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

Bard IV “Mongo” Eriksson Crovan

Emperor of the Crovan Empire, King of the East and West Vikings and of the North and South Skraelings, Lord of Sino, Pontifix Maximus, Rightful King of All Poland and of the Germans, Life-President of the Sino Trade Company.



In Which The Wrong Flags Are Delivered
(20 June 1639 – 12 June 1640)



Outside Viken Palace, Erik, the Prince Imperial is talking to a small group of councilmen as they watch the Royal Norwegian Flag, symbol of Crovania for some 500 years slowly lowered down the flag-pole. A stout Italian man walks towards the group, tossing a cigar to the ground as he approaches. In his free hand, a stack of papers.







“Alright dere Prince, that’s 10,000 flags of various sizes distributed to all garrisons, government buildings, Naval Vessels and 70 year old Veterans from the Indes to Skraelingia.
That’s 250 Special Giant Flags distributed to all Palaces of the Crovans, the von Crovans, the O’Crovans an anyone else wit an ounce a power.
35 Bunting Flags for Viken Cathedral an 5,000 novelty drink stirrers wit little flags onnem for tha big party.”







“Faaabbulous! Imagine! The Cross of St. Olaf finally raised above the whole land.
Ooohh what a spectacle!”







“Yeah. Delightful. Anyway, my boys come through an now you need ta cough up tha other 75 pacent…”







“Yeah, yeah, hold on! They’re raising it! They’re raising it!”
Erik squealed in delight.












“…”







“…”

“Um. Your, Lordship, have you…have you, uh…”

“noticed…something about that flag?”







Erik closed his mouth with a click. Then he turned, furious on Paulie.

“Good Lord man! That’s the wrong flag!







Paulie popped another cigar into his mouth, rolling it around as he regarded the flag critically.

“I dunno. I tink that’s a real good lookin’ flag.”
He removed the cigar from his mouth, pointing it at Erik for effect.
“Lotta countries would be pretty excited to get a nice lookin’ flag like dat.
So, I tell ya what. I’ll knock 15 pacent off tha final bill since youse didn’t get that Saint Whateva guy on it.”






“Fuh-fuh-fuh…fifteen percent?” Erik’s face was so red, he looked like he might explode.

“You want to knock off fifteen percent? IT’S THE WRONG FLAG PAULIE! Oh my God.
All over the world right now, soldiers, subjects, nobles. They are all looking at these flags and do you know what they’re thinking Paulie? Do you know?”







Paulie rolled his eyes. “Deyse prolly thinking ‘hey whatta sharp lookin’ flag.
Smart move goin to da Sicilian Flag Makers Guild for da makin’ an also da Sicilian Teamsters Guild for da fast, friendly delivery.”







Erik’s flailed his arms for effect as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

“NO PAULIE, WHAT THEY ARE THINKING IS: WHAT AM I DOING HOISTING A ST. GEORGE’S CROSS ON A YELLOW BACKGROUND…THAT’S WHAT THEY’RE THINKING.”







Paulie shook his head. “Now cut it wit da screamin. It’s unbecoming.
The way I sees it, you just solved your own problem.
Bada-bing. St. George is da new patron of Crovania.”







“Oooh! Idea! Ossor! He doesn’t have a cross!
This thing could be Ossor’s Cross!”








Erik was rubbing his temples. There was a whole cathedral full of dignitaries, foreign and domestic and they were all staring at the WRONG FLAG.

“Can we just do that Kennet?”







“Sure, why not. I’ll find Alf. He’ll need to edit his poems, but I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Kennet ran off, very very quickly.







“See dere? Youse problems is fixed. Now time to pay up.”







“I’m not paying you one more cent, you vicious little man.
Now the Crovanian flag is going to be a preposterous fraud and it’s all your fault.”
Erik turned away in a snit.







Paulie just laughed before slapping Erik on the back.

“Oh, you’ll pay dere Erik. You’ll pay. My boys din’t sail all over da world for da Prince Erik Charity fund. Mark my words.
Da King a Sicily don’t even go to da can wifout Paulie’s say-so. Paulie knows how to make people listen. You’ll pay.”

Paulie walked off chomping on his cigar as a chill ran up Erik’s spine.




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Bard IV “Mongo” Eriksson Crovan

Emperor of the Crovan Empire, King of the Western Isles, King of the East and West Vikings, King of Germania and King of Vinland and the Skraelingias. Lord of Foppingtonia, Slavelandia and Zanzibar, High Admiral of Gibralter, Life-President of the Sino Trade Company and the Rightful King of All Poland.



This Doesn’t Go Well
(12 June 1640)





In Viken Cathedral, the large crowd of dignitaries look on in curiosity. The flags, of course, have them particularly confused. Bard’s raised dias sat empty, as it usually did during particularly important state functions. Erik, red-faced and nervous sat on the lower dias, reserved for the Crown Prince surrounded by the rest of the Imperial Court.








Ahhh, good times - click to relive Ossor's adventure!




















Alf rose nervously to his feet, his face red and some mild panic clearly visible. He shot Kennet a dirty look before clearing his throat.

“I..uh…have a pair of Limericks….*cough* the…uh…metre is off slighty, but that is on purpose and not because of any last minute changes forced through because someone else screwed up something big.”

“Right. Okay. This first one is titled ‘Why King Ossor’s Cross is Red.’”

“There once was a Duke named Ossor,
Who drank so much wine his teeth fell off.
He said with a grin as he soaked up some gin,
Red is a color I’m fond of.”













Alf was glaring at Erik and Kennet in undisguised hatred as the Cathedral erupted in uncomfortable silence.

“Ahem. My second poem is entitled ‘Crovania’s Flag.’ It’s all about our new flag and how it came to be.”

“The flag is one I am quite proud of,
For Crovan ties to Ossor should show off.
When I see Cross of Red on Field of Yellow…”

Alf’s face flushed red.

“Ahem. I can’t do this. I can’t debase the Limerick, enshrined as Crovania’s greatest Art Form, not for you Erik, not for anyone.”







Erik’s eyes’ narrowed to slits. “Read the poem Alf,” he hissed through his forced smile.

The room was silent.







Alf stood tall, his chest thrust out defiantly.

“This day should honor Christ Olaf,
For Our Sins he took on without thought of.
His Cross of Green on Field Tangerine,
Should be flying Had Erik not screwed off.”

Now Alf glared at Erik as he continued, off the cuff.

“Crovania’s Flag is a sham,
Ossor had no Cross for us to claim,
But the order was wrong, Erik did not think long,
Before continuing with an ordered sham.”





















“Einer, arrest this man.”







“On what charge, Prince?”

Alf spat the last word out.







Erik grinned wickedly.

“Rhyming Sham and Sham in a Limerick, Mister Olavsson, is a crime against poetry. A Capital Offense.”







“But..but no one’s enforced that since Half-Dan…besides…freestyle is exempt!”







“Einer, get him out of here.”














Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Sicily






"So you see Fern, dis Erik has disrespected da Teamsters, da flag-makers, da whole a Sicily and even you."

"Whose gonna show respect to our people if we let a canolie like dis guy walk all ova us? Now, I have helped you get onto the throne. An your papa an I was very close, you know, except for dat little misunderstanding right before he died, so I don think this is too much to ask Fern."

Paulie rolled his cigar in his mouth and thrust his hands into his pockets expectantly.







Fernando was sweating. He always did when Paulie was around.

"Yeah, um, terrible shame about father drowning in that soup bowl, Mister Paulie, sir. Of course I will do what you ask. I, ah, might even be able to bring in some allies. We'll avenge this slight to the, ah, guilds."

His ceremonial armour rattled slightly as he shook in fear.

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