"The Koss don't give a toss" - The Story of the House of Koss (AAR)

[Cathcart]

This is Örvar, first of the House of Koss. He has a beard, a county - Vestfold in the south of Norway - and no family. Don't ask him about that last bit, it gets really awkward. Örvar wants to make a name for himself. In fact he already has: Koss. Before he was made a count, he was just 'weird guy Örvar'. Or - the echoes of playground bullies still ringing in his ears - Ööörvar, turning the first syllable into a retching sound. Koss. He likes the sound of it. He's been trying to turn it into a saying that "Koss is the Boss" - as if to say 'Koss is our leader and we trust in him' - but so far it hasn't caught on.

This is the real boss, petty king Haraldr of Sjælland, Örvar's liege. I don't need to tell you not to use the word 'petty' to his face, do I? In all likelihood he will get crowned king of Denmark soon, anyway. If he doesn't die first, that is. Haraldr is 78 and will be succeeded by his two sons, þrandr and Hrörekr. They were each granted a generous portion of Denmark when Haraldr purged the land of his enemies. They enjoy hunting in their forests and slapping minor counts on their back at feasts so they get fish bones stuck in their throat. They also enjoy laughing at a man choking on fish bones. They're both in their thirties, healthy and handsome, ferocious and warlike. Örvar hates their guts. He wants nothing more than to see the old king die and his heirs tear each other to pieces so that he, Örvar, can pick up same pieces and fashion himself a kingdom from them. He also wants to execute þrandr and Hrörekr by forcefeeding them fish bones. Or offer them up to Odin, whatever serves his purpose. Örvar can be a pragmatic man. But not a patient one. The year is 769 in the Christian calender and every year that Örvar is not king is a wasted year.

This is Holmfrid, Örvar's wife-to-be. She ranks him a minus 6 out a hundred. When he came a-courting to Mære, she told him he had the eyes of a dead haddock. Örvar is intimidated by her forcefulness. Secretly, he is also turned on by it. He suspects she'll be angry with him when she discovers this on their wedding night. This turns him on even more.

Örvar wants to focus on his calling, spycraft. He doesn't need bonuses to his sex appeal; he has the eyes of a dead haddock. The chicks will be standing in line.

 

[Crushric]

Hmm, interesting.
I do say, though, I can't never get me enough of humorous themed AAR with fairly laconic write-ups and lots of pictures. Call it a peculiarity of mine.

 

[Cathcart]

Chapter 1: "Stupid King MacStupidFace"

Örvar wakes slowly. His sleep has been neither deep nor shallow. He just gradually fades from being asleep to being awake. Not much difference there. He has turned forty some weeks back in much the same way, his thirties just giving way as he passes on into middle age. Actually, old age. Outside of the court, most people of his generation are likely dead by now, Örvar reckons.

In here, though, a man can apparently live to eighty and still not have the goddamn decency to just die already. Örvar gives his left slipper a kick as the grinning face of the king hovers in his mind. The wrinkled visage winks at him, coughs and wheezes, as the king has done every morning for the past many years: 'So Spymaster, you've kept me alive yet another day. I thank you humbly.' The king looks like an insomniac Max von Sydow, part kindly old Lassefar, part Ming the Merciless. Neither part makes Örvar want to punch him in the head any less. Örvar bends to retrieve the slipper under the bed. He has spent almost five years failing miserably at assasinating the senile old codger. To make matters worse the king obviously knows and taunts him. It's pathetic.

As Örvar makes his way down the gloomy hall of the king's court he forces his thoughts to his 'northern matter'. He likes saying 'my northern matter'. It seems to imply that he also has a southern matter, if not indeed eastern and western ones. This is what it is: Örvar has been trying to raise forces for just as long as he has been trying to assasinate the king and with as little success. His servants promise adventurers plunder and zealots war against the unbeliever. Örvar doesn't know where there is plunder to be had and the only unbeliever he cares about is himself. He just figures he can use and dismiss these dimwits before they catch on to his plan: To acquire a neighbouring county. Sadly, though Vestfold is full of dimwits and morons, none seem sufficiently dimwitted or moronic enough to join up and die for him. And so Örvar has rallied what little army he has and has attacked a Naumadal, a county on the other side of the mountains to the far north. Naumadal has a military force just sufficiently puny that Vestfold's finest (hah!) can reliably beat them. But this simple task is taking it's sweet time. For a year Örvar's army has been chasing survivors of the defending force up and down Norway to kill them off. Some people just don't know when to quit, Örvar thinks as he steadies himself for his daily humiliation outside of the king's chambers. It's pathetic.

The he keels over. He hits his head on the door and his feet no longer touch the ground. He barely has time to feel his jawbone shatter as his head connects with the stone floor.

I'm dying, Örvar thinks. This is pathetic.

Örvar sits up in his bed with jolt. He is covered in sweat, his bedding is drenched. He dreamt he was.. well not somebody else. Him. But not himself. Another Örvar. And he died. Childless, hated and scorned. Örvar shudders. It was a dream, it wasn't real. But Örvar knows that dreams signify... stuff. He'll talk to the godis about it. They'll make sense of it. That's their business after all. Örvar's business is to find himself a wife to bed and some enemies to kill. Örvar smiles to himself. He likes his business.

 

[Cathcart]

Thanks, Crushric - I'm thinking it's not the most common of genres ('humorous themed AAR with fairly laconic write-ups and lots of pictures') so I guess you have to take what's on offer then

My main inspiration is the classic-and-never-surpassed 'Real Men Do It Alphabetically'. That shit is just pure genius.

Other than trying to stick to the style I'm not planning on going all that dogme on this little project. It is an iron man playthrough as I think it'll be more interesting both as a story and as a challenge. There aren't any overarching goals. Each character will have his or her own agenda and free will. Some may want to rule the world, some may want to watch it burn, others may not even want to be the ruler. As a player I do have some idosyncrasies - I tend to work family members into every single position in the realm - but I'm going to try to set that aside and let the story develop organically to keep it fresh. We'll see how it goes.

I'm hoping to get in an update a week, sometimes more, sometimes less.

 

[Cathcart]

Chapter 2 "Will the real Örvar Koss please stand up?"

- Right, so the second guy flunked as well. Any bright ideas?
- We could say it was a dream within a dream...
- Who the fuck do you think you are, Christopher Nolan? Get out of here.
- Amnesia?
- What?! You don't do amnesia until the third season. At the earliest! Besides, how would that explain the new guy having completely other qualities and faculties?
- Well, he has just clean forgotten his real identity. He was a master spy and he didn't even know it....ay.
- That's even dumber. Besides that's The Long Kiss Goodnight, Mr. Original. Fuck it, we'll just do a reboot and retcon the shit out of it. And throw in some explosions to take the readers' mind off of it. Lots of explosions, you hear me! Lots! We're gonna need them.

Örvar looks on with impatience as the gates open and the half-starved force defending Vestergautland marches out under a white flag. The long siege has come to an end. The night sky lights up regularly with flashes of fire and the clink-clink of the marching men is drowned out by thunderous noise. Nobody seems to know why this is but Örvar is pleased. It seems a fitting and momentous portend. In a few minutes he'll receive the surrender of king Oddr 'the Bewitched' and he himself will be crowned king of Vestergautland and freed from vassalage to the King of Sjælland.

How far he has come. Örvar casts his mind back to the situation just a few years ago when the land was awash with impostors claiming to be him and acting in his name. Of course, he has had them all hanged, drawn, quartered and burned and noone ever talks about them ever and everyone agrees this is for the best.

As Oddr comes before Örvar, he drops to his knee and hails Örvar as king of Vestergautland and Örvar accepts his fealty. His men cheer and acclaim him king and conqueror.

At the feast that night Örvar turns to Oddr at his side.

- So what's with this 'Bewitched' thing? How? Who? Why? And so forth?

Oddr is befuddled.

- Please, my lord, I'd rather not.

But Örvar is unmoved. He drinks deeply of his mead and wipes the foam away from his beard with one hand while calling for more with the other.

- Dude, if you don't tell me, I'll just make something up and pass it around. I can do that, you know. I'm your liege lord now. I can say someone made your dick shrivel up and wither. Gotta remember that.

- Very well, my lord. A witch bewitched me. I had offended her. Odin knows I suck at diplomacy, I had called her 'Tammy Toady Tits' to my courtiers amusement. So she cursed me and all my descendants. She foretold that we would only serve as stepping stones to the greatness of others. Also, she made my dick shrivel up and wither. Shortly after, my younger son was tricked by our enemies into killing his brother and now you have taken my title.

- Cheer up, man. You've still got two counties and a son. And you've got me as a liege.

Örvar smiles beatifically at him. As Oddr looks like he's about to cry. Örvar pretends to spot a friend in the other end of the hall and hastily makes his excuses.