AAR: The Chronicle of Brother Jerome

[Northcott]

It gets crazier still. Yargolek's a cunning, persistent, and treacherous old bastard in this game! Sure, it's just the AI doing what it does, combined with some random circumstance, but the way things have played out have left a very definite flavour to things.

It was brutal! Up to four factions had peace at varying times, and would grow stronger, taking turns taking shots at the Nords, or simply ganging up on them.

As for breaking them into separate posts: lack of sleep.   I decided to try and catch up on the neglected story while I waited for a pot of soup to cool before I prepared it for freezer storage. By the time I was done, I was pretty damned tired, but realized I hadn't used any of the screenshots I prepped -- so I did one more quick post. I'll probably put up another entry tonight or tomorrow.

 

[Northcott]

November 22, 1257
The great Battle of Curaw Bridge will be spoken of among the northmen for generations to come. Battle-worn and travel-wearied, they marched to break the siege of Curaw, only to find that King Yargolek and his nobles had called together a force greater then their own; not only surpassing the Nordlanders in number, but with many knights in shining mail, stout guardsmen with their heavy axes, and the fearsome marksmen for whom the Vaegir are so widely known.  And yet, despite these odds, the northmen triumphed. 

Upon seeing the size and grandeur of King Yargolek's gathered host, the Jarls leading the most wounded and worn warbands -- some left with less than a score of healthy men -- turned and fled, thinking the situation hopeless. Seeing this, even the larger forces of the Nordlanders blanched and hesitated, which allowed the Boyars of the Vaegir to strike. They rode in swiftly and with great eagerness, confident in their superior numbers and the worth of their heavily armoured knights and guardsmen against the lighter armoured Nordlander footmen and recruits.

Fortunately, Jarl Urubay and Jarl Tonju defected to King Ragnar's cause from the Khergit Horde, and so the horsemen of the Vaegir did not ride unchallenged. The Nords rushed to meet their attackers once engaged in contest of arms, their hesitance disappearing when the battle horn was blown. Norvordr held his troops back, ordering his few remaining cavalry to cross the river, while he, his infantrymen, and his archers took to the banks opposite the oncoming Vaegir. In this way, sometimes even braving the freezing waters and unstable ice, the Vaegir forces were stymied. The snow, ice, rocky shore, and the water served to break the charge.  Horsemen harassed the Vaegir flanks and fled back to where Norvordr's men lay in wait, luring the Vaegir onward. A hail of arrows, a rush of huscarls, and the river ran red with Vaegir blood.

Jarl Aedvord lead his warband back and forth, moving between engagements where the Vaegir had caught up to Nord forces. Picking where he might swiftly turn the tide of battle, thus freeing up more Nord Jarls and their men, and in turn they would aid their brothers in arms -- a cascade effect that soon decimated the superior Vaegir forces.

What began at dawn drew to a close in the evening as the final conflict ended in the nearby hills. Once again, high ground was used to slow the charge of Vaegir knights. I stayed back with the archers, as ordered, and tended to the wounded as best I could. Sir Alaric's horse was slain, but he continued to fight bravely on foot; nearly swarmed and brought low by Vaegir infantry, but rescued by the arrows of Greyshaft and the blade of Norvordr. Brunhild and Lada distinguished themselves with bow and blade, while Grimspear and Stefan carried on a grim contest throughout the battle. While Stefan was swifter, Grimspear was fiercer, and won that particular wager.

Yet though Curaw was saved and we now rest there, and the Jarls of the realm have returned to their homes, all is not well.  The Khergit, Swadians, and Vaegir still harangue the lords and raze villages with impunity. There is little chance to rest or raise new forces. Less than eight score of stalwart soldiers hold Curaw, and Norvordr's marching army was reduced to less than thirty men. Times are grim. Once I thought Aedvord a savage, and viewed him as much my captor as my employer. Now, I take him to be a trusted friend, a good man despite his heathen ways, and I pray for his salvation in this world and the next.

Stefan, Grimspear, Greyshaft, Sir Alaric, and Brunhild were among the few left standing.​

 

[Northcott]

November 24, 1257
The Vaegir laid siege to Curaw again.  Norvordr has had difficulty raising more troops to defend, as so many of the Nord villages have been raided or razed.  Providence smiled upon him the day that I joined his troop, however; more men survive the battles hale and whole due to my considerable skills in surgery and medicine. The result is more loyal men, who learn from their trials and grow stronger. He has few troops, but many in that number are not to be taken lightly.


November 26, 1257
Vaegir forces were broken as they tried to breach Curaw's walls. Norvordr orders Greyshaft and Lada to one tower, while he and Brunhild take to the other. Along with the Vaegir marksmen and Nordlander veteran archers who man the walls, the storm of arrows makes climbing the siege ramp a perilous task... and should they survive that deadly path, it is only to be faced with Sir Alaric, Grimspear, Stefan, and a band of huscarls waiting at the top... with the Norvordr joining them once he has emptied a quiver of arrows.

The fighting was bloody, and we lost good men, but not nearly so many as the Vaegir have lost. Jarl Knudarr arrived  with the marshaled forces of Nordland after the siege was broken, and the they picked at at the weakened and fleeing Vaegir Boyars.


December 1, 1257
Less than a month of peace from Rhodoklund. Jarl Aedvord's contempt for them is profound: he regards them as men without the strength to draw a proper bow, and cowards who are so taken with hiding behind great walls that they must carry them wherever they go. He spits on the ground whenever he speaks of them.

There seems to be no reason for this war, save that the Nordlanders are holding off the Khergit Horde, Swadians, and Vaegir already. Set upon from all sides, they cannot possibly muster the forces necessary for adequate defense. Worse yet, each nation has taken turns in resting and growing their might while the others harry the north. The armies they bring are not to be taken lightly, even if the Nords were at their full strength. Three days ago, Praven fell -- reclaimed by Swadia.


December 3, 1257
Some small respite, at least; Swadia has sued for peace.


December 4, 1257
Once more the Vaegir lay siege to Curaw. The Norvordr looked at their assembled host, and made a noise like a grunt of approval as he nodded. "They are tenacious," he said. "It is a good sign. They are our cousins of the north lands, after all. They should be strong and unyielding."


December  5, 1257
A messenger arrived, bearing news that Count Laruquen of Rhodoklund has raided Mechin. Norvordr is most wroth indeed. He has demanded that I begin recording each noble that attacks his village, that he may pay them back in the same coin later.

The siege has broken. Without a word of demand or an arrow fired, the Vaegir have packed up and departed. Jarl Aedvord, the Norvordr, roused his warband once again; we are all of the belief that a new marshal was chosen for the Vaegir army. We will see them again soon enough. More men must be recruited and trained, and the north lands defended.

December 13, 1257
There have been many skirmishes fought throughout Nordland since last I wrote. Jarl Aedvord, now called the Norvordr by all who respect him (and the Ironmonger by those who do not, due to his enterprises in Sargoth and Curaw), has taken his title of "guard of the north" to heart. We marched wide and far across the breadth of Nordland, gathering as many men as he could, until the warband numbered over seventy men. Sir Alaric, Gunnar Grimspear, Ivarr Greyshaft, Stefan, Brunhild, and of course Jarl Aedvord himself trained them as we traveled. But nothing teaches like experience.

Rhodoks, the Horde, and Vaegir: we have seen battle with all in the last week.  Norvordr made a habit of either leading them toward, or driving them toward, other Jarls if he could; and when he could not, he would simply seek to fight in hilly terrain or near river beds. These terrains offer good shelter from ranged attacks, if used well, and slow the charge of horses. Steadfast patience has paid off here, and there have been few losses among Norvordr's warband.

I, however, was almost counted among those. Shortly after I was taken into his employ, Aedvord gave me a Khergit's armoured vest to wear under my pilgrim's robes, a mace in my hand, a Rhodoklund shield to guard me, and a Sarranid's thick, cloth-wrapped helmet to guard my head -- the only valuable part of me, he laughed. Since that time, I have chiefly avoided battle, only fighting when our lines are overrun and no other choice is left. I use a blunt instrument, so as to avoid drawing the blood of others; it is not a perfect adherence to my Christian vows, but a marriage of survival and devotion, yielding some measure of practicality.

Yesterday, however, I leapt to the fore. I do not know what possessed me, but I raced past the others at the order to charge! We fought Rhodoks in the snow near Ismirala castle, and I, in reckless haste, engaged a line of Rhodok sergeants armed with glaives.  I struck one, he fell to the ground, and I raised my mace to strike again -- but left myself open for the man behind him, who swung that bladed haft toward me. I might have died, had not Jarl Aedvord leapt in and cleaved the man from crown to navel. In the spray of blood and the screams of panic (mostly mine, I fear), he was taken unawares and struck in the head by another: fortunately, the blade missed, but the haft hit hard enough to set his scalp to bleeding profusely. He staggered, and I felled the man who struck him, once again leaving myself open.  Once more the Jarl intervened, and in saving me was wounded; the blade bit into his ribs, his ring mail saving his life. The sergeant lost his head in the next moment. The battle ended shortly thereafter, with  Greyshaft shooting down a fleeing Rhodok who had made it to a far hill.

Despite nearly dying, or perhaps because of it, I was exultant! I raised my mace to Heaven, and roared in victory alongside the brave Nordlander warriors we had gathered! At last, I truly felt a part of the warband!

And then Jarl Aedvord, without warning, felled me nigh-senseless with a slap to the side of my head.

"Fool!" He growled in his bear-like voice. "You are never to do that again! Each man in my warband has his value, and knows his place. Yours is not on the front line."

I will take his advice to heart.

Jeremus cheers while everybody else watches and waits for the slap in 3... 2... 1...​

December 14, 1257
The Vaegir have signed a treaty with the Nords. Now we have only the Rhodok and the Horde to contend with: opposites in tactics and ability, yet neither can be taken lightly.

Jarl Aedvord ordered that relief supplies be sent to Mechin. He is arranging to escort a shipment of dried and salted fish there, to prevent the people of his first fief from starving. They have been hard done by, their village looted by armies that number in the hundreds, and their Jarl enraged that he has been unable to defend them thus far.

 

[Ogrecorps]

Cue "Ain't no Rest for the Wicked" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBgp5aDH23g 

By this evidence we can conclude that Aedvord is either blessed in order to have survived so many engagements or he's reaping the punishments for his wicked ways of some time previous. 

 

[Northcott]

It's why he hired a priest! Had to balance that bad juju.

This has been, hands down, the most aggressive game of Warband or Mount & Blade I've ever had.  I've never seen one NPC-run faction so consistently, thoroughly ganged-up on as the Nords have been. Even the Swadians don't normally take this kind of beating! So when I play through a month of game time, the massive flood of events that happens leaves me doing word wall dumps to try and keep up.  The game is currently in early February, so I've got a lot of notes to catch up on. I'll pick away at them over this week.

 

[Ogrecorps]

It's why he hired a priest! Had to balance that bad juju.

This has been, hands down, the most aggressive game of Warband or Mount & Blade I've ever had.  I've never seen one NPC-run faction so consistently, thoroughly ganged-up on as the Nords have been. Even the Swadians don't normally take this kind of beating! So when I play through a month of game time, the massive flood of events that happens leaves me doing word wall dumps to try and keep up.  The game is currently in early February, so I've got a lot of notes to catch up on. I'll pick away at them over this week.

And yet the north have only lost 1 city! That still puts you up by 2, IIRC... Screenie of the map?

And pace yourself, friend! We don't want to see you burn out!

 

[Northcott]

And yet the north have only lost 1 city! That still puts you up by 2, IIRC... Screenie of the map?

And pace yourself, friend! We don't want to see you burn out!

Up by 1 city: Curaw. Had Dhirim, too, but the Vaegir took that while the Swads were beating on the Nords. I forgot to mention that one while detailing a fraction of the beating the Nords have been taking. The Swadians are actually making something of a comeback, the Khergits were down to 2 cities at one point, but have rallied, but the Rhodoks and Vaegir are incredibly aggressive.

 

[Ogrecorps]

Up by 1 city: Curaw. Had Dhirim, too, but the Vaegir took that while the Swads were beating on the Nords. I forgot to mention that one while detailing a fraction of the beating the Nords have been taking. The Swadians are actually making something of a comeback, the Khergits were down to 2 cities at one point, but have rallied, but the Rhodoks and Vaegir are incredibly aggressive.

Sooo... We're just about back to status quo, huh? Thousands of lives and months of war aaaaaand just about back the way it was. At least Aedvord is holding strong with his little piece of the puzzle.

 

[Northcott]

December 17, 1257
Once again Count Laruquen has attacked Mechin, killing livestock, burning food stores and buildings, murdering the people of the town. I have never seen Aedvord in such a wrath. Upon receiving the news he rose from his seat slowly, eyes wide, nostrils flared, his lips pulling into a tight, thin, line, and leaving him panting like a hunting beast. His left eye began to twitch. There were long moments of uncomfortable silence. Finally, he spoke four words to Grimspear: "Make the warband ready."

Then he turned and left without another word, pacing the snowy battlements until long after the sun set, being --in his words -- unfit for human company.

December 18, 1257
The pursuit of Laruquen must wait. The Horde have been seen approaching Curaw with war banners unfurled. Weakened from our long sieges against the Vaegir, Norvordr suspects that they will target this town. Instead of marching out, we prepare for another siege. He has already assigned Greyshaft, Lada, and Brunhild their positions. He himself plans to go between using his bow, and fighting at the breach. It is morning, now. We expect the Horde will have arrived by midday. God preserve the good Christian people of Curaw, and show mercy to their heathen Jarl.

December 22, 1257
The Norvordr threw Sanjar Khan himself over the wall of Curaw.

Twice we resisted attempts to storm the town walls by the Horde, and twice they were repelled with heavy losses, while ours were minor. Grimspear and Stefan fought valiantly at the breach, though Stefan was battered and beaten enough by the end that he required rest. Lada and Brunhild acquitted themselves well, but the sound of Greyshaft's bow was like a herald of death. Only Norvordr wrought more damage among the foeman -- emptying his quiver into their backs from a tower as they attempted to storm the walls, and then rushing to the breach to cut them down mercilessly. His eyes were wild and his howls like that of a savage beast.  It was during this press that the Khan of the Khergit Horde himself climbed the walls, and struck down Stefan with a blow that would have been fatal were it not for the reinforced Vaegir helm he wears. As it is, he was struck senseless. Aedvord howled, seized the Khan by the wrist and crotch, and tossed him over the battlements. Had he not landed on his own men, it is quite possible that the Horde would have lost their lord.

When Norvordr's men fell and reinforcements were still climbing the stairs, he held the breach himself, painted in the blood of his foes, with Grimspear and two Nord warriors by his side. By mid-morning of this day, the Horde was retreating. The rest of the day was spent tending to the wounded, and beginning repairs to the damaged portions of the town wall. A score of men lost their lives, but the Khergit lost hundreds.  God is merciful, and the people have gained a new respect for the fierceness of their Jarl.

Fortunately, blood washes out of polar bear fur quite easily.
​

 

[Ogrecorps]

A Khergit siege with no helmet... Ballsy.

 

[Northcott]

Just to keep him from dropping in every scene, I put a token amount of head protection on his armour -- about the same as a leather cap. Thick skull and all. But I've been remarkably lucky with head shots so far. I think the NPCs target the head when there's no helmet, because everybody swings for it! Makes it easier to block.  

That particular siege, however, was insanely lucky. I photoshopped the blood on his face (obviously), but did so because there wasn't a mark on his head.  the result was that his body was bloody, and his head looked really weird with not a drop of red on it.

Obviously the Khan didn't get thrown down -- that was just a little artistic license. Though I did cackle when Aedvord smacked him in the head for 100+ damage after Stefan dropped, and so I thought I'd have some fun with it.

 

[Northcott]

December 23, 1257
Grimspear, Sir Alaric, Greyshaft, and I were in the solarium, discussing matters of the demense, when we were interrupted by Stefan. He staggered through the door, holding his side as though in pain, but laughing fit to burst. The reason was made apparent as Norvordr followed him into the room, rolling his eyes and laying a slap upside the back of the Vaegir rogue's head. This did nothing to dissuade his joviality.

The reason for this unseemly display was simple, and somewhat puerile; Norvordr had finally seen fit to groom himself. Normally given to wearing his long hair in a disheveled (and often blood-flecked) mop, and apparently only shaving because his beard grows shamefully incomplete, he has ever been disdainful of the careful grooming of the nobles of other nations. Now he appeared clean, free of blood and dirt, freshly washed, and far more stately in presentation.

​

Stefan, apparently, could not pass up this opportunity to endanger his well-being by proverbially poking the bear with a sharp stick. He had seen fit to play the jester, and his humour was unfortunately infectious.

It is an uncomfortable thing to be unable to stop laughing at a man whom you have recently seen kill dozens in a berserker's rage.

At first I thought it a clear sign that our Jarl had finally settled more comfortably into his role as a nobleman, rather than exclusively thinking as a soldier would. But no, such was not the case, and we --the brothers, Alaric, and myself -- cast sly, knowing glances at each other when the Jarl tried to be casual in mentioning that we would be travelling to Ryibelet, to visit Lady Kaeteli. Stefan was not so subtle. He grinned ear to ear, and met Norvordr's gaze directly, allowing his mischief to simply shine through without needing to be spoken.

Only two other Christians with me in this band of Norvordr's, and one of them is half devil.

December 25, 1257
We arrived at Ryibelet Castle yesterday, just before sunset, and spent Christmas eve with Jarl Surdun, his sister Lady Kaeteli, and his household. Though their recognition of the day was but a token, I was cheered by this unexpected turn of events, as I had not expected them to honour the celebration at all.  The Jarl is a good man to his serfs, however, and as Ryibelet was a Christian village when he took possession of it, he chose to leave the people be, and has humoured them to keep the peace and earn their trust.

While the rest of us sat by the fire with wine and enjoyed the soothing song of a harp skillfully played, Norvordr stood and asked Lady Kaeteli if he might speak with her in private. Our Jarl may have fooled himself into thinking his intentions were a mystery to all but himself, but the rest of us were waiting for him to reach what we saw as a foregone conclusion. He proposed, of course, and naturally she accepted.  Rather enthusiastically, I might say: we were able to hear it from across the great hall, over the sound of fire and song.

For months now we have noticed that the only time he does not seem pensive or forebodingly stern is when he expects that he will see Kaeteli soon. And for her part, she seems to positively glow when Aedvord is near. They are an unexpected balance to each other; one a free spirit, and the other a grim rock of a man. I expect that the people of Curaw, and the servants in the castle most especially, will be pleased by this turn of events. Jarl Surdun expressed his joy at the news, as he counts Norvordr among his closest friends.

Now it only remains to ride to Tihr, where Jarl Harald is spending the winter, to secure his permission for the marriage.