The Adventures of the Crovan Clan

Thurcytel Wulfheresson Crovan

King of All Norway of Sweden, of Denmark and of Serbia


Ruminations on the early years, 1353-1354











Hello, I’m Thurcytel, your new King. Nice to meet you all. I think we’ll all have a really swell time and enjoy the fruits of the realm.

You might have heard some silly, silly rumors about me and I just want to say that you should ignore all that nonsense-talk. Both of my ex-wives fell onto those knives and then hurled themselves down the stairs quite by accident.

Besides, all the other English Dukes were doing it.












Soo, it seems Torbjorn the Heretic of the Norse Crovans thinks he should be the King instead of me just because he can grow a manly mustache while I have no chin.











Dumb-motor (heh heh) also rebels against me, but I don’t even know where he lives, so whatevs.











The Papal Nuncio came by for a visit hinting that the church doesn’t think my wives’ identical accidental deaths were accidents. I told him that I promised, cross my heart, to be an extra good Christian from now on. I think I could actually see the dollar signs in his eyes. Whatevs.












Now Athens rebelled, claiming I am unworthy to rule over the ancient birthplace of civilization. Whatevs! You Athenites women-folk were all hot for pale-skinned bulls and the men-folk were slipping cocks to Aesculapius upon request. I think even Englishmen are qualified to rule over these gutter-snipes!












There we go. Torbjorn has seen the error of his ways and surrendered. Just to make sure he never forgets, I’ve forced him to marry my daughter Wulfthryth. She is as pretty as her name.











As long as the Marshal is there and all, I’m going to have him crush the Sheik of Oxford.

I think it has been a while since a Crovan killed a Moor.










I’m really falling for Asta, my new wife (you may remember her…we actually have a lot in common), which means she may not be falling soon (ha! I kill me!)












I’ve decided to give my new son-in-law Torbi the new domain of Oxford.

Do you like that? Torbi? I think it is a sweet nickname.













Now Trondelag rebelled. I think my brother runs that place. I’m not really sure though. Whatevs, we’ll smash ‘em up anyway.
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Thurcytel Wulfheresson Crovan

King of All Norway of Sweden, of Denmark and of Serbia


Ruminations on the middle years, 1354-1355











First off, I won’t be starting my reign with any losses on the battlefield. I don’t know if any of you have been to Trondelag but “able to support 42,000 Highly Trained and Violent Vikings” is not your first thought.












Whatevs Small-Land. I left behind a few guys to take care of you too!











Vestland rebelled today also. I am thinking this is Civil War. Since every Rebel is a Crovan, I am thinking killing family members may not be as popular in Norway as it is in England. Whatevs.











Norrland sent me notice that they are loyally supporting me in the Civil War by attacking my enemies in Iceland.

I guess they are reading different memos.












The Papal Nuncio popped in today to offer the Pope’s complete support for the forces of Peace, Stability and the Traditional Order in the most critical Christian Kingdom in the World.

Ha! But I jest (I kill me). No, the Papal Nuncio is merely here to take advantage of this desperate Civil War to extort large sums of money from me, even if it means bankrupting the realm.

Whatevs Nuncio. The Loansharks will go ahead and front you your money.












My men have plundered every piece of Trondelag, capturing the Duke in the process, I let him off the hook after he apologized.











*Sigh* I always wondered why dad was so bitchy. Now I get it.

Whatevs Trondelag. My armies haven’t marched that far away.










At least the Smallandites have seen the error of their ways.












I think this is the end. My bodyguard and I were riding back to Viken Castle when we were ambushed by the Knut Brothers, who were cleverly hiding their armies in Bergenshus Castle.

Okay, so maybe his ambush wasn’t so clever and I shouldn’t have been riding past a major rebel fortress, but really. If I had gone any other way, I would have had to spend the night in Jamtland, and the food they eat there *shudder* death is preferable.













Somehow we won. I’m not really sure how, since the numbers don’t add up, but I’ll bet my bravely guarding the baggage train from my ambush spot under a wagon had something to do with it.

I gave myself a medal. It matches my slacks.
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Thurcytel Wulfheresson Crovan

King of All Norway of Sweden, of Denmark and of Serbia


Ruminations on the later years, 1355-1357











So, it appears my refusal to stay in Jamtland and eat reindeer bladders has offended the Jamtlanders to the point of rebellion. Whatevs, I stand by my decision.












My loyal vassals continue to make war on my behalf. Just not with the rebels.











Jamtland thinks the plundering I just dished out was a serious punishment. Just wait.











Well, you nasty Jamtlanders, meet your new Duke: my darling son Wiglaf the Inbred.

He would be the down-side to marrying my cousin Asta.












Now Bjarne of Ostergotland has rebelled. This is getting tedious.












You’d think he would have learned something from what happened to Trondelag. You know, after the second rebellion, but whatevs.











Speaking of Trondelag, I’m giving that to my other brother Alfwold.










*sigh* That’s it. I’m going to take a hot mud bath and get a cucumber facial. I’ll see you guys later.












Hello? Anyone in here? (sounds of shuffling paper). Um? Your Majesty? *cough* well. Ostergotland has been recaptured. Hello?

Huh. I guess I’ll just leave the memo on the table.













(Boldly striding in – a sheet of parchment held up) Ta tha moost Dishonorable Kyng Thurceeetall, ferm his Irish soobjects.

Wae Hereby Declare ya depooosed fer yer crrrrimes agoon tha Paepul an God.

(looks around for effect)

Tha devil? Whar be ye ya Mooost Dishonorable Kyng? Halloo? Ah crap.

(dropping proclamation in disgust before walking out)
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Thurcytel Wulfheresson Crovan

King of All Norway of Sweden, of Denmark and of Serbia


Ruminations on the final years, 1358-1360











My Spymaster just deserted me. I don’t know. This is starting to wear me out. My hair is thinning. My eyes are baggy all the time.












Now Torbi has joined the rebels. I mean, didn’t I start my reign fighting him?











And Smaland too. It’s like, in six years nothing has changed.











The Bishop even left. I expected the Church to hang around at least, you know for the extortion possibilities.












Uppland rebels again. Seriously. This place is horrible. I mean, there is no one in this God-forsaken land I can trust.












See what I mean?











Even the Balkan lands, so quiet and peaceful, have started rising up against me.










Oh yes, and in case I wasn’t clear enough: that rebelling Duke in Trondelag: another of my brothers. This whole reign is on repeat!

Maybe I can match my successes on the battlefield from the early years. I will march on my jerk-brother myself…once I take care of those guys in Uppland.









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