The Letters of Rignan Uuthbrook

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(I will not be writing the actual updates yet)
There was once a Nordic man with a dream.
He was a true Nord, straight for Nordland.
He departed from his family, scars of bullets in his hand and knives on his back.
He set sail for the new land, at least to them.
He set sail for Calradia.
His dream was to restore the Old Kingdom of legend.
The Old Kingdom that had once stood up the Swadia, but had fallen.
Silly individuals think that the Union is true, but it is not.
The Old Nords will rise again, musket and axe.
This is the tale of Rignan Uuthbrook, Christian, Disowned, and Savior.
A tale surrounded by bodies of comrades and explosions of gunpowder.


Hello! These are the letters of True Nordic King, Rignan Uuthbrook.
(Please note that the following lore is of my own invention, and not made by our lord and savior Quintillius.)
A long time ago, the Kingdom of the Nords stretched across the coast of Calradia, trading the finest goods any man could wish. They had fierce Huskarls whose skill in siege was unmatched, and a rich heritage to their home. The Great War of 1257 had made a great period of national pride for the Nords, for they had fought off the Swadians, Vaegirs and Khergits with not an inch of ground lost. This golden age was soon to end, though. In the fall of 1354, 3 years before the first Centennial Festival of Nordic Pride, a galleon arrived from the Nordic Homeland. They had mysterious gunpowder and bullets, technology that was a century ahead of its time. They also brought Christianity to the continent of Calradia, based off a prophet in the southern part of Nordland. This ship had brought a quest to the Kingdom of the Nords. Return to Nordland was a must! Throughout the Period of Nordic Pride (1354-137:cool: quests were made to make a galleon as great as that that had arrived in the Kingdom. In 1376, they succeeded and sent it off to Nordland. A kings ransom was paid to every last man. But this is when the Time of Troubles (1378-1400) would begin for the Nords. Some Swadian pirates went on the ship, and in winter of 1377, when they were but a couple of leagues away from Nordland, they staged a huge mutiny, making sure to turn every last person above the rank of officer into a blood eagle. The proceeded to cover the last distance in the great lifeboats, and send the galleon sailing back to the Kingdom. The galleon landed in the Great Western Peninsula in Summer 1378, where the bodies of all officers were discovered to have been desecrated in the manner of the Old Gods. This caused the Time of Troubles, beginning with religious instability. People exclaimed that the blood eagles were a sign to return to the old Nordic gods, because the new Christian ones were unholy! This led to a time of strife, and in 1385 the Agonic Order migrated Southeast, spreading Christianity to the rest of Calradia. In 1390, Swadia launched a huge privateering attack, sending multiple ships into every last river of Nordic land. This resulted in about 200-250 thousand Swadian troops in Nordic soil. The Kingdom was destroyed within five months. Now, the Kingdom was separated into many clans, and the Swadian Reich took the Great Western Peninsula and replaced the great Valley of Dwarves with their temple in dedication of the old Calrad Empire. In 1400, the Time of Troubles ended with the Galleon Pact, where all of the remaining clans unified into the Nordic Union. This news took three years to get to Nordland, where it created pride. The New Nords have come and fallen, but the homeland remained with their advanced technology! It was certainly prideful. Since then, dreams of rebuilding the old Nordic Kingdom have spawned in Nordland.


I am a terrible writer, and I hope that my letters will not cause physical harm to you due to their utter terrible writing.

I also apologize for that crazy, terrible, and nonsensical piece of lore that Quintillius will probably cry himself to sleep of because it disgraced this beautiful mod's backstory so much.

Updates to come soon!
 

Heroes_Witch_King

Ok so I'll write this post here in order to help you out completely. Your writing skills are not bad at all, and actually your story is interesting, at least to me.
But hey, it really is interesting.
Roran 13 has, in my opinion, the best visual presentation of writing.
Blackwater has the best and most interesting story, in my opinion.

In order for you to improve your story, at least put parts of your story in spoilers, it helps a lot.
You can take a look at this:  http://forums.taleworlds.com/index.php/topic,16200.0.html
It will really help you understand better what to do.

Best of luck, and continue with the so far, amazing story! :wink:
 

Blackwater

Veteran
Huh. Yeah, clearly not working in the framework of the general universe we're puzzling together, but original. Interesting take.
 
Note: The different surname to the title is not a mistake, nor is it different. You'll see why it changes.
Also, there will be both letters and journal entries.
This is mostly a test and I don't have much time, so it will be very short.
March 4th, 1417
Journal entry no. 1
This journal is an odd birthday gift, but I suppose I'll use it, and write down what happens. Here, let me give my attempt at writing. What a beautiful day. The silk curtains twinkle with small particles of light as the gentle breeze blows them back and forth. A partially melted candle sites on the windowsill, smoke coming from the tip. The fine musket leans against the wall, a bag of twenty bullets slinging off of it. Ah, I wish every day was this way, and no work had to be done. Unfortunately, work must be done. The guns must be built, I'm afraid. I suppose I can still write about what happens. The door next to me is slightly ajar. That's odd, I thought I locked it. Probably my sister did it, she's always using my writing table. So, I suppose I should write who I am in this journal. I am Rignan Uuthbrooksson, son of Uuthbrook. I am a gunsmith, a relatively new job, and a fine one too. I once made a musket that hit a foot wide tree from a hundred feet away, and could reload in twenty seconds. This will be a small guide for gunsmithing, I suppose. Step one, get you your workbench. Your average workbench must have a hammer and pick, a nearby furnace, and... what's that noise? -----------
Egh... I feel dizzy. Where am I? Oh yes, I remember. Intruder. Happens all the time. He's the one that must've put out the candle. It makes sense, of course. We have had a lot of pagans attacking our home ever since we put our cross up. People in Calradia believe we still are fully christian, but the Archduchy of Nordland has changed back to the old ways, and it makes me sick. God does not smile on our nation now. What ever was Huthgrad thinking? Oh yes, anyway, the intruder came behind me with a knife, but I was prepared. He managed to scratch my head, though, which I suppose is why I'm dizzy. I managed to get to the wall and pull out a pistol I always keep loaded, shot him right through the heart. I was tired, though, so I passed out. Ah, my head still hurts, which is always a pain. Let me just get more comfortable- what's that note? Let me copy it down.
Rignan, son of Uuthbrook, lord of the Longhouse at Droppingcreek, the great and noble lord Asger wishes to see you. He has business relating to a venture to Calradia, the land to the south of Nordland, and weapons being supplied. Twenty thousand florins will be supplied up front, with two hundred a day. Four master smiths from the eastern shore will be helping you to make 300 guns over the next year. Sincerely, humble servant Bjorn Eriksson.
Well, that's news. Three hundred bloody guns in a single year. At least I'll be getting help. Why on earth does he want me in particular? It doesn't make sense. I'm just a silly gunsmith. I'll write to my mother tomorrow, I suppose.
March 17th, 1417
Dear Mother,
The last few weeks have been some of the most eventful of my entire life, Oh, where do I begin? It started with a letter from Asger, the local lord of our small village. He was a devote Catholic, or so it seems. Asger appears to have wanted to go South, to Calradia with the rest of the Nords, and wanted me to make 300 muskets in a year with the help of four master smiths from Eastern Nordland. The pay was excellent, mother, excellent. With the kind of pay he offered, I would have been able to support you and your... habits for twenty years. Over the past few weeks, I have learned the names and descriptions of the four master smith through their visits and Asger's visit (I will write about that at the end of the letter, mother.) The first master smith to come to my house on the seventh was Carr Dagsson, an unfortunate dwarf who is a measly four feet tall. His eyes were a shockingly defined shade of blue, and his hair was an absolute mess of brown curls. He would look like a child, because he has no beard, if it wasn't for his tough arms. I swear that with that kind of strength he wouldn't need a hammer, he'd just pound the metal and anything would be done out of fear. He appears to have an affection for ale, though, and he hates wine with a burning passion. We shot a few targets in the street, and he used his rifle. Our muskets were about equal in craftsmanship, but it seemed that I had the better aim. He couldn't hit the target past thirty-five yards! A pathetic marksman, but an excellent blacksmith. I think I can stand him, but his extreme jealousy and arrogance may get to my head. He is our shaper, who will get all of our metal and bond it to fit with the stocks.
The next man at the house was Fell, a tall fellow with green eyes and blond hair.. He arrived at my house on the thirteenth. He was fit beyond belief. Once, while I was forging a musket, he ran around the house ten times and came back in without breaking a sweat. That's one man I would not want to get in a race with for a million florins. He is slightly worse than smithing than Carr and I, but he has a talent for making new innovations for muskets. Right now, he's researching a gunpowder trapping mechanism that would greatly reduce reloading times for muskets, as you would probably have to ram only once or twice down the barrel. He is probably going to be the most useful part of the team of smiths, as his innovations will be a crucial role in making three hundred muskets. Also, he's a great marksman. Hit the target from sixty yards away, an incredible feat, and barely even felt the recoil from the gun. If I wanted someone to assassinate someone for me with a musket, let me tell you, it'd be that man right there. He could slash the straps of your purse in two with a gun from fifty yards away! Carr hates him, though. I think he's jealous. Anyway, he will join me in putting all the separate pieces of the muskets together.
Now mother, what I am about to write next is top secret, and under no circumstances should you tell it to any other person. Yesterday, Asger visited my home, a cart filled with florins outside of my home. He had come to discuss the smiths I would cooperate with. He seemed a nice fellow, covered almost head to toe in a black jacket, black vest, and black vest. We had a very pleasant conversation while enjoying some beef, and we both learned a lot. He taught me the remaining two smiths identities. Eydis was one of them. Yes, you heard me right, Eydis. A master smith girl! I wonder how on Earth she managed to secure the position. He told me about Eydis for a while, but I shall shorten my description of her for you now. Eydis has blonde, blonde hair, blonder than you'd even believe. According to Asger, at least. She is an expert woodworker. Father's a lumberjack, apparently. You can probably guess she's going to be making the stocks for the guns by that. According to Asger, she could take the crudest axe on Earth and use it to make the finest stock on Earth. Smart too, apparently. She's a poor shot, though. Can't keep the gun steady, and her aim suffers from it. She also had a shoulder injury when she was four which will make her unable to continuously work for more than a few hours.
The final master smith was Osmond, who is another metalworker for us. He is of average height, with a bald head and brown eyes. Asger shivered when thinking of him, suggesting a strong and intimidating man. He told me that Osmond had a set of very special tools he let no one else see or use. Finest tools on Earth, apparently! Asger showed me a bit of handiwork of his, and I was impressed. It was a beautiful amulet of Odin's spear and a cross crossing each other with the most intricate of details. The cross had tiny marks on the edge to symbolize the nails of Christ, and Odin's spear had blood on the end to symbolize the masterful owner. That one piece of handiwork showed the work of a master smith, and I will not have any fear of him making a single mistake while he resides under my roof.
I must tell you something now, and you must swear to never, ever, ever tell another human this. I saw a triquetra hanging out of Asger's jacket as he left. I thought he was a devote servant of Christ until that very moment, but then I understood. He is a pagan, mother, and I must be wary around him. I suddenly realized how he got to be a noble at that point; he went and helped out the pagans with getting power, and they gave him power in return. But the thing is, the symbol was not the scariest part. The blood on it was. The entire lower half of the triquetra had dry blood on it. I know from a bit of studying that sacrificers to the pagan gods never clean their triquetras. Asger is a pagan mother. I would tell you more, but I am running out of ink and leaving this on my writing table would leave me in trouble of torture because of my knowledge. Never tell anyone what you just read.
March 21st, 1417
Dearest Mother,
Everyone is here now, and we've all settled in. The excellent pay that the fool Asger is giving us makes sure our pantry is never emptied of fine steaks and the greatest sauces you will ever taste. I didn't even know there was sauce for steaks before recently! I am loving the rich life. I can get aprons that can take a thousand sparks, and hammers that can bend muskets like they are tiny twigs. It is a nice life, mother, and I intend to let you share in it as no man should not care for his mother, his birthgiver. I swear to God that I will give you money once this is done.
But that's enough of that, I'm sure you'd like to know how I appreciate these people. Osmond's steaks are heavenly. They are the single best thing I have ever tasted. When you look at a man like him, you don't expect him to be a legendary cook, but he is. It is cooked just right, medium well, as I like it, with seasoning that will make your mouth erupt in flavor, and tenderness that will make you think you are biting through thin air. I wish you could taste it. Eydis is nice, too. She is the most determined of us, and you could put twenty of Osmond's steaks right in front of her and she wouldn't even notice until her work is done. She does three times as much work as us, and since we're doing worse than a woman we all are inspired to work harder to catch up, making her one of the most important parts of our band of smiths. She has bad manners, though.  Barely talks, and eats food like a pig. I guess that all people from the mountains are like that.
So, the things that have been happening in town lately? A lot of mercenaries are arriving here. I think that's the crew for the venture to Calradia. They are all very muscular, and I feel that every single one of them could snap me like a twig between two of their fingers. I hope that I never get in a fight with them, but if I have to stop Asger from sacrificing I'm afraid I must. I do, however, always have two pistols by my side, so if I was attack by one I could kill him on the spot and have it be done with. I have to be paranoid. I'm constantly afraid that somebody got my letter to you, mother, and that I am about to be shot by some assassin on the other side of the window. I can almost imagine it happening to me; a shatter of glass, a pool of blood on the floor, the cry of Fell, the pressure of Carr's bandages. I am afraid of this fantasy coming true, and if it does come true, I can only hope that it does not kill me.
Next news: A boat from Calradia has arrived! They claim they come from a place called the Vaegirs, and they talk of expert archery. When I shot a target with a gun, they jumped as if they have never heard nor seen a musket before. They used a positively ancient longbow, but their marksmanship was excellent, and they hit the target in the middle. We got to talk for a bit in in the Swadian language known as English, as it was the only language we shared knowledge of. Apparently, some city called Praven was under siege by some kingdom called the Rhodoks, and it is going well for the Rhodoks. They talk of trebuchets as an innovation, which is preposterous! Trebuchets are ancient, so I do not understand that. I have a feeling that the great writer Leif did not lie when he said that the Calradians were positively ancient and constantly infighting. Different kingdoms and countries are useless, and we have none of that in here Nordland. I learned a few more things from the Vaegirs. Did you know that the old Nordic kingdom in Swadia had taken most of the Vaegir kingdom once? That was in the glory days, of course. They recaptured that territory. The most interesting thing is about the Agonic Order, a society of elite knights based in mountains in Calradia who fight in God's name. They have bad omens. One foreteller said that an army of men who could shoot fire would march up and destroy their fortress from the foundation up! Obviously, by shooting fire they meant guns, as they do not have our knowledge, but it is still interesting. The Order is one of the strongest Christian societies in the world, and if they were to fall it would disrupt Christendom greatly. Carr's calling for me now, and I must go and finish a musket. I will write again soon, mother.
 

Blackwater

Veteran
...Okay. There's tributes, and then there's just straight up plagiarism, copying my work. Normally, I don't like to interfere with another person's writing, but... REALLY? An almost line-for-line copy of my introduction? I'm annoyed.
 
Blackwater said:
...Okay. There's tributes, and then there's just straight up plagiarism, copying my work. Normally, I don't like to interfere with another person's writing, but... REALLY? An almost line-for-line copy of my introduction? I'm annoyed.
Wait, what? Sorry, I didn't actually read the first few things of your writing. That must be a coincidence.
 
Blackwater said:
Honestly, I'd like to see ANY man hit ANYTHING consistently at thirty-five yards with an early musket.
In my story, although it isn't canon to the NA lore, Nordland is much more advanced than Calradia, and as such they have more accurate muskets
 

iskar

Master Knight
Much more advanced would then mean several hundred years ahead. Not even Napoleonic muskets (around 1800) had reliable aiming and therefore were only used in volleys. It was not until riflings became common even to infantry muskets during the 19th century that these weapons gained considerable accuracy. So we're talking about a technological difference of about 400 years!
 
iskar said:
Much more advanced would then mean several hundred years ahead. Not even Napoleonic muskets (around 1800) had reliable aiming and therefore were only used in volleys. It was not until riflings became common even to infantry muskets during the 19th century that these weapons gained considerable accuracy. So we're talking about a technological difference of about 400 years!
They're obviously not 1800s level, but not 1400s level either. I'd say they'd be around mid 1500s level, 100 years ahead, a very small difference considering the difference in tech between West and East europe in the real equivalent of that time. Plus, I never said consistently either.
Edit: They're master gunsmiths too, so their muskets are bound to be many times more accurate than standard soldier muskets
 

iskar

Master Knight
EomarthofRohan said:
Edit: They're master gunsmiths too, so their muskets are bound to be many times more accurate than standard soldier muskets
That is precisely the point. Developing the techniques to build accurate muskets took at least 300 years in reality.

In the mid 1500s the arquebus was still most widely used.
 
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