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The Bane of Scandinavia

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  • The Bane of Scandinavia

    This is a fictional accounting of my current game in Civ3, flavored with some Scandinavian/Norse Mythology.

    There are several chapters planned, and here is just the first couple chapters. I should have chapter 3 wrapped up (lots of juicy description and detail in chapter 3 btw)

    This is my first story on this forum, and I'd appreciate your comments


    The Bane of Scandinavia

    “WAR be our bane and our best chance for glory!”-Great Chief Ragnborg

    Chapter 1
    Odin’s Council
    Odin’s Mighty Thrown, Hlidskialf in Valaskjalf

    Odin sits in deep thought on his great seat, Hlidskialf, listening to his ravens, Hugin and Munin, his one eye pensively closed. The news is worrisome as it usually is, but also full of proud triumphs and honorable deaths. After the ravens have finished their report, Odin signals them to their roost. Odin’s large fist grips his mighty spear, Grungir, transferring the weight of his weary thoughts on its strength as he rises to great his most trusted members of the pantheon.

    In a voice laden with the wisdom of thousands of generations and the original spirit of the Viking King’s, Odin addresses his small audience. “Proud Thore, mighty Wodan, and gentle Fricco, through your actions have I guided our Children since the dawn of their minds, so many thousands of years ago. Great Chief Ragnborg, chosen by you, Thore, has lead his people with strength and wisdom, and has honored us with many proud victories. Wodan, you have gifted them with cunning generals and stout warriors. Saddly, there has not been much time for your gifts, Fricco, and I feel that our children are growing weary and their minds are souring with the taste of war.”

    Observing the respectful nods and sensing their growing understanding, Odin continues. “ Our Children have been steeped in the industries of War almost since they breathed their first breaths. Ever since the people they call the English made contact and threatened to hold the hemmed to the southern Peninsula. Naturally, this was designed to test their strength and their worth as my children. However, the wars with the English took many long years and stalled more intellectual pursuits. Later, our battle thirsty children discovered the Japanese on a small continent to the south and immediately made haste to quench their thirst for battle. Many lives were lost and again, nothing but war filled their minds. The conquering of the Spanish, on another small continent, but to the West of their homelands, almost imeediately followed the fall of the Japanese, and was better executed. Now, they have set their sights on the Mongol, who are also a proud warrior people. These Mongols will be stronger than the Spanish, the Japanese, and the English. Their lands are a little larger than the Spanish, but they have also recently acquired weapons of black smoke and fire through contacts with the peoples living on a cluster of continents across the great ocean far from the lands of our children.”

    Wodan comes to attention, steps forward and kneels, then speaks in a deep voice of subdued fury. “Great Father, our Children will succeed, I have blessed their armies with great leaders, and supreme hearts filled with courage, enough and more for this test.”

    Odin’s eye opens and glares from beneath his hooded cowl to bore into Wodan. A rumbling thunder in his voice warning his audience to be silent, “Wodan, your fury and thoughts of war are well known to our Children, perhaps too well known, but I warn you that I just might allow these Mongols to have the upper hand, if only to force the Children into a wider view of their world!”

    Wodan’s eyes flash open, and he glances up toward Odin from his kneeling position, his mouth grappling with the fury he battles to contain, but he lowers his head and eases back into his position at the right side of Thore.

    Fricco pales for a second, contemplating the loss of life and destruction such action might bring to his people.

    Thore simply grips his belt a little tighter, constraining his thoughts.

    Satisfied by these reactions, Odin continues, with less thunder, but more pressure and wind of a building storm of portent. “Listen to my council, and guide our children to see the bigger schemes that swirl about them in their world. There are powers far stronger than them that fight angrily amongst themselves for the moment, who have recently used the Mongols as pawns in their ambitions. Our Children must pursue a great time of peace and prosperity after this last conquest. They have many new lands now to administer that are weekly defended and open for attack. Once the Mongols are beaten, our Children must stop, or there will be a horrible lesson of blood and fire upon the heads of all of their leaders and in their homes!”

    Thore glances up into Odin’s eye, trying to pierce the mysteries of his father’s thoughts. His glare is returned ten fold and with a distant wrath and a forceful demand for obedience. Sensing Wodan’s mood, Thore breaks his gaze on Odin to glance toward Wodan, and raises his arms to push Wodan and Fricco back and away from Odin. “Father, as you command, it shall be done.”

    Chapter 2:
    News from distant Nations
    King Ragnborg’s Council Room in the capitol, ____

    King Thorgrim Ragnborg, chosen by Thore to lead his people, as proclaimed by the hammer birthmark discovered on the back of his right shoulder at birth, sat in his high backed leather padded oaken throne, with his mighty jaw resting on his fist staring out the castle window of his council room. Many visions of the glorious battles of the past, of the war that was coming with the Mongols, and of the even brighter future for Scandinavia danced in a frenzied melee in his mind. Yet, he wondered how these other nations from a cluster of lands, similar to the one, Scandinavia had been born to, would factor into his people’s future. As he continued to toy with a myriad of grim scenarios the doorman announced the entrance of his trusted advisor, Ragnfrid.

    “Finally, perhaps I’ll get some answers,” King Ragnborg muttered.

    A tall thin man from the English plains and educated in London, wearing a noble’s tunic and trousers, in the purple and white of Scandinavia, quickly approached the King’s great council table, as the doorman quietly shut the great oaken door.

    Ragnborg: “Yes, Ragnfrid, do you have a report?”

    Ragnfrid: “Sire, the distant nations are all at war with eachother, but I fear for the Greeks. The Germans and Celts, and the Mongols have declared war on the Greeks. The Mongols, Ottomans, and Greeks have made peace with the Chinese, and the Carthaginians and Ottomans are still at war with the Germans.”

    Ragnborg: “Good, mayhaps, that will buy us some time to enjoy peace for a change after our cluster is unified under our banner.”

    Ragnfrid: “Sire, all of these nations, except the Mongols are far more advanced than we are. Many have already started a great wonder, called the Universal Suffrage! Additionally, some of our newer maps indicate an advanced form of transportation, that these other nations call railroads!”

    Ragnborg: “Your news vexes me, Ragnfrid! Alas, our people have been locked in wars since time remembered…May Odin guide us and Thor save us!”

    Ragnfrid: “Many of the major cities have only just recently completed great universities and our banks are only just starting to grant us the wealth we will need to bargain for the advancements our people need for our protection.”

    Ragnborg: “Have you seen the knew mighty warriors glistening in their armor atop our strong horses? Have you heard the battle cry of our Berserks? We will have to depend on these tools for a while longer before our people can know peace…but how long will any peace last?”

    Ragnfrid: “Sire, only Odin and Christ could know. Odin is less forthcoming these days or so say the leaders of the old faith, and this new faith may be too new to grant us much power yet.”

    Ragnborg: “Yes, and even now, I send our strength against the last challenger for dominance in our piece of this world. That I do, against the grumbling from the leaders of the old faith.”

    Ragnborg: “May Christ see us prevail, and may Thore and Wodan guide our swords against the troublesome Mongols!”

    Ragnfrid: “For Scancinavia, for her King, and for her people!”

    ~Submitted by Warriorpoet, 16 APR 2004
    "If you're not having fun, then you're losing the game."-Copyright Warrior Poet 11/18/2002 "No plan survives first contact with the enemy."-Tsun Tzu -Don't know when B.C.

  • #2
    Looks promising, nice work here.

    Read Blessed be the Peacemakers | Read Political Freedom | Read Pax Germania: A Story of Redemption | Read Unrelated Matters | Read Stains of Blood and Ash | Read Ripper: A Glimpse into the Life of Gen. Jack Sterling | Read Deutschland Erwachte! | Read The Best Friend | Read A Mothers Day Poem | Read Deliver us From Evil | Read The Promised Land


    • #3
      Great start, welcome to the stories forum and thanks for the story

      Looking forward to Chapter 3
      A proud member of the "Apolyton Story Writers Guild".There are many great stories at the Civ 3 stories forum, do yourself a favour and visit the forum. Lose yourself in one of many epic tales and be inspired to write yourself, as I was.


      • #4
        indeed - good stuff
        Gurka 17, People of the Valley
        I am of the Horde.


        • #5
          Thank you thank you more to come!
          "If you're not having fun, then you're losing the game."-Copyright Warrior Poet 11/18/2002 "No plan survives first contact with the enemy."-Tsun Tzu -Don't know when B.C.


          • #6
            Chapter 3:
            A troubling Dream and a Glorious Dawn
            General Porbjorn’s Encampment in the Mountains West of the Mongolian city, Ulaanbaatar, on the Southern tip of the Mongolian continent.

            General Porbjorn stood outside his Command tent on a cliff overlooking the vast encampment spread out on the slopes below him. A stiff wind steadily blew from the South, from his homeland he mused, with warmth to take away the night’s chill and the scent of home cooking to strengthen his resolve in spite of tomorrow’s fears. The brilliant full moon glinted off spears and armor for a great distance.

            This first wave of the invasion force consisted of twelve thousand Pikemen and 8 thousand Men-at-Arms. Many of the soldiers here had seen battle against the Spanish, a war only a year old in recent memory. Now, again, they must test their mettle against one more foe, one more challenger in Scandinavia’s quest for peace.

            A large Raven swooped in front of the moon, and General Porbjorn felt a cold chill pass through him. Doubts entered his mind, and he wondered whether it was a quest for peace or a quest for power any more? The general couldn’t grasp how the two could be separate, and he let the silly thought pass from his mind. Retiring from the night, the general returned to his tent to study his plans.

            This first wave would need to hold here, and fortify itself to absorb the Mongol’s expected attack, as the first blood of this war would fall. They had to hold out until the second part of the first wave, 4 Catapult divisions, could come ashore to the North of the Mongolian city. Then he would send troops to defend the newly landed Catapults. If things went well, then the catapults could be bombarding the city by the end of the week.

            This wave had to hold out and absorb the brunt of the Mongolian hords as the second wave journeyed to join the battle of this new war. After the enemy had bled itself on the Scandinavian pikes and been softened by the Catapults, then the Men-at-arms in the second wave could be sent it to bring down Thore’s hammer on the city! Satisfied with his plans, general Porbjorn went to his cot to rest up for the coming battles.

            That night, his dreams are shattered with vivid images of horrendous death across infinite fields of broken men and horses bogged in rivulets of blood.

            A voice booms in while his body is floating over the gory scene, “Why does the heart of my Children still thirst for so much blood in the midst of other gathering enemies? I may grant you victory over the Mongols, but it will be costly, requiring much sacrifice of courage and blood. Beware the soldiers who fight you with smoke and fire, Porbjorn! I have granted your enemy an advantage for my sport and for your test! Come then, child, show me of what mettle you were made and I will break you!” With a murderous laugh, the voice fades on rolling thunder.

            At the sound of the hideous laughter, general Porbjorn leapt from his cot, startling a large Raven at the door of his Tent. With a mighty shriek and a flurry of wings and feathers, the bird burst from the tent, tearing open the tent door.

            Startled by the commotion, a member of the Honor Guard, assigned to general Porbjorn’s protection, bursts into the tent.

            Guard: “General are you alright?”

            Porbjorn: “Bring me the rider, and rouse the camp, it’s time to go to war!”

            Startled by the apparent change of plans, the guard took a second to process the command, then ran from the tent and passed a command to another guard, who quickly went running down to the encampment.

            The grumbling of men, startled into an early muster, and the sounds of them beginning to dress their armor and form into their ranks was just starting to filter into the general’s tent, when a proud figure stepped through the door.

            Aelfric Redaxe: “General I am ready!”

            Porbjorn: “Aelfric, you are my most able soldier of the most honored of the King’s guard. Take this message and fasten it to your arrow. Take your fastest horse and strongest bow and fire this message into the Mongol city, and return as fast as you can to lead your men against their doubtless response,”

            Aelfric, a tall mountain of a man, and a veteran of the Spanish campaign, whom had led his Pike Division to so many distinguished victories: fending off Spanish counter-attacks and protecting Scandinavian forces, allowing them to march unhindered toward their targets. Now, he was being given the honor to officially start the war against the Mongols. His Halberd was rumored to kill men in a single blow, some said it glowed crimson when battle neared, and sang for the flesh of its enemies.

            Aelfric bowed to the general and sped out of the tent, leaping onto his horse, and speeding down the slope toward the valley that led to the Mongol city, shouts rising up to him from the soldiers he passed. “Ride Aelfric ride! Make them fear us!”

            Aelfric didn’t meet another human soul the whole ride down the mountain and into the foot of the valley. Farms and hovels lay abandoned sheep and goats were left wandering with no shepherd in sight. A thirsty smile crept onto his face as the cold wind from the mountains pushed him onward to the city in the far distance. With a surge of energy, Aelfric aimed his horse to a plateau just out of the range of any normal man’s bow.

            As Aelfric neared the plateau, he thought that surely the city guard should have spotted him by now. He wondered how his presence would affect them. Were they scrambling in fear or organizing a hunting party? As he neared the crest of the plateau, he could just make out the sound of a horn blast from the city wall.

            The blood was pumping furiously and pounding in his mind. Battle was near, but it was time to let the enemy know who had arrived at their doorstep.

            Unlashing his great bow, Aelfric leapt from his warhorse to climb a small carapace that would give him a better site of the nearest tower. In the tower, Aelfric saw a guard pointing in his direction, with a spyglass in his other hand. Close to this guard, another man stood no doubt asking him questions about what he saw. The wind was calm and there was no sound to be heard, the world had paused to hear his message.

            Standing tall, Aelfric planted his bow into the ground and leaned down with all his might to string his great bow, which legend holds is made of branch of a the mighty tree in Upsala. The bow was blessed by the priests of Thore and Wodan and given a life that would prevent rot and maintain a spring and power that no other bow could possess and that only one man could use. With the mighty bow strung, Aelfric paused to admire the sun glinting off the giant’s hair string, said to have been made by Thore himself. Then Aelfric put the message arrow to the string, and braced himself with the carapace and found his target. With a powerful pull, Aelfric let the arrow fly the 500 yards to its target, the guard, who was probably the more senior of the two, who was still talking when the message of war struck him square in the side of his neck, just below the helmet.

            As the first guard fell, Aelfric unleashed another arrow which found its mark in the chest of the other guard, who fell away from the wall and into the city below. Another Horn blast sounded, and the city gates began to open as Aelfric unstrung his bow, lashed it to his back and jumped back onto his horse in time to hear another horn blast, signaling the release of the hunting party.

            Aelfric’s warhorse was unarmored and could apply its full power to the speed of his return to the encampment, where the other divisions should already have prepared defenses to welcome the Mongolian response. However, his Spanish War Horse was still slower than the Mongolian horses in the hands of Mongolian riders. The Mongolian hunting party was made up of Swordsmen, not horse warriors or dreaded Mongolian Riders, thankfully, but even so, they’d make a good match against Aelfric in the open.

            Aelfric’s head start proved to be enough however, especially, since the Scandinavian forces had begun to form up and head down the mountain when he left that morning.

            As Aelfric approached the foot of the valley, the glorious sight of the sun glinting off of 12 thousand pikes and 8 thousand Men-At-Arms welcomed him. This sight was too much for the Mongolians, however, who quickly turned back and fled to their city.

            Aelfric returned to his men with glorious cheers as he held up the sign that he had killed two that morning. A messenger commanded Aelfric to General Porbjorn’s tent, forcing Aelfric to break away from the welcoming party, as he ran to the General’s relocated tent.

            Chapter 4:
            The Mongolian Answer
            The Mountain encampment West of Ulaanbaatar

            As Aelfric approaches the tent, a guard steps aside opening the flap and gesturing for him to enter. Inside, General Porbjorn is stooped over a map of the local terrain as a scout is whispering a report into his ear. As the Scout notices Aelfric’s entrance, he stops his conversation and steps back from the general. General Porbjorn, still looking at his map, gestures for Aelfric to come to him.

            Porbjorn: “I trust you were successful?” Hardly spoken as a question, but more as a statement of fact.

            Aelfric: “Naturally, General!”

            Porbjorn: “Well, we’ve certainly stirred up a hornet’s nest this time, Aelfric. The Mongols have not been in wars as we have, and their land has been more productive than that of our other competitors. Our scouts report that our force will be met before noon by a strong force of Pikes and Swords from the North. The Mongolians, it would seem, have been preparing for our arrival for some time. This war will be much harder than our war with Spain, and more like our war with Japan, but even Japan was a smaller nation than the Mongols.”

            Aelfric: “They seem to die well enough like other men.”

            Porbjorn: “As our best commander, I’ll need you with your men at the front lines guiding them against the onslaught. They are coming first with four thousand Pikemen and 6 thousand Swordsmen.”

            Aelfric: “As you command.”

            Porbjorn: “Go ready your men and check our temporary defenses.”

            Aelfric: “Yes sir!”

            Turning on his heal, Aelfric bolted out of the tent and toward his captains. Noon was only a few hours away and the men would have to be set to meet a large force from the North.

            Aelfric arrayed them in a layered box formation set to receive the assault at its center and prevent flanking.

            The Mongols arrived promptly at noon, pouring down the mountain to the North of the Scandinavian position. Their inexperience in large-scale war fare was readily apparent. They were charging down the mountain in a spear or V formation and running at full blast, ignoring the positioning of the larger Scandinavian force, which was set to receive their charge, with Aelfric’s division at the center.

            Aelfric: “Ready your pikes, they’re coming fast and hard! Make them like a boar on your spear!”

            On his command, the first layer raised their wooden barricades and braced their long spears, with the second layer employing their mighty halberds and Military forks to catch the enemy and force them onto the spears or maim them on their approach. Several waves such as this were set up in a tier in a large bowl fashion going up the slope of the mountain, making up twelve thousand Pikemen. The bulk of these were set in the center. The 8 thousand Men-At-Arms were divided into two forces of 4 thousand, one force near the sides of the bowl, hidden behind small wooden barricades and rocks, waiting for the signal to flank the enemy.

            The Mongols never slowed their charge, but increased their density at the front of their spear. This was a force bent on destruction, and that knew it would not survive the assault, but also bent on causing the most damage it could on these Scandinavian invaders.

            The Mongol spear front slammed into the first line of Pikemen with a loud blast of thunder, and the first line yielded under the weight of the spear and Aelfric found himself and five other Pikemen surrounded by Mongolian Swordsmen in an instant. Warriors hell-bent on repelling the Scandinavians at all costs swarmed around his small pocket of defenders, valiantly holding them at bay.

            Aelfric had no knowledge of the horrendous carnage that had tragicly befallen the first line of defense at the front of the spear as he faught for his life whirling his fell axe, its singing blade a bright crimson as it wove destruction into the Mongolian onslaught. After the bodies began to pile up around him, he realized that he was all alone, the small pocket of defenders that had stood with him were now lost in the fray.

            A horn blast from his rear was echoed by two blasts from the Northwest and Northeast, signaling the time for the Scandinavian Swordsmen to join the fray. Aelfric heard a loud roar and a clambering of new mettle, joining the battle. The song of Scandinavian steal swelled his battle rage as Aelfric charged to the rear to rejoin the front line. No Mongol ever approached him for fear of his great gory blade and the horrible visage of rage on his face.

            Once rejoined with the surviving members of his division, he ordered them to regroup on him and press North in a line toward the center. Other commanders followed his lead and the remaining 8 thousand Pikemen surged forward, driving the Mongols into the Swordsmen crushing in on them from the flanks and enveloping them.

            When the last Mongol died with Aelfric’s Halberd buried between his neck and shoulder, the Scandinavians let up a huge roar that echoed in the mountain passes and shivered in the bones of the Mongolian Pikemen set to receive the counter attack.

            General Porbjorn ordered the Pikemen back into defensive positions and ordered the Swordsmen to eradicate the demoralized Mongolian Pikemen.

            The seven thousand surviving Scandinavian Swordsmen opted for an envelopment offensive strategy, 3 thousand circled around the rear of the Mongolian Pikemen, and 2 thousand formed at the front, then 1 thousand at an angle on either flank of the front. At the signal of a long blast from a Scandinavian horn, the forces marched in steady unison towards the Pikemen, with their Greatswords drawn at the front line to destroy the long spears and fend of halberds.

            The fighting dragged on well into the evening. The Mongols fought hard and again, they fought to the last man, inflicting significant casualties, and bringing new respect in the hearts of the Scandinavian soldier. At long last, a noble adversary had been found.

            The next morning, the dead were counted and stacked into huge bon fires, so the world would know that a great battle had occurred and that proud warriors were on their way to judgment for their valor in battle. Four thousand Scandinavian Pikemen, and two thousand Swordsmen had perished, while four thousand Mongolian Pikemen and six thousand Swordsmen had died in their furious assault.

            General Porbjorn was troubled by these losses, and the images from last night’s vision were particularly haunting now, as he surveyed the carnage from the day’s assault.
            "If you're not having fun, then you're losing the game."-Copyright Warrior Poet 11/18/2002 "No plan survives first contact with the enemy."-Tsun Tzu -Don't know when B.C.


            • #7
              Brilliant !!!!!!!

              This is superb stuff, please keep it coming
              A proud member of the "Apolyton Story Writers Guild".There are many great stories at the Civ 3 stories forum, do yourself a favour and visit the forum. Lose yourself in one of many epic tales and be inspired to write yourself, as I was.


              • #8
                hooting along
                Gurka 17, People of the Valley
                I am of the Horde.