The Adventures of the Crovan Clan 2: The World Is Way Too Much

Kolbein Hakonsson Crovan

King of Norway and of Serbia, Emperor of the Greeks and King of the



In Which A Lecherous Priest Is Introduced
(1 January 1453 – 1 May 1453)









And here we have a closer look at my Central European Rival Bohemia, their allies, and their vassals.

While we are at it, we are taking a closer look at a pipe-dream the Bohemian King has about the King of Norway making his life easier.







“Sorry to interrupt your musings,” wheezed the lecherous priest, “but I come bearing exciting news.”







“Ah yes, Fra Eirik Bloodaxe, my Conversion Czar, who has joined the Catholic fold now?”






“No one yet, your Majesty, but the people of Kerman have rebelled.”









“And you know what that means, my liege.” The old man leered. “Once your brother crushes the rebellion he can always just stick around with the army and ‘assist’ with ‘voluntary’ conversions to Our Lord.”







“Wait. Kerman? Do you even know where that is? I’ve certainly never heard of the place.”







“Well, I got a letter from a Count of Kerman pleading for help crushing a gigantic rebellion, so I just assumed you must own it…I do agree though, I don’t think I remember seeing him at any conventions or anything.”







“I don’t even know how to pronounce it…is it KER-man or KEER-man or ker-MAN. Huh. Kerman. You know what, it probably got sent here by mistake. Just send it back ‘Return to Sender.’”







The old man bowed. “As you wish, my liege.”





Later that month:





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Kolbein Hakonsson Crovan

King of Norway and of Serbia, Emperor of the Greeks and King of the Bulgars



In Which General Viglik Is An Ineffective Scout
(1 May 1453 – 12 December 1454)









1454 will be devoted to building fortifications throughout the empire.







Well, that and peasant uprisings.








And now the Sardinians have proposed an alliance, which I happily accept.



Meanwhile, In Serbia:


General Viglik Crovan, brother to the King, slips out of camp to reconnoiter the rebel lines.

Where he learns much about the Serb’s small arms, their Sampson-esqe hair stylings, and their methods of dealing with spies.

None of which would be useful to him in the coming battle, you know. Since he’s dead.









And now, the rebels, defeated in a half-hearted effort by my army, have gone to harass someone else for a while.







And a bunch of carefree, drunken Frenchmen have rebelled. Apparently Good Crovan Ale isn’t a fruity enough drink for them.







“Chancellor Geoffrey, I have tried everything I can think of to break the nobles and bend them to my will, to end their insufferable complaining and rebelling. I have set the most powerful ones free, giving them their lands as a present. I have outlawed the construction of modern fortifications by everyone except me. I have banned and dismembered the feudal levies and forbid private armies, leaving only the approved Crovan Guard as the only professional army in the country. Still, these people torment me. What can be done about this?”







“Mayhap, my lord, to the old days we’ll roam,
Ancient lords did rule alone appropo,
And so our eyes should turn to fabled Rome,
The halls of Constantine and old Nero.

While rebels they did face and crush here-o,
The Senators were cowed and broken men,
With only tiny lands given to them.”







“What is that? Iambic Pentameter. The rhyme scheme is new.”







“Yes, sire, I call it the Rhyme Royal,” Geoffrey bowed low, “in your honour sire.”







“Hm. Call it the Crovan Couplet and you’ll honour me more. Still…you’ve given me quite an idea Geoffrey, quite an idea.”

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