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That Birger guy sure looks competent... not specifically in Colonial Matters though...
Mr. Bean!!!
Is it? I guess it does look like Rowan!
Nah, so do I
That Birger guy sure looks competent... not specifically in Colonial Matters though...
XD (to steal canonized's line)
1551-1553: What is with these Baroque poets?
Now we know. Bard will. Now that all this chatter has been going on for several episodes, will we finally get the chance to see what’s going on in Crovania, maybe see some action? You bet! Will Huron stand off the Crovan Empire? Well, you’ll find out on the next exciting episode of The Adventures of the Crovan Clan 2: The World Is Way Too Much!
Bard III “The Hard-Nosed" Dansson Crovan
Emperor of the Crovan Empire, Pontifix Maximus
Cathaoir Martyn’s Lucky Day
(1 March 1551 – August 1553)
And now, we join the State Funeral of Njord Larsson, already in progress.
“…and so, in closing, Njord will be missed by all. A heroic reformer, an extraordinary Master of Horse, and a terror on the battlefield. In his honour, I have ordered the Assistant to the Posthumous Poet Laureate, Miqueu de Revest, to compose a poem.”
“Miqueu, please, read your poem.”
Miqueu sighed audibly. He clearly looked put out as he rose to his feet. He looked down into the open grave and regarded Njord’s coffin for a moment.
“Conformitht. The wormth will choke on your Bourgeois pea-brain.”
Miqueu then slumped back into his seat.
…
…
Bard was incredulous. “That’s it?”
“I refuthe to follow your conformitht views of poetry, sheep.”
“Marshal Alf Bolt, please bury Mr. de Revest with Njord.”
“With pleasure, Your Imperial Majesty.” Alf gestured to two Crovan Guardsmen. The three jumped the surprised Miqueu and drug him screaming into the open grave.
Ignoring the sounds of struggling and the opening of the casket, Bard looked over the assembled notables. “Lord Cathaoir Martyn, Imperial Chancellor, I am in need of a new Assistant Laureate…”
“Say no more!” Cathaoir rose, morosely, to his feet.
“I have just the poem for you. It is untitled.”
“the night falls in a heavy, suffocating cloak, entwined are we.
the salvation for which you lust
flares once, then dies,
smothered by a velvet ebon nothingness.
all hope must sicken and die.
your heart beats no more.
how could you not understand?
lost souls surround us, crying,
we are fallen."
…
“I guess it’s a legitimate poem at least. Congratulations new Assistant Laureate.”
Charles was panicked…the Assistancy was his life-long dream. “Sire! You may not be aware that, in addition to my duties as Exchequer, I am a classically trained poet…perhaps I could challenge…”
Bard had turned away, so Charles dove into his poem
“I only know the grief that comes to me,
to my love-ridden heart, out of over-loving,
since my will is so firm and whole
that it never parted or grew distant from her
whom I craved at first sight, and afterwards:
and now, in her absence, I tell her burning words;
then, when I see her, I don't…”
Bard wheeled around, furious, and cut the would-be poet off mid-sentence.
“What is wrong with you people? What ever happened to happy poems, like Limericks? I’m sorry Charles, you may be classically trained, but your crap is just as depressing as Cathaoir. At least his is also absurd!”
“Hey!”
“Besides, Cathoir has already been named.”
“eight seconds ago!”
Bard’s eyes narrowed. “Njord was a small man. I think we might be able to squeeze you in as well.”
Charles paled. “Sorry sire, I am sorry…” He backed away and returned to his seat.
“Fine. Just don’t let it happen again.”
Alf and his men climbed out of the hole. From behind them, Miqueu screamed and pounded on the coffin lid.
“All finished, Your Majesty.”
“Great. Fill it up.”
Meanwhile, on another continent
“Lord Birger, we bring exciting news! We have discovered a great nation of Skraelings, with much weath and power!"
"Oh great! Let's go kill them!”
“They've got 11,000 warriors. We have 4,500 Imperial Marines. Should be fun."
Emperor of the Crovan Empire, Pontifix Maximus
Cathaoir Martyn’s Lucky Day
(1 March 1551 – August 1553)
And now, we join the State Funeral of Njord Larsson, already in progress.
“…and so, in closing, Njord will be missed by all. A heroic reformer, an extraordinary Master of Horse, and a terror on the battlefield. In his honour, I have ordered the Assistant to the Posthumous Poet Laureate, Miqueu de Revest, to compose a poem.”
“Miqueu, please, read your poem.”
Miqueu sighed audibly. He clearly looked put out as he rose to his feet. He looked down into the open grave and regarded Njord’s coffin for a moment.
“Conformitht. The wormth will choke on your Bourgeois pea-brain.”
Miqueu then slumped back into his seat.
…
…
Bard was incredulous. “That’s it?”
“I refuthe to follow your conformitht views of poetry, sheep.”
“Marshal Alf Bolt, please bury Mr. de Revest with Njord.”
“With pleasure, Your Imperial Majesty.” Alf gestured to two Crovan Guardsmen. The three jumped the surprised Miqueu and drug him screaming into the open grave.
Ignoring the sounds of struggling and the opening of the casket, Bard looked over the assembled notables. “Lord Cathaoir Martyn, Imperial Chancellor, I am in need of a new Assistant Laureate…”
“Say no more!” Cathaoir rose, morosely, to his feet.
“I have just the poem for you. It is untitled.”
“the night falls in a heavy, suffocating cloak, entwined are we.
the salvation for which you lust
flares once, then dies,
smothered by a velvet ebon nothingness.
all hope must sicken and die.
your heart beats no more.
how could you not understand?
lost souls surround us, crying,
we are fallen."
…
“I guess it’s a legitimate poem at least. Congratulations new Assistant Laureate.”
Charles was panicked…the Assistancy was his life-long dream. “Sire! You may not be aware that, in addition to my duties as Exchequer, I am a classically trained poet…perhaps I could challenge…”
Bard had turned away, so Charles dove into his poem
“I only know the grief that comes to me,
to my love-ridden heart, out of over-loving,
since my will is so firm and whole
that it never parted or grew distant from her
whom I craved at first sight, and afterwards:
and now, in her absence, I tell her burning words;
then, when I see her, I don't…”
Bard wheeled around, furious, and cut the would-be poet off mid-sentence.
“What is wrong with you people? What ever happened to happy poems, like Limericks? I’m sorry Charles, you may be classically trained, but your crap is just as depressing as Cathaoir. At least his is also absurd!”
“Hey!”
“Besides, Cathoir has already been named.”
“eight seconds ago!”
Bard’s eyes narrowed. “Njord was a small man. I think we might be able to squeeze you in as well.”
Charles paled. “Sorry sire, I am sorry…” He backed away and returned to his seat.
“Fine. Just don’t let it happen again.”
Alf and his men climbed out of the hole. From behind them, Miqueu screamed and pounded on the coffin lid.
“All finished, Your Majesty.”
“Great. Fill it up.”
Meanwhile, on another continent
“Lord Birger, we bring exciting news! We have discovered a great nation of Skraelings, with much weath and power!"
"Oh great! Let's go kill them!”
“They've got 11,000 warriors. We have 4,500 Imperial Marines. Should be fun."
Now we know. Bard will. Now that all this chatter has been going on for several episodes, will we finally get the chance to see what’s going on in Crovania, maybe see some action? You bet! Will Huron stand off the Crovan Empire? Well, you’ll find out on the next exciting episode of The Adventures of the Crovan Clan 2: The World Is Way Too Much!
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I have no doubt that marines shall overcome all resistance. Certainly this string of poets is a very unsettling time for the Crovan Empire. I did like de Revest though.
My, how do I love this AAR! Normally comedy AARs begin to grow stale after a while, yet this one still manages to entertain. Bravo!
The Crovans are going through poets as handkerchiefs in hayfever season...
I also think it's time for Birger to introduce a 'Silly Walk' for his Marine Brigade.
I also think it's time for Birger to introduce a 'Silly Walk' for his Marine Brigade.
Looks like Bard is a man of action. It seems like Crovania has developed into a land where people don't question the morality of their own actions.
I must agree.I also think it's time for Birger to introduce a 'Silly Walk' for his Marine Brigade.
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I must say that I like this emperor. He's got balls, Crovanian such. He reminds me of someone, but it's a bit hard to pinpoint.
Wow, one update. A new record for killing off your poets. :rofl:
Also, have fun killing all the natives.
Also, have fun killing all the natives.
Indian poets?
exciting!
I hope the old Bard returns from Grönland.
Or just rename it Bard Sigurddsonland?
exciting!
I hope the old Bard returns from Grönland.
Or just rename it Bard Sigurddsonland?
Indian poets?
exciting!
I hope the old Bard returns from Grönland.
Or just rename it Bard Sigurddsonland?
He may - or may not.
Not of the quality of Crovania's! In fact, the Poetry Gap is the one the Skraelings find most worrysome
Thanks!Yeah, he's definately a "do-er"
As Emperor of Crovania, he is above morality
The Crovans are going through poets as handkerchiefs in hayfever season...
I also think it's time for Birger to introduce a 'Silly Walk' for his Marine Brigade.
Or make the Norweigen Blue the Official Parrot of VinlandThanks!
Nobody expects Crovanian Mayhem - at least on continents unfamilair with them.
Me too. I'll miss him.
1553-1557: Bard likes needling Charles
Crovania at War with Great Lithuania! Again! Will our intrepid heroes emerge victorious? Find out on the next exciting episode of The Adventures of the Crovan Clan 2: The World Is Way Too Much!
Bard III “The Hard-Nosed” Dansson Crovan
Emperor of the Crovan Empire, King of the East and West Vikings, Pontifix Maxmimus, Lord of the Skraelings
The Skraelings Learn How Crovania Rolls
(8 August 1553 – 18 February 1557)
A Letter Arrives At Viken Castle. It is from Lord Birger, the Vinland Minister. It is Good News.
“Greetings to Your Imperial Majesty, Emperor Bard III “The Hard-Nosed” Dansson Crovan, Emperor of the Crovan Empire, King of the East and West Vikings, Pontifix Maxmimus, Restorer of the Ancient Colonies, and now, Lord Over The Skraelings from your Most Worthy Servant, Lord Birger Leifsson, called The Navigator, Colonial Minister for Vinland.
First off, let me say, Your Imperial Majesty, I have dispatched the Imperial Marines to investigate the Skraeling Nation discovered during the last war. They reported back that, lacking any fortifications or expectations of war, they would be ‘easy pickings,’ so I authorized them to negotiate with guns on your behalf.”
“During the first negotiations between the marines and their counterparts with the Skraelings, it was discovered that the Skraelings have neither guns, nor horses. This severely limited their negotiating power.”
“In fact, we were quickly able to ‘negotiate’ an end to armed Skraeling resistance. They have gracefully agreed to work in our mines, on our plantations and learn, first hand, about the dangers of small-pox, the plague and the appropriation of their good farming land for good Christian Norse Settlers.
Olaf be praised, etc.”
Bard finished reading the letter to the Imperial Cabinet to much fan-fare.
“Chancellor Cathaoir, I think such a conquest deserves a poem, please, favor us with one.”
Cathaoir rose to his feet. “As you wish, Majesty. This poem is untitled. Ahem…”
“what have you wrought?
a dark black shadowy cloud of sickness as perceptions scream.
once we savored innocence,
innocent and glad-hearted,
but your desire died.
a horrific cloud of lies -
tears follow bitterness, follow pain,
love ground to dust.
in a torrent of vengeance,
i condemn you.”
…
“You know what? I think I might actually like that one.”
Charles muttered through gritted teeth. “Yes. Delightful as always Cathaoir.”
“Now that that nonsense is over, I have actual Imperial business, Your Majesty.”
“Oh very well Alf, you know your father Aslak wasn’t much of a poetry fan either. So, what is it?”
“Well, the army reorganization continues a-pace. The Army of Germany is now fully formed, with 2 foot divisions, a pair of Cavalry brigades and 4 regiments of our newest field artillery, the Chambered Demi-Cannons. The Imperial Marines and the Army of Norway are currently reorganizing along that line, and I expect both to be up to full establishment by…”
“Ha! Hopefully next week, since we are about to go to war with Great Lithuania again!”
“…I’m sorry Sire, what?”
“Well, Cathaoir, as Imperial Chancellor, has appraised me of an exciting opportunity, one that we must act on immediately.”
“You see, the Danes have laid formal claim to one of our islands. Since they are allied to Great Lithuania, this would usually just be ignored…”
“Except that Great Lithuania and Bohemia are currently involved in a major war with Bosnia.”
“Under strength or not, we have the 3rd largest army in the world,”
“And Great Lithuania is exhausted from – and highly focused on – their Bosnian War. So focused that I believe they will let those Sardinian cowards lead the alliance to war.”
Alf sighed. “Very well Majesty, I see you are set on this course of action. When do you plan for hostilities to commence?”
“Well, I declared war on Denmark four days ago, so you should probably get to work.”
Alf hid his shock quite well. “Of course, Your Imperial Majesty.” He rose and excused himself, breaking into a frenzied run only when he was sure he was out of ear-shot.”
“You know what Cathaoir? I think the men could use one of your inspirational dirges. Mind whipping up a marching poem real quick?”
“Of course, sire. How about this? It is, of course, untitled.
the night falls in a heavy, suffocating cloak, cold and alone are we.
the god for which you sacrifice yourself
flares once, then dies,
swept away by the abyss.
all hope must sicken and die.
your soul thrives no more.
how could you fail to believe?
lost souls surround us, crying,
sanctuary.”
Cathaoir sat, assuming a pose of mental exhaustion.
"Hmmm. Yes, another success, don’t you think so Charles?”
Charles face curled up, as if he had noticed an unpleasant aroma some time ago and just now realized he had dog-doo stuck firmly to the sole of his shoe.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Emperor of the Crovan Empire, King of the East and West Vikings, Pontifix Maxmimus, Lord of the Skraelings
The Skraelings Learn How Crovania Rolls
(8 August 1553 – 18 February 1557)
A Letter Arrives At Viken Castle. It is from Lord Birger, the Vinland Minister. It is Good News.
“Greetings to Your Imperial Majesty, Emperor Bard III “The Hard-Nosed” Dansson Crovan, Emperor of the Crovan Empire, King of the East and West Vikings, Pontifix Maxmimus, Restorer of the Ancient Colonies, and now, Lord Over The Skraelings from your Most Worthy Servant, Lord Birger Leifsson, called The Navigator, Colonial Minister for Vinland.
First off, let me say, Your Imperial Majesty, I have dispatched the Imperial Marines to investigate the Skraeling Nation discovered during the last war. They reported back that, lacking any fortifications or expectations of war, they would be ‘easy pickings,’ so I authorized them to negotiate with guns on your behalf.”
“During the first negotiations between the marines and their counterparts with the Skraelings, it was discovered that the Skraelings have neither guns, nor horses. This severely limited their negotiating power.”
“In fact, we were quickly able to ‘negotiate’ an end to armed Skraeling resistance. They have gracefully agreed to work in our mines, on our plantations and learn, first hand, about the dangers of small-pox, the plague and the appropriation of their good farming land for good Christian Norse Settlers.
Olaf be praised, etc.”
Bard finished reading the letter to the Imperial Cabinet to much fan-fare.
“Chancellor Cathaoir, I think such a conquest deserves a poem, please, favor us with one.”
Cathaoir rose to his feet. “As you wish, Majesty. This poem is untitled. Ahem…”
“what have you wrought?
a dark black shadowy cloud of sickness as perceptions scream.
once we savored innocence,
innocent and glad-hearted,
but your desire died.
a horrific cloud of lies -
tears follow bitterness, follow pain,
love ground to dust.
in a torrent of vengeance,
i condemn you.”
…
“You know what? I think I might actually like that one.”
Charles muttered through gritted teeth. “Yes. Delightful as always Cathaoir.”
“Now that that nonsense is over, I have actual Imperial business, Your Majesty.”
“Oh very well Alf, you know your father Aslak wasn’t much of a poetry fan either. So, what is it?”
“Well, the army reorganization continues a-pace. The Army of Germany is now fully formed, with 2 foot divisions, a pair of Cavalry brigades and 4 regiments of our newest field artillery, the Chambered Demi-Cannons. The Imperial Marines and the Army of Norway are currently reorganizing along that line, and I expect both to be up to full establishment by…”
“Ha! Hopefully next week, since we are about to go to war with Great Lithuania again!”
“…I’m sorry Sire, what?”
“Well, Cathaoir, as Imperial Chancellor, has appraised me of an exciting opportunity, one that we must act on immediately.”
“You see, the Danes have laid formal claim to one of our islands. Since they are allied to Great Lithuania, this would usually just be ignored…”
“Except that Great Lithuania and Bohemia are currently involved in a major war with Bosnia.”
“Under strength or not, we have the 3rd largest army in the world,”
“And Great Lithuania is exhausted from – and highly focused on – their Bosnian War. So focused that I believe they will let those Sardinian cowards lead the alliance to war.”
Alf sighed. “Very well Majesty, I see you are set on this course of action. When do you plan for hostilities to commence?”
“Well, I declared war on Denmark four days ago, so you should probably get to work.”
Alf hid his shock quite well. “Of course, Your Imperial Majesty.” He rose and excused himself, breaking into a frenzied run only when he was sure he was out of ear-shot.”
“You know what Cathaoir? I think the men could use one of your inspirational dirges. Mind whipping up a marching poem real quick?”
“Of course, sire. How about this? It is, of course, untitled.
the night falls in a heavy, suffocating cloak, cold and alone are we.
the god for which you sacrifice yourself
flares once, then dies,
swept away by the abyss.
all hope must sicken and die.
your soul thrives no more.
how could you fail to believe?
lost souls surround us, crying,
sanctuary.”
Cathaoir sat, assuming a pose of mental exhaustion.
"Hmmm. Yes, another success, don’t you think so Charles?”
Charles face curled up, as if he had noticed an unpleasant aroma some time ago and just now realized he had dog-doo stuck firmly to the sole of his shoe.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Crovania at War with Great Lithuania! Again! Will our intrepid heroes emerge victorious? Find out on the next exciting episode of The Adventures of the Crovan Clan 2: The World Is Way Too Much!
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Greetings Gentle ReadAARs, I wanted to let you know that the 2008 CrusadAAR's Chalice is currently taking votes for "Best AAR Completed in 2008." Now, Crovan Clan 1 has been nominated, but this isn't a plea to run over a vote for me...phargle's Knytling Saga is also in the running, as is Jestor's Beautiful Girl and asd2153's Heaven on Earth part 1. What I'd like to do is break the '07 record of 60-something votes and we're on pretty good pace for that (even better would be to tackle the 90+ record of the '07 OscAARs!), so if you have some reading and/or voting time, click the link below and check it out!
The Link Below
Thanks!
The Link Below
Thanks!
Mmm, Bard III the Hard-Nosed seems to be a little enthusiastic on the Lithuanian Situation... Let's hope he doesn't get a bloody nose...
I have full confidence in your ability to defeat Lithuania.
Also, I love the current poet's goth-poetry. It's too much.
Plus, I can already see his end coming, and I'll be excited to see if I'm right.
Also, I love the current poet's goth-poetry. It's too much.
Plus, I can already see his end coming, and I'll be excited to see if I'm right.