Piety of the North Star - The Hvide of Sjaelland
An alternate history AAR based the Hvide Clan of Sjælland in Denmark.
Game Details
* Descriptive pieces with little or no attached storyline or narrative.
Skjalm Tokesen Hivde felt it pierce through the layers of insulating furs and his portly figure, right to the very bone. Icy cold hands like the devil's wraiths clutching at him, threatened to devour his whole being right there. It was no blade of steel or hellish magic which had conjured up this terrible sensation, but the grip of the winter frost which now blew across Sjælland, and indeed all of the north. The danish, however, were used to the cold, and his warm garments would keep him through the warm enough through the trip. The party's life was in no danger despite the flurries of white powder tugged along by invisible currents of air, whipping into their faces and chilling to the bone.
Skjalm was the Count of Sjælland and this made him one of the most important nobles in Denmark, and certainly Northern Europe as a whole. As the Count of Sjælland, he was responsible for overseeing the whole island, tending to its wellbeing - an especially important duty, as the Kings of Denmark had a great fondness for residing upon the island. A great responsibility had been rested upon his shoulders, and when his master called, he had no choice but to obey.
That was why he was making the journey some 12 leagues from his estate outside Køpmannæhafn, all the way north to Søborg Castle, the current residence of choice for his liege-lord. Svend Estridsen Knýtling, King of all Denmark, had issued direct summons to him, to make the journey north as soon as possible. Skjalm did not understand what his Majesty could possible desire, but he was worried. Very worried.
He had spoken to Ragnar Eriksen, a rather unnoticeable jarl of a lesser estate, whose home he had spent the prior night. The Jarls were a rather diverse and confusing group, but they were the social elite, the nobility of Denmark. The Danes, however, were still primitive in many ways compared to their neighbours in Saxony. Primitive trials of pagan origins and sovereignty by might were still the accepted ways. The kingdom was divided into petty, feuding portions of land, ruled by rival Jarls who sought to undermine each other's strength and wealth. The King himself was a proud man, but inevitably he was no Canute. Under his rule, the once mighty Viking Danes had become no better than cowering children, lurking beneath the shadow of the Germanic Kingdom.
The Norman invasion of England last year had made one thing clear: Denmark and similar states were still backwards realms, scattered and divided. This was why Norway had slipped out of their fingers, why Sweden was still a power, and why the Franks ruled over Anglo-Saxon lands which by all right belonged to Viking blood. These were things that made him angry, and Skjalm clenched his fist unconsciously from unbidden rage. His King was bringing ruin to the great country he loved so much. Admittedly, though, Magnus the Good was as much to blame for Denmark's decline - though he had won a great victory against the Wends over twenty years ago, he allowed the fierce rivalry between Harald Hardråde and Svend Estridson to develop in the first place, and so contributed at least partially to Svend's embarrassing inability to defeat him and reclaim Norway for Denmark.
So why was he being summoned? What was Svend planning? What was he going to do? And how the hell did Skjalm fit into this picture?
The looming figure of Søborg Castle appeared before him in the fog and snow, lantern lights highlighting the castle's figure even in the fading light of dusk, granting the fortifications an eerie glow. His procession of a dozen huskarls followed him closely, all mounted like he, all ready for anything. His bodyguards were amongst the best-trained and equipped soldiers in all of Denmark, and they would protect him and his family with their lives if necessary. He paid them exceptionally well in order to ensure that. As they approached the iron gates, his herald announced his coming and the iron gates opened almost immediately. Through the streets of the small settlement within the castle walls they moved, until at last they reached the keep proper. A large number of men were gathered in the courtyard waiting, and Skjalm was instantly on guard, unsure of what to think or say.
"Skjalm, wonderful to see you!" a voice called out from the head of the crowd. The torchlight illuminated that speaker's face, and Skjalm's eyes quickly focused, picking out details. Rannveig Thordarsdatter, the Royal Chancellor of Denmark, and the diplomatic face to all noble visitors to the King's demesne.
"Rannveig, a pleasure, of course." Skjalm stated dryly. He was not here to see this woman. "I have been summoned by the King, I wish to see him."
"I'm afraid that's not possible, Skjalm."
The portly noble focused on this new voice. It was his brother, Auden, the bishop of Roskilde and some said the holiest man in all of Denmark. A truly pious and brave soul...but why was he here? Skjalm's confusion grew, and a sense of nausea was beginning to overtake him as the crowd of people spread out, starting to surround him. It was at that moment, Skjalm realized his huskarls were gone, and he was alone, trapped.
"Auden, what is going on? Explain immediately, I have no time for this game! The King has summoned me!"
Where Auden's gentle face had once been, a snarling, fanged demonic grin now stood. His voice as he spoke shifted from that of his noble, pious brother to a monster. "Your soul has been taken by Satan, brother. We will cleanse you."
"No...no, stay back!" Skjalm screamed, drawing his sword and waving it wildly, his horse bucking. As if by some chance of fate, he was thrown from the saddle, up into the air, into the sky, clouds rushing past him, and all at once, he fell...
Skjalm awoke with a thud, his chubby form colliding with the wooden floor of his bedchamber. He wiped his mouth with one hand and pulled himself up, groaning and scratching at tender parts. It was just a dream...just another nightmare. He was safe.
"Skjalm, at last, you're finally awake. The King has requested to speak with you this morning before his departure!"
That stern voice was his wife Signe. She was some twelve years his junior, and a determined woman of great moral fibre. She was also extremely crafty, and one of his closest advisors. There were few he could trust to help manage the financial affairs of Sjælland, and she was easily the best steward and bed companion he could ask for. She was plain to some eyes, perhaps, though certainly not foul or displeasing. Indeed, Skjalm had noticed the roving eyes of his King the day before, examining his wife's figure with lust; not that he, as a lesser noble, could do anything about it.
The tired noble reached for his discarded trousers, left to the bedside during lastnight's happy celebrations with his wife. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he acknowledged that since their marriage, she had not produced him one heir. He was beginning to grow concerned about this, and had prayed several times for help. Maybe this time, God's help would come.
"Hurry, Hertug of Sjælland, lest the King changes his mind!" Signe put the emphasis on the title, and Skjalm nodded fervently, obeying his wife's urging. His mind, however, was still on the dream. He had dreamt of such things every night since he arrived at Søborg three days and four nights prior. He had made up his mind to speak to Auden about it tomorrow, for a sense of forboding had crept into his heart.
Within a few minutes, the noble dane was fully dressed and a servant was helping see to his disheveled bed hair while he hurriedly piled in his morning meal of fruits and nuts, washed down with a glass of wine. To say that Skjalm was hedonistic would not be entirely true - he was no more hedonistic than your average noble, but he certainly found time to enjoy more than his fair share of food, contributing to his rotund figure. He ignored his wife's occasional clucks of disapproval - she was no fan of excess, and only begrudgingly put aside her disapproval of it in favour of her love for him. Their marriage was, unlike many, one of honesty and romantic idealism, one of love and not political bargain.
The newly-appointed Duke marched confidently down the stairwell, and found his way to the side gate of the castle, where the well-armed and armoured entourage of the King's personal huskarls greeted him. King Svend Estridsen himself was busying himself in conversation with Rannveig and a strange man he did not recognize. He had the look of an Italian but the speech of a Dane; he was certainly no foreigner, but neither was he any noble that Skjalm knew of.
Skjalm approached the King and bowed low with respect, keeping his distance, but neither straying too far. "My liege."
His liege smiled and beckoned for him to rise. "Ah, ah, there he is, man of the hour. Are you feeling well? You look pale even in this dreadful weather." The King beckoned to the grey skies above.
Skjalm nodded and stood. "I am well, your majesty, perhaps a little overwhelmed at your appointment of full control of Sjælland, but well. Where was it you said you were to depart to, again?"
The King was looking over some piece of parchment thoughtfully. "Århus. My son has agreed to surrender his estate there, and it will be, for now, my new demesne. As for your new power...it was well deserved. For some time you have reigned over this island, and the Hvide clan has done a good job of it too. Loyalty deserves reward, Skjalm, and I believe that with the full administrative power over Sjælland, you can perform even better. Besides, the kingdom ran into a fair bit of money after the recent marriage and treaty with Norway. It wasn't hard to arrange for the money for your new title, High Chief of Hvide. Just keep the place together, and keep your eyes on the future."
Immediately, a puzzled look crossed Skjalm's face. "The future, my king?"
Svend laughed. "Think about it, Skjalm. Just think about it. We are danes, are we not? We are conquerors, warriors, lords of old. Our names once struck fear into the heart of all the baltic. Now...those days are over, but our viking blood has not been diluted in the least. Skjalm Tokesen, we are true vikings, and if you look to the south, you will see lands that may yet become our proving grounds."
"Northern Europe as of February 1067 A.D. - Denmark seems a minor power compared to other leading European states."
The Jarl thought carefully about this, pondering upon his knowledge of geography. "Mecklenburg, my liege?"
"Oh aye, they're the obvious first step...but think grander, my boy, grander than just Mecklenburg. Pomerania, Prussia, Lithuania...given the state of the Teutons, perhaps someday even Hamburg and Saxony!"
"You're...I see, my liege. Where do I come in, at this stage, sire?" Skjalm seemed doubtful, but dare not voice his concerns, out of fear of punishment.
"Skjalm, you are one of the few nobles I trust to get the job done. Sjælland is one of the most important provinces in the whole of our country, but there are other places of import as well. I must look to Fyn and Slesvig, I must raise an army. I have sent my capable sons to Halland and Skåne to arrange for matters there. You too, Skjalm, must do your part. The lands of Sjælland are some of our most populous and certainly the wealthiest - I look to you to set things straight. Begin building up a new army, stockpiling weapons and supplies, and ensure we have a fleet of longships to transport them. When the time comes to prove our viking blood, you will be on the front lines, earning glory with the rest of us..."
King Svend quickly mounted his horse, and started to laugh heartily. "Imagine yet, Skjalm, that the Danes might rule over all the Baltic before we are done! Arm your huskarls and sound the call...for when I ask you, you must be ready to join us in war!"
Svend's procession turned away, and departed in the direction of Kømannæhafn, where the Royal Fleet had berthed itself just weeks earlier. Skjalm shook his head in incredulity at the slowly shrinking figure of his liege-lord, and pondered what to do. Svend was proposing a vast military campaign when Denmark was not even stable enough to avoid civil war. If they could not hold on to Norway, if they could not keep their english lands from the inferior Saxons or the damned Normans, how could they hope to stand against the ever growing armies of the other European states?
Skjalm retreated into his castle - with nary a thought to the fact that it seemed strange one of the two mightiest castles in Denmark was now under his command - and began to brood. His thoughts took him down dark lanes, and for a week he thought and pondered with little action. Skjalm Tokesson Hvide was Duke of Sjælland, vassal of the King of Denmark, but he recognized that this path could lead a weakened Denmark to destruction. What, then, should a concerned Duke do?
Skjalm Tokesen Hvide was a troubled man indeed. But before long, he had broken through and come up with a plan - all he needed was a little help...and he knew just the man to make it happen.
"Asbjørn Ulfsen Sprakalegg, close friend to Skjalm and the marshal of his host, the armies of Sjælland."
An alternate history AAR based the Hvide Clan of Sjælland in Denmark.
Game Details
- Difficulty Level - Hard
- AI Aggressiveness - Normal
- Default Hastings (1066) Scenario
- Modified and Personalized Version of the DVIP Mod
- Modding Save File is Permitted ONLY if it does not particularly impact gameplay, such as to change a country's primary title, or to modify a character name (e.g. adding Audensen to a son of Auden's name) or if it is deemed important and sensible to the storyline without being full-on cheating.
Shiny Shiny Trophy Cabinet
- Winner of a Weekly Showcase Award for the 1st of December, 2008
- Inspired a Nomination for Character Writer of the Week for the 25th of January, 2009 and for the 21st of August, 2011
- Inspired a Nomination for AARtist of the Month for September of 2011
- Winner of the ACA Award for Best Crusader Kings Narrative Q1 and Q2 of 2009 and Q4 of 2011.
Table of Contents
- Hertug Skjalm Tokesen Hvide, 1067-1083 Anno Domini
01 - Rise of the Duke
02 - Prelude to War
03 - Punishment and Crime
04 - The Wendish Crusade
05 - Battle of Rostock
06 - Denmark by the Late 11th Century*
07 - The Ting of Denmark
08 - The Sun Sets Upon All Joy
09 - The Second Wendish Crusade
10 - Amber Road in Decay
11 - March to the West
12 - The Two Sieges
13 - Rostock and Religion*
14 - Reunion and God
15 - Perils of the Princess
16 - Battle of Baden Field
17 - Quest of God
18 - Rise of the Crusader State
19 - Glimpses of the Future
20 - Beginning of the End
21 - Scarlet Visage of Odin
22 - Challenging Proposition
23 - Death on the Wind
24 - The Duel
25 - Solemn Moments
26 - Clash of the Titans
27 - Battle of Sprakalegg Hill
28 - Coming of the Valkyries
29 - The Court of Sjælland*
30 - The Boys' Sport
31 - Fire, Faith and the Heart
32 - Reconciliation and Shadow
33 - Stab in the Dark
34 - Battle of Sokólskie Hills
35 - Heroes' Return
36 - Treaty of Stettin
37 - Night Falls over Søborg
38 - Treacherous Black
39 - Pain and Celebration
40 - A Shift in Power
41 - The Document
42 - To Crown a King
43 - Glory of the Saints
Interlude I - Crusaders' Europe
- Hertug-Biskop Auden Tokesen Hvide, 1083-? Anno Domini
* Descriptive pieces with little or no attached storyline or narrative.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Chapter 01 - Rise of the Duke
Chapter 01 - Rise of the Duke
Skjalm Tokesen Hivde felt it pierce through the layers of insulating furs and his portly figure, right to the very bone. Icy cold hands like the devil's wraiths clutching at him, threatened to devour his whole being right there. It was no blade of steel or hellish magic which had conjured up this terrible sensation, but the grip of the winter frost which now blew across Sjælland, and indeed all of the north. The danish, however, were used to the cold, and his warm garments would keep him through the warm enough through the trip. The party's life was in no danger despite the flurries of white powder tugged along by invisible currents of air, whipping into their faces and chilling to the bone.
Skjalm was the Count of Sjælland and this made him one of the most important nobles in Denmark, and certainly Northern Europe as a whole. As the Count of Sjælland, he was responsible for overseeing the whole island, tending to its wellbeing - an especially important duty, as the Kings of Denmark had a great fondness for residing upon the island. A great responsibility had been rested upon his shoulders, and when his master called, he had no choice but to obey.
That was why he was making the journey some 12 leagues from his estate outside Køpmannæhafn, all the way north to Søborg Castle, the current residence of choice for his liege-lord. Svend Estridsen Knýtling, King of all Denmark, had issued direct summons to him, to make the journey north as soon as possible. Skjalm did not understand what his Majesty could possible desire, but he was worried. Very worried.
He had spoken to Ragnar Eriksen, a rather unnoticeable jarl of a lesser estate, whose home he had spent the prior night. The Jarls were a rather diverse and confusing group, but they were the social elite, the nobility of Denmark. The Danes, however, were still primitive in many ways compared to their neighbours in Saxony. Primitive trials of pagan origins and sovereignty by might were still the accepted ways. The kingdom was divided into petty, feuding portions of land, ruled by rival Jarls who sought to undermine each other's strength and wealth. The King himself was a proud man, but inevitably he was no Canute. Under his rule, the once mighty Viking Danes had become no better than cowering children, lurking beneath the shadow of the Germanic Kingdom.
The Norman invasion of England last year had made one thing clear: Denmark and similar states were still backwards realms, scattered and divided. This was why Norway had slipped out of their fingers, why Sweden was still a power, and why the Franks ruled over Anglo-Saxon lands which by all right belonged to Viking blood. These were things that made him angry, and Skjalm clenched his fist unconsciously from unbidden rage. His King was bringing ruin to the great country he loved so much. Admittedly, though, Magnus the Good was as much to blame for Denmark's decline - though he had won a great victory against the Wends over twenty years ago, he allowed the fierce rivalry between Harald Hardråde and Svend Estridson to develop in the first place, and so contributed at least partially to Svend's embarrassing inability to defeat him and reclaim Norway for Denmark.
So why was he being summoned? What was Svend planning? What was he going to do? And how the hell did Skjalm fit into this picture?
The looming figure of Søborg Castle appeared before him in the fog and snow, lantern lights highlighting the castle's figure even in the fading light of dusk, granting the fortifications an eerie glow. His procession of a dozen huskarls followed him closely, all mounted like he, all ready for anything. His bodyguards were amongst the best-trained and equipped soldiers in all of Denmark, and they would protect him and his family with their lives if necessary. He paid them exceptionally well in order to ensure that. As they approached the iron gates, his herald announced his coming and the iron gates opened almost immediately. Through the streets of the small settlement within the castle walls they moved, until at last they reached the keep proper. A large number of men were gathered in the courtyard waiting, and Skjalm was instantly on guard, unsure of what to think or say.
"Skjalm, wonderful to see you!" a voice called out from the head of the crowd. The torchlight illuminated that speaker's face, and Skjalm's eyes quickly focused, picking out details. Rannveig Thordarsdatter, the Royal Chancellor of Denmark, and the diplomatic face to all noble visitors to the King's demesne.
"Rannveig, a pleasure, of course." Skjalm stated dryly. He was not here to see this woman. "I have been summoned by the King, I wish to see him."
"I'm afraid that's not possible, Skjalm."
The portly noble focused on this new voice. It was his brother, Auden, the bishop of Roskilde and some said the holiest man in all of Denmark. A truly pious and brave soul...but why was he here? Skjalm's confusion grew, and a sense of nausea was beginning to overtake him as the crowd of people spread out, starting to surround him. It was at that moment, Skjalm realized his huskarls were gone, and he was alone, trapped.
"Auden, what is going on? Explain immediately, I have no time for this game! The King has summoned me!"
Where Auden's gentle face had once been, a snarling, fanged demonic grin now stood. His voice as he spoke shifted from that of his noble, pious brother to a monster. "Your soul has been taken by Satan, brother. We will cleanse you."
"No...no, stay back!" Skjalm screamed, drawing his sword and waving it wildly, his horse bucking. As if by some chance of fate, he was thrown from the saddle, up into the air, into the sky, clouds rushing past him, and all at once, he fell...
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
February 17th, 1067
February 17th, 1067
Skjalm awoke with a thud, his chubby form colliding with the wooden floor of his bedchamber. He wiped his mouth with one hand and pulled himself up, groaning and scratching at tender parts. It was just a dream...just another nightmare. He was safe.
"Skjalm, at last, you're finally awake. The King has requested to speak with you this morning before his departure!"
That stern voice was his wife Signe. She was some twelve years his junior, and a determined woman of great moral fibre. She was also extremely crafty, and one of his closest advisors. There were few he could trust to help manage the financial affairs of Sjælland, and she was easily the best steward and bed companion he could ask for. She was plain to some eyes, perhaps, though certainly not foul or displeasing. Indeed, Skjalm had noticed the roving eyes of his King the day before, examining his wife's figure with lust; not that he, as a lesser noble, could do anything about it.
The tired noble reached for his discarded trousers, left to the bedside during lastnight's happy celebrations with his wife. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he acknowledged that since their marriage, she had not produced him one heir. He was beginning to grow concerned about this, and had prayed several times for help. Maybe this time, God's help would come.
"Hurry, Hertug of Sjælland, lest the King changes his mind!" Signe put the emphasis on the title, and Skjalm nodded fervently, obeying his wife's urging. His mind, however, was still on the dream. He had dreamt of such things every night since he arrived at Søborg three days and four nights prior. He had made up his mind to speak to Auden about it tomorrow, for a sense of forboding had crept into his heart.
Within a few minutes, the noble dane was fully dressed and a servant was helping see to his disheveled bed hair while he hurriedly piled in his morning meal of fruits and nuts, washed down with a glass of wine. To say that Skjalm was hedonistic would not be entirely true - he was no more hedonistic than your average noble, but he certainly found time to enjoy more than his fair share of food, contributing to his rotund figure. He ignored his wife's occasional clucks of disapproval - she was no fan of excess, and only begrudgingly put aside her disapproval of it in favour of her love for him. Their marriage was, unlike many, one of honesty and romantic idealism, one of love and not political bargain.
The newly-appointed Duke marched confidently down the stairwell, and found his way to the side gate of the castle, where the well-armed and armoured entourage of the King's personal huskarls greeted him. King Svend Estridsen himself was busying himself in conversation with Rannveig and a strange man he did not recognize. He had the look of an Italian but the speech of a Dane; he was certainly no foreigner, but neither was he any noble that Skjalm knew of.
Skjalm approached the King and bowed low with respect, keeping his distance, but neither straying too far. "My liege."
His liege smiled and beckoned for him to rise. "Ah, ah, there he is, man of the hour. Are you feeling well? You look pale even in this dreadful weather." The King beckoned to the grey skies above.
Skjalm nodded and stood. "I am well, your majesty, perhaps a little overwhelmed at your appointment of full control of Sjælland, but well. Where was it you said you were to depart to, again?"
The King was looking over some piece of parchment thoughtfully. "Århus. My son has agreed to surrender his estate there, and it will be, for now, my new demesne. As for your new power...it was well deserved. For some time you have reigned over this island, and the Hvide clan has done a good job of it too. Loyalty deserves reward, Skjalm, and I believe that with the full administrative power over Sjælland, you can perform even better. Besides, the kingdom ran into a fair bit of money after the recent marriage and treaty with Norway. It wasn't hard to arrange for the money for your new title, High Chief of Hvide. Just keep the place together, and keep your eyes on the future."
Immediately, a puzzled look crossed Skjalm's face. "The future, my king?"
Svend laughed. "Think about it, Skjalm. Just think about it. We are danes, are we not? We are conquerors, warriors, lords of old. Our names once struck fear into the heart of all the baltic. Now...those days are over, but our viking blood has not been diluted in the least. Skjalm Tokesen, we are true vikings, and if you look to the south, you will see lands that may yet become our proving grounds."
"Northern Europe as of February 1067 A.D. - Denmark seems a minor power compared to other leading European states."
The Jarl thought carefully about this, pondering upon his knowledge of geography. "Mecklenburg, my liege?"
"Oh aye, they're the obvious first step...but think grander, my boy, grander than just Mecklenburg. Pomerania, Prussia, Lithuania...given the state of the Teutons, perhaps someday even Hamburg and Saxony!"
"You're...I see, my liege. Where do I come in, at this stage, sire?" Skjalm seemed doubtful, but dare not voice his concerns, out of fear of punishment.
"Skjalm, you are one of the few nobles I trust to get the job done. Sjælland is one of the most important provinces in the whole of our country, but there are other places of import as well. I must look to Fyn and Slesvig, I must raise an army. I have sent my capable sons to Halland and Skåne to arrange for matters there. You too, Skjalm, must do your part. The lands of Sjælland are some of our most populous and certainly the wealthiest - I look to you to set things straight. Begin building up a new army, stockpiling weapons and supplies, and ensure we have a fleet of longships to transport them. When the time comes to prove our viking blood, you will be on the front lines, earning glory with the rest of us..."
King Svend quickly mounted his horse, and started to laugh heartily. "Imagine yet, Skjalm, that the Danes might rule over all the Baltic before we are done! Arm your huskarls and sound the call...for when I ask you, you must be ready to join us in war!"
Svend's procession turned away, and departed in the direction of Kømannæhafn, where the Royal Fleet had berthed itself just weeks earlier. Skjalm shook his head in incredulity at the slowly shrinking figure of his liege-lord, and pondered what to do. Svend was proposing a vast military campaign when Denmark was not even stable enough to avoid civil war. If they could not hold on to Norway, if they could not keep their english lands from the inferior Saxons or the damned Normans, how could they hope to stand against the ever growing armies of the other European states?
Skjalm retreated into his castle - with nary a thought to the fact that it seemed strange one of the two mightiest castles in Denmark was now under his command - and began to brood. His thoughts took him down dark lanes, and for a week he thought and pondered with little action. Skjalm Tokesson Hvide was Duke of Sjælland, vassal of the King of Denmark, but he recognized that this path could lead a weakened Denmark to destruction. What, then, should a concerned Duke do?
Skjalm Tokesen Hvide was a troubled man indeed. But before long, he had broken through and come up with a plan - all he needed was a little help...and he knew just the man to make it happen.
"Asbjørn Ulfsen Sprakalegg, close friend to Skjalm and the marshal of his host, the armies of Sjælland."
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