Piety of the North Star

RGB: Being burnt out of your own castle is a time-honoured pastime. Back in my day kids used to be burnt out of their castle at least two or three times a year. Darn kids these days are spoiled.

Enewald: Eh, I had Dream Evil in mind but Manowar isn't bad either.

FlyingDutchie: Now we just need to see if Gro and the kids are going to make the definition of 'going out in a blaze' more literal.

Stuckenschmidt: Thank you.

Artell: This is CK, not TTGL!

Qorten: The trait you are thinking of is Prodigy, it gives +3 to each character's stats and I believe has a couple events attached to it.

Ilyavania: Thank you. <3 Asbjørn had a pretty typical viking life, I think. Drink and fight and die in glorious battle. I'm fond of him. I'm more fond of Harald though, expect to see a lot more of him before I'm done.

General_BT: Happy belated thank you! I can't say anything about any Guildensterns but I wouldn't expect Rosenkrantz to get away with this so easily. St. Peter won't be taking him anytime soon, no, but the Valkyrie wouldn't be peeking in for no reason, would she?

Without further ado...


Skjalm was grinning from ear to ear as he rode down the path upon his mottled brown-and-tan horse, its tail flickering through the chill morning air. The field was white with frost that coated each blade of grass, waiting for the power of the sun to free them once more. The birds twittered and chirped in the air with unusual vigour for the time of year, filling his ears with their sing-song tunes. He had left the main camp to find his wife, Jadwiga, as soon as the news had come in.

"Chieftain, are you okay?"

Skjalm looked over at the huskarl, one of several who were accompanying him. "I'm fine, better than fine, in fact. Today is a joyous day."

He looked ahead at the keep. The polish border fort was small, but not unimportant. His wife, Jadwiga, had stayed here for her own safety, due to the chaos in Prussia and Lithuania. As he rode through the gates he was cordially greeted by the guards, and as he dismounted he saw the young Polish woman. His smile was evident, but it was not the woman that brought him such joy, it was the bundle in her arms.

"I am sorry that I could not be here for the event, but I am so glad to hear of it." Skjalm said as he walked towards his wife. "This is fantastic news."

Jadwiga smiled a little. "Yes, though I am sorry I could not bear you a son..."

Skjalm waved his hand dismissively. "Such things do not matter! The joy of a child is greater than any such things. You do not know how happy I am to see her. Tell me, please, what is her name?"

"Her name is Thyra. I am told it is a strong, good name for a woman, one suiting your daughter."

"Thyra..." Skjalm grinned even wider. "It's perfect, Thyra is a perfect name. Oh Jadwiga, you do not know how happy I am." He embraced her and the child for a moment before stepping back. "This is the happiest day of my life, surely."

Jadwiga looked surprised. Skjalm was usually dour and mild in attitude, this was a new demeanour that she was not used to. He rarely treated her as worth the time of day, let alone such affection.


"I...am glad you think so, my lord."

"Thyra..." Skjalm thought. "Jadwiga?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Please, call me Skjalm. You are my wife, not my servant."

"Yes m...Skjalm...if it is what you wish."

Skjalm nodded. "It is. Listen, I...can we talk somewhere, quieter?"

Jadwiga nodded back, and Skjalm led her off the main path, to a less populated corner of the fort's courtyard.

"I know I have not been the best husband...the truth is, I felt forced into this marriage, and my mind still dwelled on my beloved Signe..." Skjalm frowned. "I am sorry. I have treated you poorly when none of this was your fault. This marriage was all but arranged for us, though I suppose I could have said no."

The polish woman looked a little taken aback. "I don't know what to say."

"Neither do I, really. I just have had a lot of time to think, about what is important in life. Maybe you are not Signe, but I should have appreciated your own traits better. I am sorry, truly, truly sorry for what I have said and done in the past. Maybe I tell you this because I have no idea if I will see you again, but I hope so."

"What do you mean?"

Skjalm sighed. "Tomorrow we begin our march to Podlasie, where the Kievan army awaits us. The battle will be bloody and I have no guarantee of victory. If I do not survive, I wish you to raise Thyra well, protect her above all else. She must live."


Hans flitted through the dark like a wraith, unseen by those he observed. The walls of Roskilde were manned by rebel soldiers and tightly watched. He needed to get into the city and figure out what to do. He worried that Rosenkrantz had probably restricted weapons and he would likely be thoroughly searched upon entering the gates - he needed a better idea.

He stalked along the walls until he found a relatively still, quiet spot. With some preparation, he tied his rope to the grappling hook and slid his specially prepared padding over the hooks. He gave it a good throw and smirked as it slid tight against the parapets. With the ease of practice he gave the rope a test and then started rapidly climbing up, using the wall to brace his midnight ascent.

Moments later he pulled himself up onto the wall, removed the hook and pulled the rope up into a coil. Giving only a short glance, he moved across the rampart and dropped off the edge of the wall. With great agility he planted his foot against a torch-holder partway down the wall, feeling it creak and threaten to snap under his weight. Not giving it the chance, he continued his drop from a shorter height, landing in a careful roll across the floor. Without hesitation, he took off running, slipping into an alley and holding his breath.

For a long minute, Hans listened, but there was no sound of pursuit. No one had seen him. He exhaled. Carefully, the German put the rope and hook back in his backpack and dusted himself off a bit. Somewhere in this city, the rogue Jarl commanded over the city. With ambitions to become Greve of Sjælland and the willful ignorance of the Danish King, the man was too dangerous to let live. This was far from his first mission in Roskilde, and he had ended several lives here before. This time his eye was firmly set on Søren Arendsen Rosenkrantz.

Carefully, he looked out to find the city streets mostly empty. Deciding he didn't want to risk a confrontation with the guards, he started moving through the alleys. He needed to find his safehouse, so that he could begin his mission in earnest.

"Just what do you think you're doing on my turf?"

Hans turned to look at the voice. A tall, somewhat inebriated Dane with a somewhat comical looking eyepatch. "Excuse me?"

"This alley belongs to me, you deaf? ME!"

Hans sighed. "Fine, the alley's yours, I'm leaving anyway."

"Oh no no you don't, you need to pay boy, this alley's mine and I'm making a toll."

"For god's sake." Hans hissed. "I don't have time for you, leave me alone."

The drunk pounded one fist into his palm and glared. "I ain't askin, pay up. Whatever you've got on you, give it to me."

With one swift motion, Hans stepped forward and pulled the knife from under his cloak, throwing it with deadly accuracy into his opponent's stomach. Stepping closer he grasped the handle, twisted and pulled the blade out again. The man's pained screams echoed through the alleys.

"You're going to pay for that." Someone said behind him. Hans wasted no time in leaping forward and shoving the body behind him as he went, leaving the other thug stumbling over his comrade's bleeding form.

The thug turned a corner in his pursuit but found a seemingly empty alleyway with no sign of the German he sought. "Where the hell..."

Hans sized up the man. Big, strong, stupid as sin and ugly to boot. The sword he wielded seemed dangerous enough, if somewhat poor quality. He probably worked for someone more powerful than he let on, Hans would rather this incident went down in the books as a mystery. Keeping his knife close, he moved in for the kill.

"Søren Rosenkrantz must die. Mere thugs and thieves shall not interfere."

No update yet, but I'll try to have one finished by tonight, if you promise not to lynch me. Please, guys?

RGB: I'm not saying anything... *whistles*

FlyingDutchie: The Hvides have a bone to pick with those dirty spawns of Rurik. They're always interfering in my- I mean their, business!

Ilyavania: "I'll return that tenfold when I return." When I first created Hans, I had a mixture of Garrett from Thief and Altaïr from Assassin's Creed in mind.

Artell: This tardiness ought to please you then. I need to update more frequently but I have trouble keeping the dedication to stick to it.

Enewald: According to CK, lots! xD I have had a lot of mercenary events and, well, I roleplay the use of most of my Wendish manpower as volunteer crusaders from North Germany and Scandinavia.

General_BT: Skjalm has always been a very virtuous man for the period - he's an exception. Many of my characters, even his own brother the bishop, have not been nearly so kind or forgiving. And you're right, he is thankfully to finally have a kid, whether a boy or a girl.

I enjoyed writing the scene with Hans, he's probably one of my favourite characters to write along with Gro. I enjoy intrigue.

StevetheERB: Yay! I'm a first poster! I'm glad you enjoyed it and I hope you can continue to.

Tonight = Tomorrow


"You sure make a lot of racket, don't you?"

Hans jumped, his hand reaching for the hilt of a dagger by instinct, before slowly unclasping it with trembling fingers. "Don't scare me like that Karl...you want to get stabbed too?"

The assassin looked across the room at the grey boot, all he could make out from across the room in the midnight shade. Through the open window behind him, he could hear the distant shouts of the guards, investigating the bodies of the two louts who challenged him. Their screams had attracted more attention than he would like.

"It's just like you to make a lot of noise on the way in, Hans. I thought you were a professional."

Hans scoffed. "It's not my fault, people like to pick fights - I just happen to finish them."

"Were you followed?"

"No man knows I was reponsible, I didn't leave them alive enough to tell, and with the alcohol those two were soaked in I can expect the true nature of my mission remains hidden."

"Good. Very good. You know the price for failure, Hans...do you not?"

The German glared at the shadow. "Why are you here, anyway? Do you even know my mission?"

The shadow paused. "Not as such. Enlighten me."

"I am to kill the leader of this so-called resistance movement against the Duke. The Jarl Rosenkrantz, so I am told. I believe it is a most intriguing one, but I do not have enough information about the nature of the target. Where he stays, how he behaves and guards himself - this is where you come in."


Karl took a soft step out of the shadow he dwelled in and smiled. "Of course it does. There will be the usual commission for my help, you know."

Hans waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, I know that. Tell me what you know."

"Not much, yet. I can tell you where it is he stays but I have not studied him enough to know his habits. Tomorrow, you and I will start to move around as part of the crowd, listening and learning. When we are ready, we will know more than enough to silence his life."


The morning sun slipped higher into the sky, shining down upon the gathering crowds. Garbed in the scarlet and white of the Baltic Crusade, thousands of men of Scandinavia and Germany stood ready, their hearts hardened to the task at hand. Although all those gathered were catholic in voice, this was no pagan but fellow Christian they were prepared to fight. The church of the Rus was of a different breed to the true faith in the west, and though they were considered heretics by many, many still felt it a more distasteful task than bringing God to their enemies.

At the centre of the formation was the Danish contingent, fluttering the banners of Sjælland high in the wind in defiance of their foes. The Kievan Principality was no easy foe, but the Danes faltered before no enemy - the sons of Rurik would not stop the vikings from their conquest. Podlasie was the land of the Son of the Kievan Prince and so long as it remained Russian territory, it threatened everything that the Crusade had worked for.

"They attacked our allies and, by extension, us!" Skjalm bellowed across the silent field to his friends. "They claim to serve God yet they actively impede the work of our Crusade - and for what?! Money, power? The dominance of other men? We come here to bring light to this dark world and they try to stamp it out? Shall we stand idly by?!"

There was a roar of negatives from the Danes, accompanied by an equally potent roar from the Teutonic regiment to his right flank. The Swedes, Norwegians and mercenaries were less enthusiastic, although noise enough still bellowed from their section. As for the Teutonic Order, their distinctive white-and-black garb stood out, as did the black cross and eagle which stood high above Johann's retinue. The Knights Teutonic had been valuable allies to Sjælland and Skjalm hoped that today their experience and skill would turn the tide.

"No, we shall not! Under our combined effort, they will fall like leaves before a storm! We are the united forces of Christ, across all countries and borders, we shall triumph and defeat them all!"

The chorus of cheers echoed around him, and his steely eyes turned to the land before him. Loose clumps of rock and tree frustrated his tactical ability, here on the borders, but he felt comfortable enough in his ability to defeat the Kievan threat. The King of Poland was to send reinforcements, or so he was told, and they would be arriving later today. If all went well, they would be able to crush the Russian foe between them.

Many of the knights had dismounted due to the trees limiting their full manueverability, but a number of cavalry had been kept. They would still be useful, even if they lacked the full power they normally wielded on the open fields. Most of his cavalry were the light-weight Obotrite skirmishers, who would be of more use to him in this kind of terrain.


The scent of pine wafted through the breeze and filled Skjalm's nostrils as the army began its march through the woods. Such scenery was so idyllic, but his mind was fully focused on what hazards it might portray, not the beauty it brought to him. He had met Russians before, but never on the field of battle - he had spoken to Harald Ribbing regarding what tactics or problems they might pose him, but he lacked full understanding of his enemy. This concerned him.

"You sure you've told me everything you know?" Skjalm muttered to his new Marshall.

"Everything, Chief." Ribbing looked across the field, scrutinizing the distant yellow banners of Kiev. "I spoke thoroughly with the Polish Marshall and he had plenty of insights. We will win this battle, I promise you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep. I'll be comfortable when peace between us is signed and no sooner. Kiev's power in this region is undisputed."

"Yet we have the power of Poland behind us, surely a victory is at hand?"

"Poland is not here yet, and the time for battle will soon come. Rurikovich's army is similar in size to our own, they must be aware that the Polish are on their way to aid us - he will not wait for them, he will come for us, and soon."

Ribbing frowned. "Do you think so?"

"Definitely." Skjalm gritted his teeth. "It's what I'd do in his position, and besides which I can feel it in my gut. He's coming any time now."

"Do you think we can win without Poland's help?"

Skjalm smirked a little. "Of course we can. I just don't know if we will. As long as every man gives his best we have a chance."

"You're very inspiring, Chief." Ribbing said somewhat morosely.

"Thank you." Skjalm laughed a little. "I try my best. But I think all of you know me well enough to hear the truth."

Skjalm looked around at the pack of mounted huskarls, who were grinning and chatting merrily as though it were another day at the office. These were the finest soldiers in his army, dedicated solely to the task of protecting their Duke. They would fight and kill anything in their path and each would lay down their lives to protect him, if he asked. They trusted him as much as he trusted them, and knew him better than anyone else. They were his friends as much as his guards.

"Right boys? We're going to show those Russians a thing or two either way!"

His men gave out a cheer of approval and laughter. Their morale, as usual, couldn't get any better.

Skjalm smiled, but inside his heart was cold. He had a bad feeling about all of this, something he just couldn't shake. "There better be no more surprises..."