Under the Raven Banner:A Norse Pagan AAR

The Skilfing Dynasty in 1135

Interlude:
The Skilfing Dynasty in 1135​

The Skilfings are not a funny bunch. Well, at least they don't tend to kill each other off and they're not inbred (...yet). In fact they are quite fertile. As of 1135, king Sven's descendants numbered 68, of which 46 were still alive. Looking at the most common trait, "Vengeful" is ahead of everything else. Nine Skilfings hold this trait. Many Skilfings are good diplomats - it's the most common education, with none so far botching their educatio. Not one amateurish pettifogger among them. Most of them are women, of course, since the men usually go to the battlefield.

King Rörek alone has 19 children with five different wives:

1. Tigmi of Canarias, the lustful Berber
2. Aleta of Hälsingland, the short-lived Swede
3. Cilen of Cumans, the Cuman hag
4. Ziedas of Marienburg, the unfaithful Prussian girl
5. and Sybila Premyslid, the Bohemian pagan.

...not to mention a few bastards on the side, of course.

Unfortunately, the most prolific dynasty is the Rurikoviches. Hundreds of them around, and they beat me rather easily in glory thanks to their many ducal titles. Ah well, all in good time.

Yes, it does seem like that. With a stability of -3 the conversion events probably won't fire that easily.

I considered annexing Norway, but my vassal Olaf of Dal had an actual claim to the throne and I figured that with a pagan king, I can always marry a relative off and eventually take over the throne by inheritance.

demokratickid said:

Hello and congrats, Hundhedning!


I've liked this work so much I've gaiven you the Weekly AAR Showcase! Congrats!

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Thanks!

Nah, "Old age" being the reason for his death in the sense that he wasn't quick enough anymore.

Weeeellll, technically Rörek died before the end of the war. How it ends will be shown in the first installment of the Chronicles of Håkon.

Part 10:
The Ruler of the Blood​

Now, the inheritance was passed to the most able of king Rörek's sons. His fourth son Håkon had served as marshal of the royal hird for a decade. Håkon had proved himself to be a skillful tactician with a natural aptitude for war and battle.

More importantly, he held a special hatred for Christians in his heart.

----

Krakow, fall of 1135

THUMP.

"My king, we cannot hold them!"

THUMP!

The king did not answer. He semed to have retreated into one of his long reveries of times past. With his narrow head tilted slightly to the side he stared off into space and seemed oblivious of what his latest marshal was telling him.

THUMP!

"My king!" This time, the growing desperation of the marshal's voice and the booming strikes were accompanied by the weak groan of wood giving way.

"How did it come to this" Domawuj of Piast asked himself. "It was all so clear when I was young." It drifted into view now. The Sabellianist priest and how they all had believed in a spiritual awakening. The joy at bringing heathen prussians into the clear light of God. The armies of the Lord ever marching forward. And now... this.

THUMP!

One of the wooden beams propped up against the large wooden gate of this, the last keep of the Piasts, slowly slid down and fell to the stone floor with a thud.

"It must be enough. Please, Lord, let it be enough. No more."

---


On horseback through Masuria, late autumn 1135

"Father, I don't understand," said the youngest of the three men who were riding near the front of the column. "Why didn't we just put his head on a pike along with his family and take his lands?" Erdenis had always been a bit slow to keep up with quick events. His sun-burned face was wrinkled in deep thought, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "We had him. Their armies were gone."

Both Håkons, the older and the younger, sighed. "Oh come on, sword-for-brains!" blurted the older brother. "You can't beat the crap out of everything you see and call that being a King!"

Erdenis smiled. He never took the insults of his brother seriously. "But we fought this war to beat them, right? Grandfather said we needed to neuter the Poles now, or..."

"And so we did", his father answered. "As you said, they have nothing left. We subjugated practically everything outside of arm's reach of Domawuj, their lands are burned, their armies devastated. They won't be a threat for years to come."


"But why didn't we just take..." Erdenis went on.

"Because we can't hold it." Håkon the younger interrupted. "Right, father?"

"We only won because we forced those Polish magnates to fight on our side. The moment they think they have more to gain by defecting they will do so. The good news is, they will probably spend the next two generations fighting over who will be the next king of Poland." He sighed. "I spoke to your grandfather about this at some length."

King Håkon fell silent as they rode on. Erdenis opened his mouth to speak, but a quick jab in the side from his brother made him close it again. Behind them they could hear the sound of marching feet as the Helsingians, Westrogothians and the rest of the Scandinavian leidang were marching home.

"You boys need to learn to see the big picture. It wasn't just that it would be hard to hold those lands. If Domawuj hadn't been such an ass, or if he had convinced the Magyars to help him, or if he had managed to hold us off for a few months more... we might not have won." He let the words sink in for a few moments.

"You don't know it, but we've been losing troops for months. Back home, the Telemarkers have revolted. Again. Up in Tavastia, there's a rebellion going on. Doubtless, there will be more. On the road to Rus, one of the Rurikoviches is now blocking the road from the east. We had to end the war before everything fell to pieces." The brothers looked at each other.


"Which is why you are not coming home with me."

"What?" both brothers said simultaneously, for once united.

"I need to have people in charge whom I can trust, and you need to learn how to control this realm. Erdenis, you will stay in Aukštaitija. You speak the language better than any of us. As soon as we get there, we will throw out that idiot your grandfather left in control of the Lithuanians and put you in charge."


"And I?" Håkon the younger asked.

"You will accompany me to Finland, crush the rebellion, and be my loyal Jarl of Finland." Håkon the older smiled.

--------

And so it was that the event later generations would call "The Rule of Blood" took place not in a well-lit throne room nor in front of a great ancestral burial mound (both popular depictions in a later age), but on horseback riding through a muddy forest.

----


King Håkon had been right. More rebellions followed, and for a short time it looked as if the realm would not stabilize for years.


As predicted, the magnates began to rebel as soon as the main skilfing armies were out of the region. However, king Håkon had kept control over most of the Polish troops and used them to march around the countryside, killing rebels as they went.

Eventually, his decision to leave Poland and maintain domestic order proved wise. In 1138, the Swedish realm settled to an uneasy peace. For the time being.

Enewald said:

Tavastia?
It's Häme in Finnish.

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I know, but the Skilfings aren't Finnish.

Part 11:
The Vengeful​

On the path between Orsha and Smolensk, early winter of 1141
All over this part of the frozen swamp were campfires around which defeated men huddled in small groups. A few shacks seemed to be the reason why the remnants of the Lithuanian tribal army had gathered at this spot. Håkon swung himself off the horse. As he did so, he could hear the moans of pain from inside the shacks. The few surviving wounded had been given priority inside what small protection from the cold the thin walls could give. The center of the small hamlet had a slightly larger cabin, probably the house of the village elder. Outside, a few noblemen wrapped in furs were standing, engaged in a heated discussion in Lithuanian. Håkon couldn’t tell what they were arguing about since their dialect was too far from the little Lithuanian he knew, but guessing from the situation he’d say it had something to do with the battle. At least he recognized one of them.

Rimantas, the highland Lithuanian who had served as Erdenis’ marshal, had changed. A fresh wound across his face and the fact that he was leaning on a staff was enough to convince Håkon that the battle had been fierce enough. Rimantas gave him a sly look and bowed ever so slightly.

“My king.” he said.

“Where is my son?” king Håkon replied. So far he hadn’t seen the Jarl of the Lithuanians anywhere, and no one had been able to give him a straight answer.

Rimantas waved to follow him into the cabin.

“You have to understand, king, we thought we had them. We were pressing them back against the walls of Smolensk until their reinforcements arrived. Lord Erdenis insisted that we could beat them and ordered a charge. It was then, well…”

Inside the cabin the remnants of the Lithuanian leadership had set up camp. The largest bed held a single, fur-covered shape. Rimantas moved over to the bed and let the furs slide away from Jarl Erdenis.

Across his face was a bloody mass of protruding pieces of bone and sinew, still oozing fluids onto the furs he was lying on. Erdenis stirred and moaned in pain.

“The priests say he will live, but… his eyes… his face…” Rimantas didn’t finish the sentence.


Battle of Smolensk, midwinter 1141
The hooves of the horses thundered forward. Håkon was riding at the head of the armoured mix of Norse hirdsmen, Lithuanian and Prussian tribal champions and Russian druzhina which had been gathered to spearhead the charge. Right behind them was the rest - basically every man in the army with a horse, armoured or not.

The two armies crashed into eachother with an ear-bursting sound. Håkon swung his sword down and split the skull of a lowly Russian spearman. As blood and brain substance splattered on the side of his horse, he let the sword fall again to cut off the arm of the banner bearer of the enemy regiment. With a howl of pain and shock, the Russian toppled. King Håkon's squire caught the banner, picked it up and waved it as a sign of victory. For a moment it seemed as if the Russian line would cave in... and then another crash was heard from behind. Håkon rode down a small group of breaking Russian infantry and realized he'd been outflanked. Behind him, the Russian heavy horse had plowed straight into the rear ranks of the Skilfing cavalry force. The baltic tribesmen were nowhere near as armoured as the Russians - simple light cavalry! - and were already breaking.

There was nothing for it. There'd be no victory, no vengeance today.

"Fall back!" king Håkon roared.


----

The Rurikoviches had finally found a common enemy. In 1138, the prince of Pereyaslavl declared war on king Håkon. As the war ground on, Novgorod and Chernigov joined in war. When Poland once more attacked, the fate of the Skilfing realm seemed to hang in the balance. It was at this time, king Håkon proved his best side. He accepted a peace with Poland, now ruled by Domawuj's not-quite-as-foolish son Christopher, for a small exchange of land, and then managed to play the traditional fraternal paranoia against Chernigov.


In the end, Håkon managed to force a cease-fire on Pereyaslavl, even though he had to do so by allowing the revolt of Novgorod roam free, burning the northern provinces. However, once he could focus all his regiments against Novgorod, it was mostly a matter of time. A long time - the princes of the Russian realms were all a match for the Skilfing realm in manpower and resources. Even one of them was a serious challenge.

Novgorod surrendered and agreed to once more accepting the king of Sweden as his liege. Now the time had come to finish the battle with Chernigov...

Enewald said:

Heh, but you're still superior since you have brains.

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Yes, the AI does make weird choices. I try to RP a bit by picking the event choices the traits of my current king lean towards, but that's somewhat minor in effect.

Part 12:
The Zealous​

The Chernigov attack proved to be a relatively easy affair to handle. Once Lev Rurikovich realized that most of the Skilfing vassals were going to remain in the realm, he knew that the war would be lost in the long run. Following a few losses in battles around Kiev, he quickly agreed to negotiations which lead to the Treaty of Kiev in the autumn of 1144. The agreement more or less allowed the prince to do as he pleased in his own realm as long as he accepted the nominal overlordship of the Swedish crown.


The Skilfing castle, Södermanland, summer of 1145
"You? Why in the name of the gods would I pick you as gyðja? A young lass barely old enough to carry a child?" King Håkon looked baffled at the request. No sooner had his young half-sister Ziedas returned from the Prussian forest where he'd dumped her in the vague hope she'd prove useful in securing the loyalty of the Sambians when she asked for a meeting and requested to get responsibilities as gyðja.

Ziedas was old king Rörek's seventeenth child by his fourth wife. Named Ziedas after her mother, she had been far too young to ever be particularly close to Håkon, especially after the infidelity of queen Ziedas which nearly cost her her life. King Håkon was thirty years older. Now he looked at the young woman in front him.

"Yes, brother. I expect you to appoint this young lass, as you so eloquently put it. Why? Because I'm the best. Because I'll give you results, more so than that woman you put there now. But most importantly, because the gods demand it!" Her voice sounded severe. "For years now, the Christians have whispered how the barbaric heathens cling to false beliefs. For years they have said to our people that the old ways are dark, superstitious and impossible to uphold in this new world. Our people need to see why we hold on to our beliefs and why they should, too."

Håkon looked at her again, and saw the gleam of conviction in her eyes. He had only been a boy that one time he met his own grandfather Sven, but now he suddenly remembered how he had felt when Sven had spoken of his battles against the Christians.

"By the gods, the girl has his fire," Håkon thought. She was young, true, but would not conviction like this spread? If she managed to convert some of the Christians, perhaps even in Rus...

"It shall be as you say. Truly, you are the chosen of the gods."

-----

And later, the same summer:

All right. The last event is added by me. The pagan diocese bishops had limited functionality since they could not convert nonbelievers the same way as Christians could. I thought it a flaw and added the same event for pagans.

Enewald said:

Women as a chaplain?

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Yes, F12 + charevent 7323. Normally, I can't appoint bishops at all, so I have to resort to this cheat. Also, Norse paganism didn't prohibit women from participating in religious life in the same way as Christianity (and this is counterfactual now, anyway...).

Part 13:
The Bastard​

Närke, spring of 1155
Ömund Egilsson of the Skilfings was drunk. Drunk as a skunk. Completely plastered. “Asfull”, as the saying went. And why not? He could do as he pleased, this was the realm of his clan. Not that he would ever benefit from it. As frilloson to a junior brother of king Håkon, he would never get close any real power. Still, there were other benefits…

For most of this day and the day before that he and his friends had been drinking. They had kept together during their travels throught he woods in Närke. You never knew where you might come across a band of escaped thralls or some Christians who had decided to hide in the forest. Neither of those groups would be a pleasant encounter for a lone Skilfing. Now, though, they were headed for a small wooden chapel, where the rumours said a wedding between two Christians was to take place.

Ömund got off his small ragged horse and walked unsteadily towards the entrance of the chapel. Behind was his small following of sycophants and younger hirdsmen. Most of them were as soaked in alcohol as Ömund, and drunken laughs and incoherent shouts echoed as the group watched Ömund throw the chapel door open.

Inside, a Christian monk wearing a worn brown robe was standing in front of a young couple, who turned around with the rest of the small congregation. The young man was a stout fellow wearing the simple garb of a smallholder, while the girl was a beautiful wench with the red hair and freckles common among gaelic thralls. “Probably a freed thrall family”, Ömund thought. He saw how the eyes of the couple filled with fear, his mixed with helpless rage, hers with the frozen look small animals sometimes got in front of a large predator.

Everybody knew what would happen now.


King Håkon's harsh measures against the Christians eventually paid off, at least in Närke. More and more of the smallholders reverted to the old faith, as Christianity no longer seemed to have an auspicious future connected with it. At first, the pagans left in Närke had stepped forward and were given advantages compared to the Christians. At first, the opportunists converted, of course, but as Prima Noctae and other royal decrees were enacted, the trickle of converts turned into a stedy stream.

Unfortunately, harsh measures also have a downside...

Starting in 1154, a new period of rebellions started. It seemed as if King Håkon or his marshals were constantly on the march to put down rebellions all over the realm. Unfortunately, the Russian princes took this opportunity to shed themselves of the Skilfing overlordship and declared themselves independent. On the bright side, they immediately restarted their internal squabbles.


Finally, after 16 years of fighting rebellions, the realm began to quiet down.


And then, only then, king Håkon allowed himself to rest.