Gatekeepers of the Baltic - Baltic Sea AAR

[Harfus]

I’ve decided to do an AAR, since I like writing, and I like crusader kings. I figured if I combine the two, it wouldn’t be so bad. Anyway, this AAR has no special challenge or premise, I’ll just try to make an entertaining and fun experience, and hope that others will enjoy what I make.

Let’s start with the rules: I will avoid gamey solutions to roleplaying problems. If I enter primogeniture, my sons will still all need land despite how easy it is not to. I will probably head to primogeniture at some point in this playthrough, but will still distribute land to my sons upon death. I will aim to make this story plausible, meaning no immortals and other things of the like.

I will use console commands periodically. A general rule of thumb is that I will never make the game easier for myself. The starting scenario was made through some shenanigans with console commands (and this was to make it so I could start as a weak count instead of a duke), and when I use them in the future it will be purely to augment things for a more interesting story. This will mostly be background simple changes, such as renaming a kingdom or empire.

I am not an expert nor do I claim to be on history. There will be plenty of assumptions made about traditions and cultures, please don’t be too upset.


With that in mind, let’s try to have fun!

*Note that as of writing this, I have played through the life of the first ruler, and will write more of this for at least the next few days making an update once a day-ish. This is because I am on winter break from college and need things to do. In addition, because I am on winter break I am posting this at 1:30 AM. Please forgive any egregious mistakes.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3​

 

[Harfus]

High chieftain Krutoj Wizlawid of Obotritia died. Quite quickly, at least. He went on a hunting trip and quickly found himself face to face with a stag. He would have marveled at its raw size and strength had he not been promptly kicked in the face. He expired in the arms of his hunting companion, Bedrich.

The issue at hand was that Krutoj had sired no heir, and was in fact the last of his line. After much deliberation, arguing, and a stabbing, his realm was carved between four of his court members.

Bedrich was his hunting companion and commander. The most skilled and favored of the three, he took the island of Rana, claiming its holy location and defensible position for the conflict undoubtedly to come. Gawel was Krutoj’s steward. He was excellent at his job, and even tended to gardens in his spare time. Or rather, most of his time. He halfheartedly took the province of Dymin. Wlodek the christian was an odd fellow. He had familial ties, and thus claims to Weligrad, but spent most of his time bothering others and trying to convert them to his strange religion. The others were just glad he was out of their hair. Jaromar was an opportunistic fellow, and with turmoil came plenty of opportunity. He happily settled down in Wologoszcz.

And none of these men were destined for greatness. The only man of historical note who gained land from this fracture was of all things, a library keeper.

When he received the news he first chose not to believe it. First and foremost, because it was patently ridiculous. Swietoslaw of Gripscogh never expected his father’s claim to Rastoku (Rostock, in other tongues) to be real. Not only had he learned it was real, it was now solely and independently under his control.

His first response was to tell the twenty soldiers who came to retrieve him “no.”

Their first response was to physically pick the bookish man up (which was not a difficult feat), strap him to the back of a horse, and ride towards the county that nobody else felt like they would claim it. The whole ride to his new town he was being told about how he needs to start his harem, fix old shrines, set up trade, train with his soldiers, and so on. He clearly had not read enough books for this.

Upon arriving at his new capital, Swietoslaw immediately set out on a walk through nature to clear his mind. Shortly, he found a large temple, built with several large trees incorporated. Eventually, he met a woman there, she greeted him and introduced herself as Kenna, the priestess at that temple. They spoke for some time, and Swietoslaw quickly learned (as he was apt at quickly learning) that she was a gruff woman. Kenna had all the vices of a northman, and all the charisma of a boar. Despite that, or maybe even because of it, they were married within the week.

The new chieftain walked among his people in Rastoku. Most were dismissive, some began to call him “Od Jelenia” or from the deer. He wasn’t very keen on the name, his home village is what his name belongs to. At least for now. The symbol however, stuck.

Years passed, Swietoslaw was starting to understand the responsibilities of ruling. He started to save money, luckily being a natural at managing a town and keeping ledgers.

The day the messenger came was rainy, in the middle months of spring. He was covered in dirt and grime, exhausted having run the last stretch after his donkey passed from exhaustion. He brought dire news.

He was invited into a tall wooden building, the old town hall which Swietoslaw had taken for himself as an early keep. War had finally taken to the former lands of Obotritia. Swedes had launched an expedition to take Weligrad, and take it they did. Wlodek the christian was not Wlodek the landless. The viking Toke was one of the few left who worshipped Odin and his kin, barely tolerated by his liege.

Swietoslaw thanked the man, then asked three of his own messengers to learn of the other chieftains fates.

Wologosczsz was part of the greater chiefdom of Pomerania, yet it was not taken through bloodshed. From his own volition, Jaromar had bent his knee for protection, and now was a vassal of Pomerania.

Swietoslaw called a council session, and that night, as the rain pattered on the roof of the great hall, six men argued.

---

Old man Gunvald slammed his fist into the table. A trained diplomat in theory, a glory hound in practice. He wore his long white hair tied back.

“We need to strike first! They just took the castle, if we attack now we can send those northmen to their gods!”

Havel the peasant gently pushed the old man aside. Not much of his past was known, only that he led a failed peasant uprising and escaped to Rastoku. His martial prowess led him to take a high position on the council.

“What we need, is to consolidate.” He said, giving Gunvald a nasty side-eye.

“A much more feasible goal than attacking a king, no?”

Wincenty felt it was his time to add his piece.

“Wouldn’t a diplomatic alliance between our chiefdoms be better than conquest that just kills our men and weakens the whole?” Ever a voice of reason, he desires peace above all.

Both warmongers turned to Wincenty.

“Shut it, priest!” Gunvald barked.

Havel nodded in agreement with the aggression.

It was now that Swietoslaw spoke. He’s taken to ensuring fair conversation in all meetings. Over time, his reputation for justice would even earn him the nickname ‘The Just.’

“Everyone gets their say.”

“If I may, chieftain.” Frantisek the whiner interjected. His unfortunate nickname came from his high pitched voice and tendency to complain. He somehow managed to become steward despite barely knowing how to read, let alone count. He was honest, and had good ideas at times. That’s why Swietoslaw kept him around.

“We need money for our army, if you were to invest in a training grounds for our soldiers, we could field a larger army, and consolidate, as Havel desired.”

“But we can’t let our opportunity slip! The garrison will fill that castle in weeks and the opportunity will be gone!” Gunvald shouted. (As if there was any other volume for the man.)

“And where would we get this money, anyway?” Wincenty asked.

“It’s not like we’re rich at the moment.”

“Simple, we don’t try to conquer the fort, we rush the fortress, storm it, then steal all the treasures within. We leave, and hide back in our lands before they can do anything about it.” Frantisek said, freely displaying his smug grin.

“And who’s going to lead this army, hmm?” Gunvald asked with venom in his voice.

Swietoslaw looked to his wife, Kenna. She simply nodded.

“I will.”

 

[stnylan]

Welcome to AAR writing.

Sounds like a nice, harmonious meeting

 

[Harfus]

The rain from the previous night hadn’t stopped. The week long march consisted of cloudy days and light showers. Swietoslaw finally arrived in an open field nearby Mecklenberg castle, which sat on a peninsula, already being fortified by the northmen invaders. A scout came to Swietoslaw’s tent and told him there were about 200 men in the castle garrison, in contrast to the just under 1000 men the besieging force had brought. More than enough to plunder the castle’s riches.

And so Swietoslaw made siege. The vikings in the castle threw spit and insults in equal measure, though neither were able to hit the Rastoku army.

After just fourteen days of siege a battlecry was heard. Before the army was able to respond, they were trapped on that strategic peninsula between the castle, and 2000 angry northmen, each shouting the battlecries of their forefathers. And so battle began before the fledgeling chieftain could catch his breath. The armies clashed, swedes cutting down pomeranians left and right, and Swietoslaw found himself sweatily clutching his sword, staring at a burly swede commander holding a greataxe. To Swietoslaw, the battlefield changed from a massive fray, to just him and the commander. The commander struck first, swinging his great axe and Swietoslaw barely dodging. The fight became much of that, Swietoslaw barely dodging attacks as the commander approached. Suddenly, he felt his ankle sink into the mud, he fell over, and the swede brought his axe down towards the chieftain with his full fury. Swietoslaw held his sword up in an attempt to block, and block it did, but at a cost.

The sword shattered, a lone piece of iron flying into his eye. Soon after, the world went dark and Swietoslaw fainted.

Days layer, he awoke, a splash of cold water meeting his face as he lay down on a mat recovering inside a dungeon. The guard stepped back, to stand in line with three other guardsmen as their pagan count stood behind them.

“Your men carted off some gold from the surrounding town while you besieged my land.”

“And what of them?” Swietoslaw asked.

“Your army routed after you fell.” The viking count spits a glob of mucus to the floor at his side.

“Cowards” the viking muttered.

“I am alive for a reason, I take it?” Swietoslaw asked again.

“Yes, you’re alive so that you may pay me back what your men stole, as well as a donation to my personal treasury, as a token of good will.” The viking leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. Swietoslaw had no choice but to accept the terms.

He arrived back in Rastoku, ashamed and wounded. He was left off in a state worse than where he started.

Many men after a month like Swietoslaw had would have curled over and given up on life. Despite all expectations, the bookish man left his hall with newfound resolve. He would expel those swedes, he would unite these lands. He was a chieftain now.

The first step was to consolidate his lands, and that would require fighting the other chieftains from the realm’s split. And so he spent his time building his army back up, ready to enter war in earnest. When his messengers returned, they brought strange news. Very strange news. Both counties were now ruled by regency councils, men who had ruled there had passed and left only infants.

Swietoslaw began searching his realm for anything to legitimize his claims to the lands around him. He spent his money, messenger network, and time fruitfully, as within three years he found himself in possession of a small golden box, which inside held the well preserved bones of some great hero’s hand.

When asked which hero, Bezprzym insisted that it belonged to a man of great importance. When pressed further, Bezprzym revealed that he had attained it from a shrine that several christians seemed to worship. The man it belonged to was some martyr, having been killed by the slavic peoples when he refused to stop preaching. Swietoslaw found that both admirable, and a satisfactory reason for the item.

During those three years, Swietoslaw’s first son and heir Otokar was born, as well as a daughter and another son in quick succession.

However, the relic still lent him no claim to the lands around him. Frustrated, he went back to his hall, waiting for better news.

And the news that came to him was certainly not good, but it was not bad either. Gunvald was waiting within the hall, quite proudly proclaiming that he had fabricated a claim to the county of Dymin. When asked how he did so, Gunvald explained that he had walked into the center of the town square in Dymin, and told all the people there that the land rightfully belonged to chief Swietoslaw, and war would be coming.

Swietoslaw cursed at Gunvald’s rashness, and immediately joined his army in their march towards Dymin. The currently four year old chieftain stood no match for an army which had been training for this, and quickly Dymin belonged to Swietoslaw.

However, once they returned to Rastoku, the triumphant chieftain collapsed in a heavy fever. The mystics of Rastoku all gathered, and after much examination, the worst was confirmed.

Cancer was draining the chief of life. The triumphant march of the army became one of hesitation. All they could do would be replenish their ranks, build up forces in Rastoku, and replenish the armies for the eventual attack on the fortified island of Rana that was no doubt to come. No mystic wished to touch Swietoslaw, as they worried this was punishment for his cynicism. So he suffered, the life draining from him. He still could walk, and he delegated to his council and traveled through his town.

---

Swietoslaw found himself in a dark room, he felt sluggish and painful. Nonetheless, he felt drawn to stand out of bed, finding himself to be utterly naked rather than in his night clothes. He turned to his bed to grab his clothes only for there to be no bed at all, as if it was never there. No sound or noise. After some hurried searching he stumbled around this distinctly unfamiliar room until he found a door. When he opened it, he saw a moonlit hallway, suddenly remembering the minor library he had lived in in Pomerania. That was where he was. He walked down the hall towards the exit, for he saw some light source outside. He felt drawn.

He stumbled forward bravely, swinging the door open to see the reliquary he retrieved earlier sitting in the middle of a moonlit path. It glowed with a brilliant bright light. Reflexively, he shielded his eyes, only to notice the light had not hurt at all. He slowly walked forward (as he was too weak to quickly walk forward) and the reliquary pushed itself open. The hand attached to a body seemingly made of light. Swietoslaw stumbled back, falling onto his back on the dirt path. The being walked to him and extended its skeletal hand to help the sick chieftain out of the dirt. Swietoslaw felt a warm safety, and without hesitation grabbed the hand to help himself up. As he stood, he felt weakness leaving his body. He started feeling spritely again, as if he could run again, perhaps even enter battle. Perhaps he still had a legacy to create, and before he could ask the name of the being, he woke up.

--

He sat up in bed in a cold sweat, the morning light shining through the gaps in the curtains. He turned to his left, and to his right, seeing nobody else in the room. He stood up, feeling his energy return. The cancer was truly gone, though the years had taken their toll on him.

With newfound energy, Swietoslaw ran into the main hall, surprising just about every mystic and court member with his newfound vigor. He surprised them even further, by immediately declaring war (much like Gunvald had taught him to. Gunvald had passed peacefully in his sleep the year before.) on the fortified chiefdom of Rana. Again, ruled by a child put in place by politics and intrigue.

 

[stnylan]

He ummm has very mixed fortune doesn't he?

 

[Harfus]

He ummm has very mixed fortune doesn't he?

Indeed, first time I remember seeing cancer going away naturally. (and I've played more than my fair share of this game)

 

[Shadow10909]

Nice start, I will be watching for the next chapters !

 

[Harfus]

Even as war was being prepared for, Swietoslaw knew he would need help for the upcoming war. A heavily fortified island is nothing to scoff at. And so he reached out to chief Jaromar, who had bent his knee to the High chief of Pomerania, only to find he had passed away, much like the other chieftains. His young son ruled, but that wasn’t to say the regent currently ruling the nation wouldn’t be opposed to an agreement. And so it was that the betrothal between Otokar of Gripscogh and Irena of Waren was arranged, an alliance was forged, and the chiefdom of Wologoszcz was brought into war.

Minor skirmishes defined the small war for the chiefdom of Rana. Brave commanders charged into battle expecting death, and some even meeting it. Ultimately, the war was won after the army of Rana was crushed after a daring amphibious assault on the island, composed of joint forces of Rastoku and Wologoszcz soldiers. After a month-long siege, the castle gave, and the three counties were now under one chief.

Swietoslaw returned triumphant, and soon after his son Otokar became of age, a brilliant strategist. Trained for warfare because deep down, Swietoslaw knew that Otokar would be in far more war than he was.

In a grand ceremony, the man who united the three chiefdoms declared himself high chief of Rana. And the bookkeeper was now a local power.

---

Swietoslaw sat in his castle, the former town hall fully converted to the capital of such a region. As he listened to the concerns of the town’s elders, a young man walked into the palace, smiling to reveal several missing teeth. He dropped to one knee, a courteous bow before standing and pulling a large leather bag forward.

“What is your name boy?” Swietoslaw asked.

“Grodzislaw, and I am a very skilled artisan who can help with your eye.”

“My eye is perfectly fine, boy.” Swietoslaw said, glaring at the young man with his good eye. Long since used to having one.

“Yes, but surely it would be nice to appear normal once again, no?”

If Swietoslaw were less just, less principled, he would have had the boy executed. Instead, he stood up and slapped him.

“Respect your elders!” Swietoslaw said.

“I mean no offense!” Grodzislaw said, rubbing his cheek. “I am a glass eye maker, from Bohemia. And I can help, if you give me funds and time to measure your eye.”

“I ought to-” Swietoslaw said, trailing off as he said it. A new eye would be nice, even if he still couldn’t see from it. It would be pleasant at least, for sure…

---

And with declaring himself high chieftain, managing his appearance, and watching his son become a fine young man, Swietoslaw lost his drive.

____________________________________________________________________________​

Bishop Gunnar the wicked was not particularly wicked, in all honesty. Yes, he happened to lie often to make others more amiable, and skimmed a little money from tithe every now and then. He was always kind to the people, and managed his bishopric well. Nonetheless, when a moniker is given, it cannot easily be taken away. So he was known as a bad priest, but a good man.

He was reluctant, but not surprised when King Knud of Denmark asked him to go on a dangerous mission. Likely only because he could speak the language of those northern slavs.

King Knud was as well a mixed bag. On one hand, he was cruel and could care less for the common people within his realm, but at the same time he held a certain strength of character, possibly gleaned from the monks he often spent his time with.

The king spoke to Gunnar, personally requesting that he investigate a christian relic stolen by some pagan lord to the south. If possible, to take back the relic and grant it to a proper owner.

So Gunnar left, donning a black robe to hide himself, knowing that relations between northmen and the slavs were not at their highest point. He entered the city of Rastoku, finding himself in the only tavern within the city. Not to drink, he needed his head clear. Instead to gather information. So he asked about the tavern, eventually coming across a long table which had several soldiers sitting at it. He slipped in, seeing an older man at the end of the table. Notably, he had a glass eye. The craftsmanship wasn’t so perfect you couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t uncanny enough to warrant discomfort. Nonetheless, Gunnar asked about any skeletal hand of importance. The man at the end of the table chimed up at the mention of this. Of course, Gunnar thought. This man must be their commander, and would know more.

So the old man brought Gunnar to a separate table, and he asked many questions of the hand, quite frankly that he didn’t know how to answer. Eventually, Gunnar was invited to stay in the man’s home rather than the tavern, so he could learn more of the hand.

And that night, Gunnar found himself within the castle of the high chief of Rana. (The high chiefdom named after the holiest provence within. None disillusioned themselves to which the most important city was.) And knew he was in over his head. But at the same time, this was the perfect opportunity. He waited, often spending night speaking with the chieftain, Swietoslaw as he was known. Of course, Gunnar would rather be sulking about trying to find that relic, but he was stuck, as a guest.

Opportunity finally struck, one month later. It was a thunderstorm, so most could not hear scrounging during the night, and Swietoslaw went to his chambers early. So Gunnar lurked.

He found himself in some kind of inner sanctum, a golden box sitting in the center of the room. This was it, Gunnar knew. This was the relic. As he walked to the box, and placed his hand atop the reliquary, a familiar voice greeted him. It was Swietoslaw, who wasn’t as asleep as he thought. He was praying, no doubt to his pagan gods. Though Gunnar could never have predicted what Swietoslaw would ask next.

And so it was that the high chieftom of Rana was now the Duchy of Rana, and it was a christian nation. The people, surprisingly, took to the faith incredibly fast.

Swietoslaw spent his last years praising a singular god, where before he never really believed in them. Some elders were upset, but most were ‘convinced’ or saw the way the tides were moving, and how all neighbors of power were christian as well. For all his stubborn refusal to die, Swietoslaw passed peacefully in his sleep, leaving Otokar to the high chiefdom, his brother a vassal.

However, Otokar, while he did embrace the catholic god, did not forsake some old traditions as easily. And the allies he had made through blood and wine in the lodge were not so easily let go of.

____________________________________________________________________________

Europe in the year 1095​

The nordic countries had not changed much. In the east, the russians consolidated their weak realm as the christians did in iberia. Of note is the Norman conquest of England. While the anglo-saxon army was battling the forces of Harald Hardrada of Norway, William the bastard marched into the most prosperous provinces of england, and proclaimed himself king. Both the saxons and norwegians contested this, but were ultimately defeated by the strong norman cavalry. Currently England is ruled by William the conqueror’s grandson, William II.

And just as France lost Normandy, in this moment of weakness the Occitan peoples of Aquitaine rose up, tossing away their french king in favor of their current king, Berenguie the liberator (of house Carlat). Only time will tell how these giants of Europe’s fates will end.

 

[stnylan]

Nice to see a conversion to Catholicism.