The Adventures of the Crovan Clan

Skule Half-Dansson Crovan

King of All Norway of Sweden and of Denmark


Thoughts on the Civil War – the latter years, 1287 – 1293











Today Arne the Traitor, King of England agreed to peace.

I so hate that man.










You might as well start beating them up now Hakon. When you grow up, you’ll still be fighting them. Only then they’ll be your vassals.

I love that boy. He has the makings of a fine King and an even finer Crovan.










Much to my complete and total shock a Herald arrived at court today asking if his lord could join my empire.

I’m just going to say yes and pretend that Bjarne, only a few years ago, was not rebelling against me and calling for my blood.











The Estates General offered up some cash to help get the crown out of debt. It wasn’t as much as I would have liked, but to be honest, after almost 20 years of no stop war, I think it’s all they got.










Well, this is a really sad day. Little Hakon, the apple of my eye and the lad who would be king, has passed.











For some reason, that bastard King Arne thought little Hakon’s memorial service would be the perfect place to offer an alliance.

Yeah right, like I’m going to trust the jerk who stabbed me in the back after I made him a King.











Now my imbecile Half-Brother King Pal of Scotland has come by the Royal Mourning Table to let me know how excited he is to be the new heir to the Kingdom of Norway.

It has to be something in the water over there. Pal will never sit on my throne.

And yes, I know he already sits on the Scotland part of it.











After all the stress of my boy Hakon dying, I have decided to cope with it by cheating on my wife.

There is an old Norse saying “Nothing relieves the stress of a dead child like an extra-marital affair.”










Okay, so maybe this plan wasn’t as cunning as I thought.

Maybe that old Norse saying should be “After introducing your grieving wife to your Bastard child from an extra-marital affair be certain to hide any large, potentially air-borne object if you don’t want a broken nose.”












I received word today that Arne the Jerk has passed, leaving the throne of England to his son Gudmund. Gudmund naively thinks I would like to be friends now.

Gudmund’s Herald is about to learn exactly how long King Skule holds a grudge.

Also, the Royal Herald Executioners have been pretty bored since the Civil War ended.
​

Skule Half-Dansson Crovan

King of All Norway of Sweden and of Denmark


Thoughts on his reign – the mid-latter years, 1293 – 1300











Ten years of careful land management, the effects of long peace and the continued gross extortion of goods and taxes from the peasants and serfs has brought Norway back into the black financially.










Now that we have a few extra coins lying around, its time to take some revenge (and also get Torgils the Bastard out of the Castle – the missus doesn’t need little mister constant reminder running around all the time).










Spymaster Anund and his buddy Hakon got a little over excited and, arriving before the main army, got the snot beat out of them.











The arrival of an actual Marshal with the Royal Army quickly turned things around. I can’t tell you how saddened I was to learn that a member of Clan Anonymouscommander had turned on me, fighting for the traitorous Finlandians rather than for the rightful King of All of Norway.

He will have time to consider his error.

Not much though, since he is being executed.










The brutal execution of his Marshal brought Willie the Finn to his knees. He surrendered on the condition that I spare his life, which I graciously accepted.

I had the Spymaster push him out a window later that night.

Spymasters are good like that.











It is a Very Merry Christmas for Torgils the Bastard, Duke of Finland.











Rowr…and a Very Merry Christmas for King Skule!

And apparently for yet another Royal Bastard whose mom will be receiving Royal Child Support Payments until I foist the product of her loins on some unsuspecting township he can mis-govern.











Spymaster Anund popped in today to discuss the Royal Succession with me. He pointed out that, since I was fathering Bastards the way most men eat potato chips, clearly I was not the reason for the lack of legitimate children. He offered to “fix” the problem. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

I told him that I was actually quite fond of Queen Margie and didn’t really want her killed.

Spymaster Anund shrugged and said that I had better pop out a Bastard the Nobles would accept.

So I did. I named him Bard.










Spymaster Anund came by the office again today. He was speaking in hushed tones, so I figured he wanted approval to murder someone.

I was right.

Anund offered to “take care of the littlest Bastard at court, Bard.”

I threw my ledger-book at him.

“Idiot! It was your idea for me to father him!”

Spymaster Anund’s face got red. “Oh yeah…right…never mind.”

Then he excused himself.

I am beginning to suspect he lied on his resume about all that Spymastering experience.












A paper airplane sailed into the window of Viken Castle. In the distance, you could hear a horse galloping away at speed.

When unfolded, I read the form letter of rebellion from the Duke of Iceland I had to laugh.

Seriously? The Civil War has been over for years buddy. You missed your chance on the “declare war and hope the King just lets you keep your lands” express.

And the Herald?

We caught him.
​

Skule Half-Dansson Crovan

King of All Norway of Sweden and of Denmark


Thoughts on his reign – the mid-latter years, 1300 – 1304











Iceland was so far away and, honestly, so not worth the effort, that I offered Duke Birger official recognition of his liberty in exchange for peace.

He refused.










Then, I offered him official recognition and all of my gold.

He refused again.










Instead, I spend the money to crush the Icelanders. Good plan Rebel Duke!











Now that I’ve had this opportunity to get to know the locals in Iceland, and in many cases stab them and take their chickens, I’ve decided to leave them in their well deserved squalor.

I mean, I can’t keep the place and, after the plundering I just gave it, the dump is just going to rebel anyway.










Bengt of Oland seems to have gone quite mad lately. We were all sitting around the fire, pounding mead last night when he suddenly jumped to his feet, hands clasped to his ears and grimacing as if in pain. Erik jumped up – they were famous friends – and tried to help him. Suddenly, Bengt grabbed Erik by the throat and screamed “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

Then he dashed Erik’s head against the fireplace until he expired and ran out of the Great Hall.

Contemplating Erik’s broken body; I came to the only logical conclusion: I must get Bengt on the payroll!











The Very Strange Week in Viken continued in the morning at breakfast. As we were all sitting down to eat, the doors crashed inward.

There stood Audun, dressed in a sack-cloth. A hair shirt visible beneath the tattered rags. On his shoulders, he was carrying a titanic cross and his eyes flashed with a supernatural light. Behind him, a line of irritable diners stretched down the hall. I guess he was moving a little slow with the cross and all.

“I am the Christ,” he announced, “returned with power as was fortold! Follow me, oh great King of the Frozen North! Bring your mightiest warriors, the dread Vikings, the feared Berserkers, your most powerful Huscarls! The Earth itself will tremble as we sail into the Holy Land, crushing the Saracens who dare cross you path! Onward to the Fields of Meggio where, with me by your side, you shall smite the enemies of the Lord and usher in the thousand year reign of the Prince of Peace!”

The look in his eyes compelled me.

I began to rise.











Bengt, who had been trying to squeeze past the messiah and into the breakfast hall without success, suddenly jumped on Audun and stabbed him to death with his breakfast fork.

The spell broken, I stood a moment contemplating the horrors that would have been my crusade. Living in tents. Stifling heat. Inevitable rebellions at home. I quietly thanked Bengt and resumed my seat.

The eggs were delicious.











Erik the Traitor of Uppland accepted my offer to rejoin the realm and assume the same position of subservience that he rebelled against a few years ago.

What could possibly go wrong?










Ingrid the Whore came by Viken Castle today with a little child swaddled in her arms. She told me that if there was not a large chunk of money forthcoming, Mrs. King of Norway would be getting a surprise visit from my newest Bastard Son Ivar.

I asked her for a week’s time to consider how much (or what far away lands!) to offer her.

She agreed.












Bengt had been hanging around during her visit and I saw him follow her out of the castle gates.

I’ve not asked him if he did anything, but I have noticed Ingrid hasn’t come back by, and it has been something like a month.
​