-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Is it the 20th June already? My calendar must be wrong... 
Fantastic to see another update - I had forgotten how much I enjoy this AAR.
Some mixed fortunes for the Norse, it would seem. Margaret is certainly an interesting character. I'm looking forward to seeing what comes next for the Empire.
Fantastic to see another update - I had forgotten how much I enjoy this AAR.Some mixed fortunes for the Norse, it would seem. Margaret is certainly an interesting character. I'm looking forward to seeing what comes next for the Empire.
It seems natural evolution can not be stopped ......Democracy shall prevail again ! I hope this will be for the best of the Empire....
@Densley_Blair:
No, your calendar is all right, don't waste your money on legal fees!
I just read a comment a few weeks ago on somebody else's megacampaign (I think it was the Gwynedd one- it got aborted due to a broken savegame) that very few megacampaigns ever make it past EU3 which is why you don't really see any on the V2 or HoI forums. So I decided to join the few and the brave that will at least finish EU3 and probably V2 (I'm not sure about HoI, there may be problems with tags and heavily scripted AI).
Updates may not be regular, but I will try to finish this at least through V2!
@Gukpa:
I'm deviating from the game quite a bit plus I didn't really take screens, so I don't really have a map for you.
There will be one at the conclusion of EU3 though!
No, your calendar is all right, don't waste your money on legal fees!
I just read a comment a few weeks ago on somebody else's megacampaign (I think it was the Gwynedd one- it got aborted due to a broken savegame) that very few megacampaigns ever make it past EU3 which is why you don't really see any on the V2 or HoI forums. So I decided to join the few and the brave that will at least finish EU3 and probably V2 (I'm not sure about HoI, there may be problems with tags and heavily scripted AI).
Updates may not be regular, but I will try to finish this at least through V2!
@Gukpa:
I'm deviating from the game quite a bit plus I didn't really take screens, so I don't really have a map for you.
There will be one at the conclusion of EU3 though!
Chapter 48:
Meltdown
Excerpted from A Saga Without Heroes Volume 2: The New Worlds by Erik Haraldsson, ©2013 Nidaros University Press.
Used with permission.
One of the most remarkable periods of Norse history is the first three decades of the eighteenth century. After the major shocks of Margaret's violent accession and the First National War, the Empire seemed to settle down as an orderly machine functioning more or less perfectly under the 'guidance' of the aging Empress. Taxes stayed high, soldiers were quartered throughout the realm long after the end of the war, especially in Folkesland where the pretext of defense against Skottish and Skraeling raids was used.
But, if a machine is too subservient, it cannot run without its master.
But not even the Iron Empress was not immortal, and like all iron would break or melt down eventually. After half a century of what some call (mostly older historians) 'efficient and tight rule' and most 'cruelty', on the Ides of March, 1730, the Margaretian era came to a close.
And so would another era, before the decade was done.
The Iron Empress never married, likely because her reputation scared most men off. Those brave enough to ignore it visited the court and then saw the truth, which was at least as terrible as rumor.
Therefore, when she gave up the ghost at the age of seventy, her brother Olav acceded, having lived through half a century of denial and repressed fury.
But Olav's second accession was no more quiet than his first, failed one.
Although Margaret never married, in the weeks and months following her death as news spread from Finnmark to the West Coast of Folkesland and Hawaii, several men sprung up claiming to be the fruit of 'secret marriages' of Margaret and various locals. Olav, sixty-nine years old, swung into the (reinforced) saddle to prove himself a worthy king.
His first (and only) target was a certain Nidarosian by the name of Njald Eriksson.
Eriksson rode a wave of backlash against the administration focusing too much on Angland and Folkesland and neglecting Norway, the cradle of the Empire, leaving it prone to border raids by Sveriger troops. Eriksson, taking on the role of an Althing candidate, promised moving the capital back to Nidaros, ancient seat of the Ynglings to whom he claimed membership as the secret legitimate son of Margaret if the people supported him against the 'usurper' Olav.
Olav V of Norway and the Norsemen across the Sea landed in Nidaros Harbor on the First of April, 1730. Immediately a great battle ensued, in which much of the ancient Yngling capital was destroyed by brannjulen fire. Eriksson fled to the inland province of Oppland, which caused a months-long game of cat and mouse between the two kings. In the end, the leader of the 'Norvegia Prima' movement, as it was called, was captured outside Christiania, attempting to flee across the Skagerrak to Denmark.
But the seeds had been sown, and the scales of loyalty had been tipped.
Across the sea, in Folkesland, the (many would say) tyrannical policies of Margaret had hit hardest. Not only had they been forced to feed and clothe and otherwise feather the nests of Margaret's bloated army (indeed the largest army the Empire had before the twentieth century), but they had borne the brunt of war and all its associated malaise- famine, deaths, failed crops, etc. And who had caused them all? The Norwegian Empire. And its Empress and now Emperor which sat thousands of leagues away in their comfortable court in Nordhamptaborg, taxing the colonies to death and not even giving them a token way to protest in the rubber-stamp Althing which did not have members from Folkesland due to its status as a group of 'colonies' rather than 'provinces' which had the right of sending delegates to the Althing.
The First Colonial Althing was held on the 12th of May, 1732 in the Governor's Palace in Markaborg, the first colony established by Leifsson's Second Expedition in 1501. Delegates were sent from all the Folkeslander colonies west of the Appalachian mountains, because the more distant ones were too sparsely populated and distant.
After months of bitter debate, the Traitor Council as the Imperial Proclamation following its holding called it, came out with a Petition of Rights addressed to the Althing and the Emperor, demanding:
A) an end to the quartering of soldiers in Folkeslander homes
b) Taxes lowered to Anglish levels
c) Elevation of all East Coast of Folkesland colonies to Province status, entitling them to...
d) All Folkeslander colonies to be eligible to send two delegates to the Althing in Jorvik, just like all other Imperial Provinces.
When Olav received the Petition of Rights, newly returned from the Norwegian campaign, he burned it. Little did he know that his doing so would cause many other things to burn.
The next two such Althings did not change their revised Petitions much, except for the wording. The Second Colonial Althing tried the 'simpering' route, addressing Olav with such highfalutin titles as 'Supreme Emperor and Lord and Master of the Human Race' and naming themselves 'worms, your worms, humbly begging worms'. When Olav dismissed them in a mocking reply 'pathetic vermin not worthy of Our Empire and Our lordship', they tried, in the Third Colonial Althing the 'strong-arm' route.
The Third Petition of Rights, issued in June 1734 threatened Olav with 'fire and blood' if he did not accept the demands, but Olav only laughed, not bothering to write a reply, only saying: "They are like small boys. They think themselves tough and independent but in the end cry for their mothers'.
There would be no Fourth Colonial Althing. The Three Traitor's Councils (twisting history students' tongues ever since) were replaced by councils of war.
Over the next months preparations for the conflict rose as it seemed more and more inevitable. In Angland a mandatory draft for the army was enforced, as was in Folkesland, punishing the colonists for their daring to question Imperial policy. As history would show, as it never fails to do, this was a fatal mistake. In Folkesland, the various Colonial Councils and even some Governors secretly amassed weapons and fire-ash, aided by sympathizers drafted into the Army and stationed along the East Coast.
The storm broke in May 1735. On the third anniversary of the First Colonial Althing a great celebration was held in Leifsson Square in Markaborg, in front of the palace of the Governor who had been a delegate to the Colonial Althings. After the celebratory feast and speech, fireworks were scheduled to be fired above the city.
Instead, as secretly agreed by bribed soldiers and future rebels, brannjulen balls flew over the city and into the Palace.
Presented as an attack by Imperial soldiers, the news spread as quick as a horse could ride, up and down and from coast to coast in Folkesland. This could not go on. If the Emperor would not protect them from his own soldiers, there was no point in accepting his rule that was supposed to provide that protection.
As open rebellion broke out along the coast, most of the Colonial Althings delegates met in Gofraborg, capital of the island colony Nåva Mannau off the coast of Vinland, the area first settled by the Norsemen, to draft the Declaration of Broken Yokes.
The Declaration's main points were the foundation of a new, independent state called the Fri Provinser av Folkesland, the Free Provinces of Folkesland.
Instead of a hereditary monarch, the ruler would be a First Delegate, who would be elected every four years by the adult males of the country, along with an Althing of five delegates for each Free Province. No law could be made without support of a majority in the Althing, which would have the power to depose the First Delegate if two-thirds no longer had confidence in him.
But before the Althing could be convened, there was a war to win.
Surprisingly, it was not a long one.
Most of the colonies fell to the rebels within months of the Declaration. Led by Pål Amundsson, chief writer of the Declaration, they routed the unmotivated and, in many cases, sympathetic Imperial troops which had a large contigent of Folkeslanders.
Olav attempted to cross the ocean to lead the campaign himself, but unfortunately for Imperial Folkesland, a storm blew the fleet to Iceland and wrecked most of it.
And so, just over a year after the signing of the Declaration of Broken Yokes, on the 5 of June, 1736, Nårbert Eriksson, Commander-General of Folkesland, surrendered in Thorvaldstadt, after a short siege.
A new era had begun, and for the first time in centuries, Norway would not start it as the dominant power.
Times change. But they can also change back.
Meltdown
Excerpted from A Saga Without Heroes Volume 2: The New Worlds by Erik Haraldsson, ©2013 Nidaros University Press.
Used with permission.
One of the most remarkable periods of Norse history is the first three decades of the eighteenth century. After the major shocks of Margaret's violent accession and the First National War, the Empire seemed to settle down as an orderly machine functioning more or less perfectly under the 'guidance' of the aging Empress. Taxes stayed high, soldiers were quartered throughout the realm long after the end of the war, especially in Folkesland where the pretext of defense against Skottish and Skraeling raids was used.
But, if a machine is too subservient, it cannot run without its master.
But not even the Iron Empress was not immortal, and like all iron would break or melt down eventually. After half a century of what some call (mostly older historians) 'efficient and tight rule' and most 'cruelty', on the Ides of March, 1730, the Margaretian era came to a close.
And so would another era, before the decade was done.
The Iron Empress never married, likely because her reputation scared most men off. Those brave enough to ignore it visited the court and then saw the truth, which was at least as terrible as rumor.
Therefore, when she gave up the ghost at the age of seventy, her brother Olav acceded, having lived through half a century of denial and repressed fury.
But Olav's second accession was no more quiet than his first, failed one.
Although Margaret never married, in the weeks and months following her death as news spread from Finnmark to the West Coast of Folkesland and Hawaii, several men sprung up claiming to be the fruit of 'secret marriages' of Margaret and various locals. Olav, sixty-nine years old, swung into the (reinforced) saddle to prove himself a worthy king.
His first (and only) target was a certain Nidarosian by the name of Njald Eriksson.
Eriksson rode a wave of backlash against the administration focusing too much on Angland and Folkesland and neglecting Norway, the cradle of the Empire, leaving it prone to border raids by Sveriger troops. Eriksson, taking on the role of an Althing candidate, promised moving the capital back to Nidaros, ancient seat of the Ynglings to whom he claimed membership as the secret legitimate son of Margaret if the people supported him against the 'usurper' Olav.
Olav V of Norway and the Norsemen across the Sea landed in Nidaros Harbor on the First of April, 1730. Immediately a great battle ensued, in which much of the ancient Yngling capital was destroyed by brannjulen fire. Eriksson fled to the inland province of Oppland, which caused a months-long game of cat and mouse between the two kings. In the end, the leader of the 'Norvegia Prima' movement, as it was called, was captured outside Christiania, attempting to flee across the Skagerrak to Denmark.
But the seeds had been sown, and the scales of loyalty had been tipped.
Across the sea, in Folkesland, the (many would say) tyrannical policies of Margaret had hit hardest. Not only had they been forced to feed and clothe and otherwise feather the nests of Margaret's bloated army (indeed the largest army the Empire had before the twentieth century), but they had borne the brunt of war and all its associated malaise- famine, deaths, failed crops, etc. And who had caused them all? The Norwegian Empire. And its Empress and now Emperor which sat thousands of leagues away in their comfortable court in Nordhamptaborg, taxing the colonies to death and not even giving them a token way to protest in the rubber-stamp Althing which did not have members from Folkesland due to its status as a group of 'colonies' rather than 'provinces' which had the right of sending delegates to the Althing.
The First Colonial Althing was held on the 12th of May, 1732 in the Governor's Palace in Markaborg, the first colony established by Leifsson's Second Expedition in 1501. Delegates were sent from all the Folkeslander colonies west of the Appalachian mountains, because the more distant ones were too sparsely populated and distant.
After months of bitter debate, the Traitor Council as the Imperial Proclamation following its holding called it, came out with a Petition of Rights addressed to the Althing and the Emperor, demanding:
A) an end to the quartering of soldiers in Folkeslander homes
b) Taxes lowered to Anglish levels
c) Elevation of all East Coast of Folkesland colonies to Province status, entitling them to...
d) All Folkeslander colonies to be eligible to send two delegates to the Althing in Jorvik, just like all other Imperial Provinces.
When Olav received the Petition of Rights, newly returned from the Norwegian campaign, he burned it. Little did he know that his doing so would cause many other things to burn.
The next two such Althings did not change their revised Petitions much, except for the wording. The Second Colonial Althing tried the 'simpering' route, addressing Olav with such highfalutin titles as 'Supreme Emperor and Lord and Master of the Human Race' and naming themselves 'worms, your worms, humbly begging worms'. When Olav dismissed them in a mocking reply 'pathetic vermin not worthy of Our Empire and Our lordship', they tried, in the Third Colonial Althing the 'strong-arm' route.
The Third Petition of Rights, issued in June 1734 threatened Olav with 'fire and blood' if he did not accept the demands, but Olav only laughed, not bothering to write a reply, only saying: "They are like small boys. They think themselves tough and independent but in the end cry for their mothers'.
There would be no Fourth Colonial Althing. The Three Traitor's Councils (twisting history students' tongues ever since) were replaced by councils of war.
Over the next months preparations for the conflict rose as it seemed more and more inevitable. In Angland a mandatory draft for the army was enforced, as was in Folkesland, punishing the colonists for their daring to question Imperial policy. As history would show, as it never fails to do, this was a fatal mistake. In Folkesland, the various Colonial Councils and even some Governors secretly amassed weapons and fire-ash, aided by sympathizers drafted into the Army and stationed along the East Coast.
The storm broke in May 1735. On the third anniversary of the First Colonial Althing a great celebration was held in Leifsson Square in Markaborg, in front of the palace of the Governor who had been a delegate to the Colonial Althings. After the celebratory feast and speech, fireworks were scheduled to be fired above the city.
Instead, as secretly agreed by bribed soldiers and future rebels, brannjulen balls flew over the city and into the Palace.
Presented as an attack by Imperial soldiers, the news spread as quick as a horse could ride, up and down and from coast to coast in Folkesland. This could not go on. If the Emperor would not protect them from his own soldiers, there was no point in accepting his rule that was supposed to provide that protection.
As open rebellion broke out along the coast, most of the Colonial Althings delegates met in Gofraborg, capital of the island colony Nåva Mannau off the coast of Vinland, the area first settled by the Norsemen, to draft the Declaration of Broken Yokes.
The Declaration's main points were the foundation of a new, independent state called the Fri Provinser av Folkesland, the Free Provinces of Folkesland.
Instead of a hereditary monarch, the ruler would be a First Delegate, who would be elected every four years by the adult males of the country, along with an Althing of five delegates for each Free Province. No law could be made without support of a majority in the Althing, which would have the power to depose the First Delegate if two-thirds no longer had confidence in him.
But before the Althing could be convened, there was a war to win.
Surprisingly, it was not a long one.
Most of the colonies fell to the rebels within months of the Declaration. Led by Pål Amundsson, chief writer of the Declaration, they routed the unmotivated and, in many cases, sympathetic Imperial troops which had a large contigent of Folkeslanders.
Olav attempted to cross the ocean to lead the campaign himself, but unfortunately for Imperial Folkesland, a storm blew the fleet to Iceland and wrecked most of it.
And so, just over a year after the signing of the Declaration of Broken Yokes, on the 5 of June, 1736, Nårbert Eriksson, Commander-General of Folkesland, surrendered in Thorvaldstadt, after a short siege.
A new era had begun, and for the first time in centuries, Norway would not start it as the dominant power.
Times change. But they can also change back.
Well, losing all the Folkesland colonies in exactly the best thing a 'new' king can do. I suppose Olav's second reign will be remembered in the vein of George III. I'm really liking the style of this, as ever. I recently read a book entitled 'A Short History of England,' which I thoroughly enjoyed, and the tone is similar. I always look forward to updates, whenever they may be.
Thank you!
As for losing all the Folkesland colonies, that is not exactly true, since only the East Coast colonies rebelled, just like the real-life early USA which was mostly that area. Britain, like Norway in the Norseoverse, has other colonies in Folkesland, albeit Norway's are far more numerous.
I haven't read 'A Short History of England' but it sounds interesting!
I am quite a newcomer to the world of AARs and have to say this is an amazing AAR, I hope that an update is on its way soon seeing as its been almost a month!?!?!?
Thank you, it's quite a compliment when someone is waiting for an update *evil George R. R. Martin smile*
As for when said update will arrive? Soon, hopefully. It's just that when you get this late into a megacampaign it gets kind of repetitive.
As for when said update will arrive? Soon, hopefully. It's just that when you get this late into a megacampaign it gets kind of repetitive.
Well, guys, EU3's been difficult about letting me save and the save file actually existing outside of the 'load save' screen (long story) but I feel this demands a proper ending, not just leaving everything hanging, so here's an epilogue to finish this epic (if in a rather abrupt style).
But, before this, my first AAR that ran for any length of time, ends, I have to thank those without whom I could never have done this:
(in order of appearance):
Avindian: for being the very first one to notice what one apprentice AARwriter posted with crazy ambition, the first shoot of the flower that is this AAR.
Danasher: for proclaiming this 'epic awesomeness' and his following of the AAR.
Sergei Meranov: for completing the first Holy Trinity of followers.
Omen: for wishing me luck with an AAR that needed it so very badly.
Videonfan: for expressing his hope for my victory (that's what the console is for!)
Rendap: Who, although 'not understanding what I was doing', was a light in the usually-empty 'subscribed threads' screen.
mike the knight:for being there for pretty much every update since chapter 16 back in October, and for being such a fast friend and motivator.
Aetherius: for saying I did a 'good job with this one'.
Funnyman320: for being there since before any Yngling crossed the North Sea (he commented on my very first Paradox AAR I followed through with: Dead men DO tell tales) and for speculating on the (feeble) mysteries in the AAR- one of the greatest compliments a writer can get!
RockoYK: for being relieved that my game survived the 1.07 patch.
DensleyBlair: for devotedly following since chapter 30, for being a great friend and companion, and for his comments, shining like a beacon, calling me to continue even when I felt the siren song of abandoning this AAR like so many others.
ve3609:for putting so very succintly: 'excellent!'
AlexanderPrimus: for reaching down from the Olympus of the truly great AARwriters and following.
NewbieOne: for providing us all with a bit of comic relief slyly hiding a compliment.
SeanB: for complimenting my writing style while writing his own awesome AAR.
Revan86: for, although he came when the CKII portion was already done, was a great encouragement to me, and tirelessly writing his own amazing effort(s).
A_Dane: for popping in to congratulate me on completing Liege-Lords, worthy of a fellow Fan of the Week.
AON: for surprising me with a glowing (and helpful) critique after Liege-Lords finished.
Seelmeister: for welcoming me to the new world of EU3 AARland.
ShadowGamer42: for providing the ultimate compliment: a spin-off (an EU3 AAR starting with my initial EU3 save) even though it seemed to peter out after the first introductory update (but it's never too late to resurrect it, *hint-hint*)
Gukpa: for challenging me with conquering an empire worthy of the Ynglings: Britain, Scandinavia, Ireland, and the Baltic States before the end of the 16th century- something not even my almighty cheating would allow. Alas.
Char1es: for popping in to say hello in an inferior EU3 AAR. R.I.P. Lone and Level Sands, we need more Char1es! *hint-hint*
And, last but not at all least, KiwisFly13: whose comment was last (so far) but shook me off my ass and made me realize that I could not leave this saga without an end.
Of course, thank you Paradox Interactive for making and releasing Crusader Kings II and Europa Universalis III, and maintaining this board, such a hotbed of great AARing and a haven from the flaming, griefing battleground the Internet can be at times.
Thank you all, you are the true heroes of the Saga Without Heroes.
But, before this, my first AAR that ran for any length of time, ends, I have to thank those without whom I could never have done this:
(in order of appearance):
Avindian: for being the very first one to notice what one apprentice AARwriter posted with crazy ambition, the first shoot of the flower that is this AAR.
Danasher: for proclaiming this 'epic awesomeness' and his following of the AAR.
Sergei Meranov: for completing the first Holy Trinity of followers.
Omen: for wishing me luck with an AAR that needed it so very badly.
Videonfan: for expressing his hope for my victory (that's what the console is for!)
Rendap: Who, although 'not understanding what I was doing', was a light in the usually-empty 'subscribed threads' screen.
mike the knight:for being there for pretty much every update since chapter 16 back in October, and for being such a fast friend and motivator.
Aetherius: for saying I did a 'good job with this one'.
Funnyman320: for being there since before any Yngling crossed the North Sea (he commented on my very first Paradox AAR I followed through with: Dead men DO tell tales) and for speculating on the (feeble) mysteries in the AAR- one of the greatest compliments a writer can get!
RockoYK: for being relieved that my game survived the 1.07 patch.
DensleyBlair: for devotedly following since chapter 30, for being a great friend and companion, and for his comments, shining like a beacon, calling me to continue even when I felt the siren song of abandoning this AAR like so many others.
ve3609:for putting so very succintly: 'excellent!'
AlexanderPrimus: for reaching down from the Olympus of the truly great AARwriters and following.
NewbieOne: for providing us all with a bit of comic relief slyly hiding a compliment.
SeanB: for complimenting my writing style while writing his own awesome AAR.
Revan86: for, although he came when the CKII portion was already done, was a great encouragement to me, and tirelessly writing his own amazing effort(s).
A_Dane: for popping in to congratulate me on completing Liege-Lords, worthy of a fellow Fan of the Week.
AON: for surprising me with a glowing (and helpful) critique after Liege-Lords finished.
Seelmeister: for welcoming me to the new world of EU3 AARland.
ShadowGamer42: for providing the ultimate compliment: a spin-off (an EU3 AAR starting with my initial EU3 save) even though it seemed to peter out after the first introductory update (but it's never too late to resurrect it, *hint-hint*)
Gukpa: for challenging me with conquering an empire worthy of the Ynglings: Britain, Scandinavia, Ireland, and the Baltic States before the end of the 16th century- something not even my almighty cheating would allow. Alas.
Char1es: for popping in to say hello in an inferior EU3 AAR. R.I.P. Lone and Level Sands, we need more Char1es! *hint-hint*
And, last but not at all least, KiwisFly13: whose comment was last (so far) but shook me off my ass and made me realize that I could not leave this saga without an end.
Of course, thank you Paradox Interactive for making and releasing Crusader Kings II and Europa Universalis III, and maintaining this board, such a hotbed of great AARing and a haven from the flaming, griefing battleground the Internet can be at times.
Thank you all, you are the true heroes of the Saga Without Heroes.
EPILOGUE
2 November, 1966
The rains couldn’t stop falling on the Jorvik Battle National Memorial Park, as if still weeping for the dead of the battle nine hundred years previously. Magnus stood amidst the crowds standing beneath the great platform, and watched the Emperor speak. Erik Yngling III, direct descendant of the great Harald Hardraada and his son, Olaf the Wise, who had won the battle on this very ground nine centuries previously, opened his lips and spoke. “My subjects, welcome, one and all, to this very emotional celebration. Here, our nation, from the blood of the fallen, rose to become the world’s dominant power, as it is today, and ever shall be!” His unconvincing voice raised but a few cheers and claps. He cleared his throat, and his voice sounded yet again, to be broadcast to the four corners of the world. “Nine hundred years ago, the best men of Norge crossed the sea to bring Norse civilization and culture to the savages of Angland, and since we are all standing here today, they succeeded! Their spirit was an inspiration to Norsemen down the generations, and will continue to be so as long as there is one of us still drawing breath! There are those who would challenge us, Skotts and Frankishmenn and those perfidious heathens of Tyskerland, but they shall fall in turn as well! They think they won when they stole Eirann from us, when they stole Brittany and Iberia and holy Jorsalaborg, but we shall take them all back before I am with the great Olaf! The Folkeslanders claim to embody only the best of our culture, and though it is true that we are kin, they are no more than a pale copy of our glorious culture!
Magnus listened closely as his brother’s so very distant descendant droned on and on about the perfidy of Norge’s political rivals, in so very antiquated speech. Heathen. Holy. Those words were far out of style in those cynical times. So was Erik. Sixty-three years old, he had waited almost his entire life for the throne, and now that in his twilight years he finally had it, he couldn’t get enough of it. The throne that should have been mine. It’s so like me to harp over things nine centuries done. Norge’s fortunes had risen and fallen, ebbed and flowed, and all without his input. All he was able to do was watch as his brother, his foolish children, and all their now-unimaginably large brood yoked the empire to their wills and whims. But all that would change today. Magnus had watched, and now he would pay for his viewing.
“… And so I say to you, Eirannians and Sverigers and you invading sky-worshipping Tysks, and especially you usurper Folkeslanders, your pretensions are at an end! Fire shall rain down on you as so you have never seen before, and will continue to see for all of eternity, since you will be in hell! Now is the time, my friends, for Norge to be even greater, as surely Olaf would have wished it! As the arrow that smote Godwinson…”
Inaccuracy.
But the words had been spoken, just as he had been warned. It was time to go. He put on his raincoat, and pushed his way out of the crowd. When he had escaped the maze of human bodies and heat burning against the bitter November morning, he took out the mobile teletalk, and pushed the button. “The arrow is out.” he whispered into the cold, impersonal bars. The voice on the other side hesitated for a moment, then replied. “And the eye shall close.” Magnus hurried out of the Memorial Park, not bothering to acknowledge a distracted-looking guard on the way out.
Then, a great roar sounded, like an angry trumpet blast from heaven. Magnus went down, but could not avoid the wave of heat that washed over everything like the tide coming in on the shores of Nidaros. He was far too late in running. And then there was only darkness, eternal…
THE END
IS IT?
2 November, 2066
The blind man staggered out of his cave, nearly falling onto the blasted, accursed, dry ground. How long had he been here, preserved by his eternal curse? It no longer mattered. Time seemed to have no further meaning, not in what had been a site of battle, then, centuries later, a site of unimaginable tragedy. He cursed. When would he be released from his millennia-long doom, when would he join his sister, father, and his brother with his uncounted descendants? I brought it on myself, he thought. I was so jealous of Olaf that night after the battle… I was drunk and the witch offered me eternal life in compensation for living in my brother’s shadow… “Eventually he will grow old and die, but you will be forever twenty years old. What man would not want to live forever?” she had asked. He couldn’t have refused. What were a few thousand gold circles in the face of that one thing no man had ever achieved: eternal life? But after the first century or so he had begun to grow tired. With each few decades he would have to change his name, and move where no one would know him. All his friends wilted in front of his eyes sooner or later, and he begged a distant God for release. But even if He would have answered the prayer, the blind man knew what the answer would be: “God helps those who help themselves.” It was not as if he had not tried. The mob at Nidaros, falling from cliffs, swords, brannjulen, even the last time, when he had lost his eyes.
But the present called. Although the desolation was generally quiet as a tomb (which it was), this time there was a disturbance. Suddenly, the darkness was lifted…
He saw two men, clad in red, heavy outfits unfamiliar to the new-old eyes of Magnus Yngling. “It’s almost here.” one said, sounding rather fearful. “Yes, and my blind dead grandmother could locate the artifacts better than you, Ruolf!” the other one proclaimed. The two men walked around the blasted, glassy terrain with strange metallic devices in their hands, beeping every so often. “That’s a bum steer, Juf!” the fearful man said. They continued in their search, until they came upon Magnus, looking upon them with glassy eyes.
“Hey, kid!” shouted Ruolf. “Come help us and you might get a berth to Jotunheim when Big Stone hits next week!” So ironic. Magnus hobbled over to them, still unused to sight, and when he nearly knocked Juf down, Ruolf exclaimed: “Hey, he looks like that guy from that old Vår Historie show my old man used to watch. What was his name, Miggy or Mugs?”
“Quit it, Ruf.” said Juf as he regained his balance. “You’ll be watching worse than old history shows on the way to Jotunheim. Planet’s six months away, I heard.”
“Whatever.” said Ruolf. Then, his device beeped, louder almost than the blast that had robbed Magnus of his eyes. A four-digit number etched itself on the screen of the device. He exclaimed with excitement: “ Juf, look at this! We’ll get a mega-reward berth for this! All those Jotun academies are going to be fighting for this!” Ruolf went to the ground and pulled out a tool, a hammer by the looks of it. It didn’t take long to find what had set off the device.
Ruolf dropped the hammer and let it fall to the blasted surface. He took the arrowhead and held it to the device, pushing a button. The device emitted a short whirring sound then displayed a pattern all too familiar for Magnus. It was so very like his.
Then, his brother came. Ruolf, Juf, the arrowhead and the desolate Memorial Park disappeared, replaced by a hall of light. In truth, Magnus missed this type of architecture. Wooden walls, wooden roofs, stone floors… It was the type of hall he had been born in, and it held a childish charm for him. This particular hall was filled with light, and his brother. “It was so unkind of you to keep us waiting for so long, frater.” Olaf was not the old, done man he’d been in his last years, brooding over dreams of long-ago glory. No, that’s me. His brother had returned to being the type of person he’d been in those first years, almost forgotten amidst a millennium’s worth of memory. He was handsome, with a certain manly charm. Any boy’s ideal brother. “Come,” Olaf said, “everyone’s waiting for you.” And then they were no longer alone with the all-encompassing light. From the brilliance emerged so many familiar faces. His father, Harald Hardraada ,venerable but wise-looking, with no arrow sticking out of his eye as it had when Magnus last saw him.
His sister, as beautiful as the day of her wedding to treacherous Duke Gudrod of the Isles. Then, as more and more people emerged they became less and less familiar, although the earlier ones were still familiar. There came poor Harald, eldest of his nephews, robbed of his birthright by the merciless reaper of untimely death. He was accompanied by Sverre and Saxon-fancying Gunnar, their squabbles finally buried after they had torn the realm apart. With them were Olaf’s other children, Kristina and Aslak, immortalized by the Sangen av Aslak. Kristina’s son and Aslak’s successor, Erlend the Bewitched, who had reunified Angland and Norge after the ravages of Sverre and Gunnar. Then after them was a parade of other Ynglings, most of which Magnus did not recognize, but some he did: Ossor the Cruel, whose posthumous victory over the Skotts had turned Norge into a world power but sealed a blood covenant of hate between Norge and Skottland. Unfortunate Guttorm, who had failed his people so badly in the time of the Great Swelldeath, freed from his burdens in life.
Then, it was a rush of faces, only one or two Magnus recognized, more from history shows and books than from life: Halfdan the Second, who pushed Norge into the modern era headfirst by abolishing the feudal system. Harald the Fifth, in whose time Folkesland was discovered, and reviled Margaret, whose tyranny sundered the two parts of Norse civilization forever. And finally, Erik III, whose face seemed to bore into Magnus’s with the strength only family betrayal could muster.
But in the end, they all said the same thing, in the unison of angels: “ Welcome home, brother.”
Then, they all disappeared, except for one. Olaf. “It’s here,” he said, “that which will bring you home and break your curse. I can’t wait, brother.”
Then, he was back in what was once the field of Olaf’s greatest glory. Ruolf was shaking him forward and backward. “Wake up!”. When Magnus’s eyes fluttered open, he asked: “You alright, kid?”
“Yes,” said Magnus, “I think I am.”
Then, a huge explosion rent everything from end to end, like the great wrath of God.
But, for the first time in a thousand years, Magnus Haraldsson Yngling was at peace.
“People, despite their wealth, do not endure.
They are like the beasts who perish.”
-Psalms 49:12
THE BEGINNING
2 November, 1966
The rains couldn’t stop falling on the Jorvik Battle National Memorial Park, as if still weeping for the dead of the battle nine hundred years previously. Magnus stood amidst the crowds standing beneath the great platform, and watched the Emperor speak. Erik Yngling III, direct descendant of the great Harald Hardraada and his son, Olaf the Wise, who had won the battle on this very ground nine centuries previously, opened his lips and spoke. “My subjects, welcome, one and all, to this very emotional celebration. Here, our nation, from the blood of the fallen, rose to become the world’s dominant power, as it is today, and ever shall be!” His unconvincing voice raised but a few cheers and claps. He cleared his throat, and his voice sounded yet again, to be broadcast to the four corners of the world. “Nine hundred years ago, the best men of Norge crossed the sea to bring Norse civilization and culture to the savages of Angland, and since we are all standing here today, they succeeded! Their spirit was an inspiration to Norsemen down the generations, and will continue to be so as long as there is one of us still drawing breath! There are those who would challenge us, Skotts and Frankishmenn and those perfidious heathens of Tyskerland, but they shall fall in turn as well! They think they won when they stole Eirann from us, when they stole Brittany and Iberia and holy Jorsalaborg, but we shall take them all back before I am with the great Olaf! The Folkeslanders claim to embody only the best of our culture, and though it is true that we are kin, they are no more than a pale copy of our glorious culture!
Magnus listened closely as his brother’s so very distant descendant droned on and on about the perfidy of Norge’s political rivals, in so very antiquated speech. Heathen. Holy. Those words were far out of style in those cynical times. So was Erik. Sixty-three years old, he had waited almost his entire life for the throne, and now that in his twilight years he finally had it, he couldn’t get enough of it. The throne that should have been mine. It’s so like me to harp over things nine centuries done. Norge’s fortunes had risen and fallen, ebbed and flowed, and all without his input. All he was able to do was watch as his brother, his foolish children, and all their now-unimaginably large brood yoked the empire to their wills and whims. But all that would change today. Magnus had watched, and now he would pay for his viewing.
“… And so I say to you, Eirannians and Sverigers and you invading sky-worshipping Tysks, and especially you usurper Folkeslanders, your pretensions are at an end! Fire shall rain down on you as so you have never seen before, and will continue to see for all of eternity, since you will be in hell! Now is the time, my friends, for Norge to be even greater, as surely Olaf would have wished it! As the arrow that smote Godwinson…”
Inaccuracy.
But the words had been spoken, just as he had been warned. It was time to go. He put on his raincoat, and pushed his way out of the crowd. When he had escaped the maze of human bodies and heat burning against the bitter November morning, he took out the mobile teletalk, and pushed the button. “The arrow is out.” he whispered into the cold, impersonal bars. The voice on the other side hesitated for a moment, then replied. “And the eye shall close.” Magnus hurried out of the Memorial Park, not bothering to acknowledge a distracted-looking guard on the way out.
Then, a great roar sounded, like an angry trumpet blast from heaven. Magnus went down, but could not avoid the wave of heat that washed over everything like the tide coming in on the shores of Nidaros. He was far too late in running. And then there was only darkness, eternal…
THE END
IS IT?
2 November, 2066
The blind man staggered out of his cave, nearly falling onto the blasted, accursed, dry ground. How long had he been here, preserved by his eternal curse? It no longer mattered. Time seemed to have no further meaning, not in what had been a site of battle, then, centuries later, a site of unimaginable tragedy. He cursed. When would he be released from his millennia-long doom, when would he join his sister, father, and his brother with his uncounted descendants? I brought it on myself, he thought. I was so jealous of Olaf that night after the battle… I was drunk and the witch offered me eternal life in compensation for living in my brother’s shadow… “Eventually he will grow old and die, but you will be forever twenty years old. What man would not want to live forever?” she had asked. He couldn’t have refused. What were a few thousand gold circles in the face of that one thing no man had ever achieved: eternal life? But after the first century or so he had begun to grow tired. With each few decades he would have to change his name, and move where no one would know him. All his friends wilted in front of his eyes sooner or later, and he begged a distant God for release. But even if He would have answered the prayer, the blind man knew what the answer would be: “God helps those who help themselves.” It was not as if he had not tried. The mob at Nidaros, falling from cliffs, swords, brannjulen, even the last time, when he had lost his eyes.
But the present called. Although the desolation was generally quiet as a tomb (which it was), this time there was a disturbance. Suddenly, the darkness was lifted…
He saw two men, clad in red, heavy outfits unfamiliar to the new-old eyes of Magnus Yngling. “It’s almost here.” one said, sounding rather fearful. “Yes, and my blind dead grandmother could locate the artifacts better than you, Ruolf!” the other one proclaimed. The two men walked around the blasted, glassy terrain with strange metallic devices in their hands, beeping every so often. “That’s a bum steer, Juf!” the fearful man said. They continued in their search, until they came upon Magnus, looking upon them with glassy eyes.
“Hey, kid!” shouted Ruolf. “Come help us and you might get a berth to Jotunheim when Big Stone hits next week!” So ironic. Magnus hobbled over to them, still unused to sight, and when he nearly knocked Juf down, Ruolf exclaimed: “Hey, he looks like that guy from that old Vår Historie show my old man used to watch. What was his name, Miggy or Mugs?”
“Quit it, Ruf.” said Juf as he regained his balance. “You’ll be watching worse than old history shows on the way to Jotunheim. Planet’s six months away, I heard.”
“Whatever.” said Ruolf. Then, his device beeped, louder almost than the blast that had robbed Magnus of his eyes. A four-digit number etched itself on the screen of the device. He exclaimed with excitement: “ Juf, look at this! We’ll get a mega-reward berth for this! All those Jotun academies are going to be fighting for this!” Ruolf went to the ground and pulled out a tool, a hammer by the looks of it. It didn’t take long to find what had set off the device.
Ruolf dropped the hammer and let it fall to the blasted surface. He took the arrowhead and held it to the device, pushing a button. The device emitted a short whirring sound then displayed a pattern all too familiar for Magnus. It was so very like his.
Then, his brother came. Ruolf, Juf, the arrowhead and the desolate Memorial Park disappeared, replaced by a hall of light. In truth, Magnus missed this type of architecture. Wooden walls, wooden roofs, stone floors… It was the type of hall he had been born in, and it held a childish charm for him. This particular hall was filled with light, and his brother. “It was so unkind of you to keep us waiting for so long, frater.” Olaf was not the old, done man he’d been in his last years, brooding over dreams of long-ago glory. No, that’s me. His brother had returned to being the type of person he’d been in those first years, almost forgotten amidst a millennium’s worth of memory. He was handsome, with a certain manly charm. Any boy’s ideal brother. “Come,” Olaf said, “everyone’s waiting for you.” And then they were no longer alone with the all-encompassing light. From the brilliance emerged so many familiar faces. His father, Harald Hardraada ,venerable but wise-looking, with no arrow sticking out of his eye as it had when Magnus last saw him.
His sister, as beautiful as the day of her wedding to treacherous Duke Gudrod of the Isles. Then, as more and more people emerged they became less and less familiar, although the earlier ones were still familiar. There came poor Harald, eldest of his nephews, robbed of his birthright by the merciless reaper of untimely death. He was accompanied by Sverre and Saxon-fancying Gunnar, their squabbles finally buried after they had torn the realm apart. With them were Olaf’s other children, Kristina and Aslak, immortalized by the Sangen av Aslak. Kristina’s son and Aslak’s successor, Erlend the Bewitched, who had reunified Angland and Norge after the ravages of Sverre and Gunnar. Then after them was a parade of other Ynglings, most of which Magnus did not recognize, but some he did: Ossor the Cruel, whose posthumous victory over the Skotts had turned Norge into a world power but sealed a blood covenant of hate between Norge and Skottland. Unfortunate Guttorm, who had failed his people so badly in the time of the Great Swelldeath, freed from his burdens in life.
Then, it was a rush of faces, only one or two Magnus recognized, more from history shows and books than from life: Halfdan the Second, who pushed Norge into the modern era headfirst by abolishing the feudal system. Harald the Fifth, in whose time Folkesland was discovered, and reviled Margaret, whose tyranny sundered the two parts of Norse civilization forever. And finally, Erik III, whose face seemed to bore into Magnus’s with the strength only family betrayal could muster.
But in the end, they all said the same thing, in the unison of angels: “ Welcome home, brother.”
Then, they all disappeared, except for one. Olaf. “It’s here,” he said, “that which will bring you home and break your curse. I can’t wait, brother.”
Then, he was back in what was once the field of Olaf’s greatest glory. Ruolf was shaking him forward and backward. “Wake up!”. When Magnus’s eyes fluttered open, he asked: “You alright, kid?”
“Yes,” said Magnus, “I think I am.”
Then, a huge explosion rent everything from end to end, like the great wrath of God.
But, for the first time in a thousand years, Magnus Haraldsson Yngling was at peace.
“People, despite their wealth, do not endure.
They are like the beasts who perish.”
-Psalms 49:12
THE BEGINNING
Yes, unfortunately. EU3 was causing problems and anyway in the test saves I converted the V2 conversion went haywire.
Hopefully conversions from EU4 will be better.
Iam very proud that I was a minor part of this legendary legacy! Some people at least find their salvation even when they think that their time has ran out .....Maybe some choices were wrong ,maybe some rulers were weak but the Norse tradition shall be remembered forever !
Well, guys, as a present, here's a complete PDF of every chapter of this epic, ever:
http://www.mediafire.com/download/u45fk5toswbh1qo/The_Complete_Saga_Without_Heroes_by_Dovahkiing.pdf
Oh, and a song I think is appropriate:
[video=youtube;lLfFOCfAlIc]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLfFOCfAlIc[/video]
Thank you everybody, for sticking with me!
http://www.mediafire.com/download/u45fk5toswbh1qo/The_Complete_Saga_Without_Heroes_by_Dovahkiing.pdf
Oh, and a song I think is appropriate:
[video=youtube;lLfFOCfAlIc]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLfFOCfAlIc[/video]
Thank you everybody, for sticking with me!
Last edited:
[video=youtube;Tgcc5V9Hu3g]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tgcc5V9Hu3g[/video]
Bravo, my friend. Bravo.
I see you got bit of sci-fi into the story - if it hadn't been there already, that is, which I suspect it had. I'd be interested in seeing a history of the uncovered years. If you ever had time or the motivation, I'd be sure to give it a read.
Very well done, as ever.
Thank you very, very much!
The real reason I decided to call an end was because of my new AAR, so I felt I needed to give this one a proper ending before embarking on a new journey. So perhaps, I may do a history of 'the lost years' between 1735 and 1966, but not as an AAR actually based on gameplay- this time I'll need to stretch my imagination a bit
See you in Englaland! (and in the footsteps of Charlemagne!)
*applause* - Been a pleasure following this and unfortunate that it won't continue, but I understand your feelings! Good Work!
That's a shame.
I know I had little problem with my own EU3 to V2 conversion, but I did mine earlier than you. Idhrendur is working on it, I think, once he gets to that point in his own megacampaign. Still, this was great stuff!
Thanks, everybody, for your kind words!
I'm thinking, once a functional CK2 to EU4 (and EU4 to V2) convertor is availble, of doing a truly mega, mega campaign from 867 to 1936, so stay tuned! But, in the meantime, I have a new AAR going on over at my alma mater- the CKII AAR forum! See you all there, and thank you all for reading!
I'm thinking, once a functional CK2 to EU4 (and EU4 to V2) convertor is availble, of doing a truly mega, mega campaign from 867 to 1936, so stay tuned! But, in the meantime, I have a new AAR going on over at my alma mater- the CKII AAR forum! See you all there, and thank you all for reading!