(Pro Deo Et Rege) The Viking Re-Conquest

[Jackety]

Let's give this AAR thing a shot, shall we?

The Viking Re-Conquest

Kongregate Danmark (or is it kongregate denmark?)
Starting year, 1113.
PDER AAR, Played on VH/VH, with XAI 3.43(? not sure if that's the right number - the most recent one for PDER, anyway) installed.

Yeah, I played 1080-1112 without logging it; and didn't want to start from scratch all over again. But there's a nice little summary of what happens in the prolougey that'll get posted.

Feel free to jump me if I'm doing anything unorthodox or incorrect in how to set up an AAR - I checked around, couldn't find any rules or a guideline, so just decided to go to town!

Excuse the lack of pics - blame it because this is only a prologue - but photobucket is down, so I don't have anyway to get them posted anyway.
I'll try to have the next part (though I don't have any clue how much time will pass during that part) up within the week. Any typoes - be it on kingdom names or just incorrectly spelled words - can be blamed on some form of sleep deprivation and over-stimulation. ... They won't be there next part, promise!

Enjoy the read; and 'till I write again, have a good one!

Prologue

There is a certain span of time, centered around a certain nation that historians are not very certain about. That certain span of time is 1080 AD to 1112 AD, and that certain nation happens to be the Kingdom of Denmark and the Kingdom of Norway. The reason for this uncertainty is usually attributed to the growing tensions within the region, and the brutal, short civil war that followed the peak of these tensions. At the end of it, there was only one thing that left Scandinavia, in the form of tired armies and leaders without any lands; that the Kingdom of Norway, the Kongregate Norge, had fallen. The fact is the lack of any information from the Danes is an odd lack of any information. Under Kong Knud, Denmark had trade rights and alliances with almost every Catholic nation in the world, as well as many of the Orthodox ones; and the only time that Denmark and a Muslim nation touched on each other’s borders was in the Crusade for Al-Cairah in 1087. Other then this, Denmark has never left its lands.

The violent civil wars which kept so many nations from entering the borders of Denmark are usually blamed on Kong Knud’s first son; Karl the Wrathful, and also the Prins of the nation. Although the Kong was the leader of Denmark in name, Karl was the one who ran the nation, whether or not he yet had the title of Kong. Our story begins in the dreams of men. Not in the large fleet headed to rendezvous with a missionary force in Uppsala, but with the dreams of one man in particular back in the Jutland, within the buildings of Arhus…

“It’ll be a bad storm.” A young man – barely seventeen – turned his head up to look at the older figure that stood beside him on the dock. “You can tell. Look to the sky… the sun’s barely up, and it’s already lit the sky red.” Olaf let out a sigh, watching the cloud of his breath as it left him.
“We’re going to have to help. Royalty or not, we have to get down on our knees in times of need, because if we don’t, the people won’t trust us.”
“What? Why?” The young man looked up at Olaf, anger and confusion contorting his features.
“They can help their damn selves.”
There was a loud smack, and then the youth let out a cry of pain as both hands came up to hold the back of his head. Olaf, who had hit him with a fist, let his arm fall and recomposed his form. “Without the people, we’re nothing but bandits and bandit kings. You do not speak poorly of the people, and you do not treat them poorly… if you do, they will fight. If they fight, you will not rule. Do you understand, Karl?”
The youth – Karl, first son of Kong Knud – merely nodded his head while rubbing the spot on the back of his skull where a welt was sure to grow; all the while, thinking about vengeance for the blow to his pride. The two stood in silence for a while, before Olaf turned, heading back for the buildings of the dock. “Come, Karl. We’ve work to do.”
Karl’s eyes stayed focused on the red dawn for a few more moments; and finally, he turned around and followed his uncle into the docks of Visby.

“Well boy!? What the hell are you waiting for? Help me!” The storm had started, and was fierce. A mixture of snow, rain and ice pelted the city and docks of Visby, hale sending people fleeing into safer confines, and any man that stood outside did so in mail armor to keep the hale from harming them too severely. Not that there were many; most of the ones there were stood on the docks and near them, doing their best to keep the wooden and stone structures from shaking apart in nature’s fury.
Karl was frozen in place. They were in a building built on top of some docks, and apart of the wall had been sheered away by the constant beating of the weather; freezing cold winds and hard ice shooting into it. Olaf was tightening rope, doing his best to keep it from falling apart. The old man turned his head toward the frozen youth again. “Stop looking like you’re going to piss yourself and help!” Olaf turned away.
Karl found his feet. His steps were slow at first, but with each one he took he became more and more resolute in his actions, heading for the edge of the floor where Olaf was. His uncle didn’t turn around at first, but the relief in his voice was clear enough. “About damn time, boy!” He twisted his head just enough to look at Karl, and the relief in his face vanished. His mouth opened to protest a second too late.

Karl watched, as he had watched so many times before, as Olaf fell from the building and toward the raging waters below, watched the look on his uncle's face go between outrage and confusion, and watched as fifteen years passed in fifteen seconds, and Karl saw the images turn from raging waters and a falling body to the wooden planks of the ceiling. The heir let out a quiet grunt, and slowly sat up up. His head turned just a moment to look at the sleeping form on the bed next to him; and despite being near one he loved; Karl could not keep his anger from surfacing. She succumbed to my anger again. Then again, he wasn’t surprised. In everything he did, Karl was the avatar of rage; be it battle, training, governing, or… other actions. The Prins to the Danish empire slowly rose, grabbing one of the blankets which had fallen from the bed and wrapping it around his waist; moving to one of the windows on the eastern side of the building. It was flung open, and Karl looked to the dawn as it slowly crept over the horizon, throwing hues of blood red across the sky.

A storm is coming… but this time, it will not come to Denmark. The heir’s eyes stayed to the east; as if he could see the city of Turku, so far away in the east. The Rus will be destroyed.

[Irishmafia2020]

Interesting.... I am playing a similar campaign right now... with Norway. I have changed the religion of Novgorod and Norway to Pagan, and i am simulating a late return of pagan vikings and Balts to northern Europe. The same religious detail makes for interesting roleplaying if you play Denmark as well (vs their Pagan cousins/neighbors). Of course if you play the HRE, then the Teutonic order actually serves a purpose...

Either way, I'll be keeping an eye on this AAR since I am enjoying PDER in my own games.
Good Writing, by the way. I am actually thinking of going back to my own campaign and taking a break from ETW for the weekend.... Thanks for reminding me what I am missing!

[Jackety]

Thanks for the words, man - anyway, here's what's officially 'part 1' ; there are pictures, and it's not just me taking the vague idea of what I think happened between 1080 and 1112, but rather what I know happened. I even have notes! A bit shorter then I wanted it to be, but the next should be a fair bit longer. The pictures, with a few exceptions, should also be a bit more above-par; full showing of stats and all that, only as large as they need to be, and so on. And there'll be blood. ... Well, more blood. Everyone likes blood!

PDER – Denmark AAR – The Viking Re-Conquest – Part 1



Karl carefully looked over the map of the world - although he was focusing on one area in particular. So the Rus have taken Turku. ... This could be a problem. The Prins' original plan had been to take the city from the lesser kingdom based around it, and use it as a fall-back point. "This changes things..." The cabin had cleared out the moment the map had been brought in. The ship was due for Visby; where the rest of the invasion force was waiting for Karl to arrive. The crew had been surprised by how friendly the Heir had been at first meeting him; but when the bad news about Turku was brought, they didn't want to risk being around.



"Damnit!" Karl let loose a shout of anger, clearing the table of both map and map-holders; before venting his rage on the platform itself, hands gripping the edge of it and flipping it over. It didn't take too long for the roused Prins to calm down, a deep sigh leaving him. Without another glance to the mess that now lay on the ground, the heir made his way out of the room and to his own cabins. Tomorrow, he'd be at Visby; and not soon after, the war on the Rus would begin. It was with calmer and happier thoughts that the heir went to dream.

Because of his happy thoughts of the island-based city being what they were, the look on his face when he stepped out of his cabin and saw the snow-covered docks of Uppsala was not a pleasant one. "Captain Sten!"

The captain of the boat was out soon enough. He'd gone to sleep not a few hours earlier, thanks to the extra time it had taken to help the ship get past Visby; features were worn and tired, the flesh under his eyes dark with fatigue and his posture slightly slumped. "Yes, lord?"

"This is not Visby. This is Uppsala." Karl turned from the docks, taking steps toward the captain - who seemed not at all worried about the legendary rages the Prins had, even after the Heir grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him close, eyes aflame with anger. "Why?" There wasn't any threat which followed - Karl didn't need to say another word to get his point across.

"You'll have to ask our new passenger." Karl's hold on Sten loosened for just a moment, and the captain took that time to take a few steps back and give himself some breathing room. "Kong's orders. We were to go pick up a Diplomat from Uppsala. Think his name's Ersten or something."

A few minutes later, the door to the diplomat's temporary cabin was shoved open, the handle of it banging against the wooden wall as Karl strode in. The diplomat was seated and studying over maps on a table, each one a detailed drawing of the Rus and Novgorodian territories as Denmark had last known it. "Why are you here?" The diplomat glanced up for a second, gave Karl a look that seemed entirely unimpressed, and looked back to his maps. "Your father, Prins Karl. He wants me to perform a diplomatic mission to Novgorod."

"And if I don't want you on this invasion?"
"It doesn't matter." The diplomat looked away from his maps, glancing up to Karl with a very calm look on his face.

"The Kong ordered it. Last time I checked, Prins Karl, you are not your father." Each word that the diplomat spoke seemed to make Karl grow more and more enraged; although finally, the Prins just gave a snort and shook his head.

"Stay out of my way, Diplomat." The door slammed shut behind Karl as he left. The diplomat waited a few seconds, before a grin crept across his face. Hands went under the map he had seemed to be studying, drawing out the letter from Kong Knud and reading it over once more, as he had so many times. The diplomat placed it away; and then Ernst let his eyes wander back to his maps.





The fleet, now laden with Karl, Ernst and twenty-one hundred blood-thirsty Danes, made one more stop before heading for Turku; dropping Ernst off at the port of Riga. When they landed next to Turku, the small castle didn’t stand a chance. There was a short siege, barely long enough for the Danes to build siege weapons; and then the nearly un-garrisoned city was taken.



Of course, the fact that the Rus had been waiting for the Danish army left a bitter taste in Karl’s mouth. “Ernst.” For once, the Prins’ rage was a silent one; standing on one of the ramparts in the stone keep within Turku, hands gripping the stone and eyes gazing across the small expanse of water that separated Turku from the other Rus territories, save for the land to the east. Karl forced back a cough for a second, and then was overcome for a few moments; covering his mouth with his hand, and feeling something splatter against it. His features were contorted into a grimace as he looked at the red stain on his palm, wiping it off on the ramparts. Damnit.