmark? Us, or your kind? And what of the lands of the Semigalls and of those lands that the mortals call Estonia and Latvia?

We know that there was many a God worshipped there, some of the folk worshipping us, some of the folk worshipping you, by different names, and custom. If this alliance is to last, we offer you this: every offering, every prayer, every deed done in the name of either our followers shall be divided in two, and each given to you, and us.

But what of the lands of the Baltic Sea? Those lands are empty to both our faiths? And what of Finnmark? We rarely visit the souls there. I agree with the division, but we must divide by our followers, not by two. Were we to half, it would sap our strength now, and give you power beyond your proportions, and we are fair Gods.

Very well then, so shall it be. It is our custom, and, I know, it is your too, to arrange a marriage between allied partners. We offer the hand of the daughter of Tapio and Mielikki, Tellervo, godess of forests and rivers.

Forseti, longing for a wife, stepped forward and offered himself as the Æsir part of the seal. The Great Bear agreed. Foresti and Tellervo would wed the very day, with Tellervo taking up residence inside Forsetis halls, and Forseti helping finns whenever there was dispute.

The All-father shouted, his voice filled with joy:

Let us feast, for great is this day, when Gods wed and ally!



Uppsala, the King Palace


Though there was an agreement between the Gods, it fell to Bureus to implement this among mortal man.

Bureus, old tutor, tell me, why should I let some of your man wander into Lappland? What are they to do there? Are they not the last of their kind?

Yes, they are, but your majesty, have I not told you about the fierce stock of northern man that breed there? You already owe one quick victory to our own northman, what powers in battle could our army have with two group of such fierce man?

But our authority there is weak already, why would they fight for me? What could I offer to man who are content with living in fur-coated tents and hunting game?

Glory.

The King laughed. You could be serious, my friend. No, tell me, what do they want for their assistance. I know well enough that nothing is free. Ruling has thought me that.

The authority of the church is already weak there…

So you advise I strengthen it?

No, no, on the contrary. It needs to be loosened. Such fierce man have to find their own way to God.

The King thought about this. Already, there were roumors of him abandoning the Church, and withdrawing them with some fabricated claim form that territory would certainly not help. On the other hand, he knew that one thing would surely satisfy the church: blood of catholics. And blood needed warriors to spill it. Damn it all, let them have their freedom if they die for Sweden in return!

I need all man I can get. Very well, take your man, and expel the church. But proceed with caution. I do not want you to ruin my reputation.

No word of your actions shall reach the Church, mylord.




The next morning, Bureus sent twenty of his best pupils to de-christen Finnmark. The first pillars of the Alliance were now built among man as well.

[Herbert West]

This is, as of yet, a non-gameplay AAR. Ingame pics will come if and when I decide that they are needed. Besides, in the story, we are barely in the 1630's.

[Plushie]

This is a most excellent AAR and I look forward to future installments!

I wonder, might some backwoods Lithuanians who claim to follow the Church but truthfully observe their yule be brought into the fold as well?

[Ahura Mazda]

This is, as of yet, a non-gameplay AAR. Ingame pics will come if and when I decide that they are needed. Besides, in the story, we are barely in the 1630's.

Will the AAR go on for another 200 years?