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punched my v-card at camp posted:F think of the runes we could carve on this sucker (points to pyramid) Aight think Imma change to F on the condition that Titanic Runestones are in the cards. Edit: Alva's gonna see this and go apeshit.
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Feb 18, 2022 15:30
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NewMars posted:Please vote egypt, there hasn't been a paradox LP dealing with that area and it's fascinating. Save for
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Feb 18, 2022 18:50
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Ciberia I'm voting against Egypt or, worse, Byzantium. They're so common in let's plays. 
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Feb 18, 2022 19:01
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Wasn't a Paradox LP, but I'm surprised there hasn't been a mention of A Scotsman in Egypt.
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Feb 18, 2022 19:14
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GunnerJ posted:Wasn't a Paradox LP, but I'm surprised there hasn't been a mention of A Scotsman in Egypt. God, that one was incredible.
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Feb 18, 2022 19:41
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GunnerJ posted:Wasn't a Paradox LP, but I'm surprised there hasn't been a mention of A Scotsman in Egypt. First post was 2006. To everyone that I made feel old, you're welcome.
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Feb 18, 2022 21:01
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A Boomer in LpArchives
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Feb 18, 2022 21:32
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SirPhoebos posted:First post was 2006. gently caress, lmao.
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Feb 18, 2022 21:40
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 Egypt will be fun. they even have some fancy runestones raised already
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Feb 18, 2022 23:33
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III - 873 - 881 - To Southern Seas The All-Thing has been concluded. And the location of our new home was decided. Germania will soon be rife with Frankish soldiers as the armies of the Karlings come to restore order, Britannia is very much the realm of the Ragnarrsons and we would just as likely fight them as we would the local Anglo-Saxons and Celts. Byzantium would indeed be the greatest prize any of us could ever win, but it would also assuredly be our deaths that we find on those immense Greek walls. Iberia and a newer suggestion of Egypt, were the two most talked about realms, despite us knowing very little about the latter. Going by Arechis' descriptions (which in itself is just the hearsay of Greek nobles passed down through the generations in their books) and what little we can glean from thralls captured from Alexandria; it is mostly a wide harsh desert, but the great river The Nile that flows through it is a source of great wealth and temples and tombs to their long lost god-kings litter the land. Iberia on the other hand is dominated by the Umayyads who rule from the great city of Cordoba, it seems unlikely they can be bargained with and should we conquer the Christian kingdoms to the north we will simply put ourselves in the Umayyad path of conquest. So Egypt is it. Atop the tombs of ancient kings the Veisla greathall shall rise.  The Sultan of Egypt, Ahmad Tulunid is however one of the most powerful rulers in the great inland sea, second only to the Basileus - many are surprised to learn we were able to raid Alexandria as all other attempts at viking raids on the shores of Egypt have led to massacres. Perhaps our incursion was the first of many, and the Sultan has since bolstered his armies and defences. An attack on the Sultan will likely end poorly.  Lucky then that there is an island in the western Mediterranean that may serve as the perfect staging point to drive our way into Egypt when the time is right. Crete is a Greek island, but it has for some years been independent of the Basileus and under the rule of the Hafsid dynasty - foreign infidels who the locals will likely not miss though I doubt we are much a better replacement.   Emir Shuayb is a gallant and courageous fighter, he will not go down without a fight.  Convenient then, that he is not on Crete. The Hafsids are trying to extend their realm by conquering the other nearby island of Cyprus, waging a war with the newly independent Greek kingdom of Syria from which he will soon return.  We said goodbye to Holstein, barely a single season could pass before we came and left. A handful of local Saxons and Dutch warriors were willing to join us, but many of the Norsemen that joined us from Rogaland think us fools going off to die in a desert, and instead stay in the marshes of north Germania or depart from our fleet as we pass once more through the strait of Gibraltar, to make their fortune on the shores of Andalusia.  By the time the new year rolls around our ships are landing on the southern shores of the isle of Crete, there are no defenders to see us off beyond a handful of militia watching over the villages as we press onward toward Iraklio.  As we lay siege to the island's capital, the commanders bicker over whether we should be attempting to raid all the surrounding settlements or focus solely on the siege, some fear that splitting up our army will leave us at a disadvantage should (when) Emir Shuayb returns. We can do both however, if we have enough scouts keeping their eyes on the sea beyond the isle.  Within the fortnight Iraklio has fallen and though Shuayb is not present is family certainly is and they will prove valuable barging tokens in our negotiations.  The army begins the march westward to the other major settlement on the island Chania, when scouts hurriedly bring us reports of the Emir's ships sighted and closing in on the isle fast.  The Emir lands behind us, back beyond Iraklio most likely with the intention of recapturing the town and then catching us out in the open with Chania's garrison joining the fray in a pincer movement. We won't allow that to happen, instead I order the army to turn back and face Shuayb in the mountains while his soldiers are still finding their land legs after the journey from Cyprus.  Despite their numerical advantage and already having elements of their army in well defended positions in the mountains upon learning of our approach we manage to best Emir Shuayb; Ingjarldr, Askell and Jįtvaršr leading our warriors to glory.   Over the next month we chase the Emir's army across Crete as his forces dwindle by the day.    In the final bout, as the Emir's final soldiers made their last stand at his side, Jįtvaršr became just a little too tenacious and fought he alone could capture Shuayb and met his end. He has died a glorious death in the pursuit of our new home, and while he dines in the hall of Valhalla we will raise our horns of mead in his honour tonight.  Arechis comes of age, and puts to use what we have taught him as he has taken to the field in the final battle, not the greatest of warriors but then again I was nothing special when I first took up a sword to fight beside my father.  Emir Shuayb faces losing what little of his army remains and will have no way to defend his new holdings in Cyprus not to mention his family members in our care. He meets with me in the fields south of Iraklio and he cedes Crete to the Veisla Clan.   We have swapped Holstein for Crete and are one step closer to our final destination.  As well as losing Jįtvaršr in the final battle, the godi Valdemar passes away in his sleep a few short days later. Though he was hostile to me upon my initial seizure of Jęren he grew to respect and maybe even like me, and he believed in our dream of finding a new home on a foreign shore, he was born and lived in Rogaland most his life, he didn't have to join us on our adventure but chose to nonetheless, he too will be missed.  And 'luck' would have it, his successor Hemingr dislikes us just as much as Valdemar once did and he will require some convincing to come round to our way, the man thinks Crete is far enough and we ought to make our home on this island perfect for raiding and attacking the shores around us.  Already the local Greeks have begun petitioning me about all their woes, hoping that we may be more amicable overlords than the Emir. Our own attack on Chania has left the town's defences in a dire state and a delegation of the town's merchants have offered a small sum if I can put forward the rest and see to it that Chania is well defended once more. I say I will see to it that funds are allocated to the town, but of course the merchants' money will be of far more use in the next step of our adventure and with any luck we will be long gone by time our deception has been discovered.  To appease hofgodi Hemingr a raid is organised to go and plunder the Italian coast, where word has reached us of a floating city of merchants far north in the Adriatic Sea, Ingjarldr and Askell take a portion of the clan's warrior and sail off to the north.  Sultan Ahmad's power only continues to grow and now he has one of the largest armies in all the known world (is it possible he somehow knows of my plans for his realm?). Anything short of a colossal catastrophe hitting Egypt will leave the Sultan too formidable to face, and even then what condition would the land be in for us to rule over.  The dream of our home in the land of pharaohs feels like it is slipping away, but perhaps, a new hope lies just nearby.  With all the different possible plans for the final step of our adventure wearing heavy on our mind we decide to take a brief break with a hunting excursion into the mountains of Crete.  But the countryside is lousy with these Greek peasants, how can I expect to hunt anything with all these Christians ambling about the hillsides. I have the soldiers accompanying me on this excursion clear out the local forests and ensure the locals remain away, a few days without their mushrooms or berries or whatever it is they are picking in these forests won't hurt them.   The raiding party has returned from this floating city of merchants, 'Venice', they return with fewer men than they left and with not a single coin or trinket among them. Though they initially sailed in to the lagoon where the city is located and found success in blockading the central islands -  It turns out a city ran by rich and powerful merchant families is able to just conjure hordes of mercenaries with a click of their fingers and a jingle of their money purses. Gargantuan triremes crewed by hundreds of Lombard mercenaries beset our longships and our warriors that were in the city were forced to make a hasty retreat.  Though apparently Askell at one point found himself surrounded by the zealous son of Orso Participazio - ruler of Venice - and his elite guards, and against all odds Askell fell them all in a fit of fury and slew the patrician's haughty boy with his bare hands.  Morale amongst the clan is at an all time low, to our north the Greeks are in turmoil as a major faction seeks to break away from the empire, many are calling for us to stay here, on Crete as soon enough where one empire stood there will be many petty bickering kings and nobles, all ripe for plundering.  But this island is cursed, I am sure of it. That Emir called on his god to beset us with constant problems no matter how small or large and I am sure in time we will find our demise on this isle, we must return to the mainland soon. I swore back in Holstein that we would make our home in Egypt, and I will see it come true.  Tensions between the men are also beginning to rise and flare up into feuds and squabbles that we can all do without. Askell and Hjalmar have been at each other's throats for weeks ever since the raiding party returned from Venice, with the marshall saying things would have gone differently had he been there which led to Askell 'accidently' killing the marshal's dog on their hunting trip. They asked me to let them settle their dispute with a holmgang - a duel.  And like a fool I bet on Askell, tales of his bloody exploits in Venice still fresh in my mind. But who was to think he could best our dear old marshal, Hjalmar may be twice his age and almost twice his weight but he is a sly old thing and put the much younger though more bold Askell in his place.  In Iraklio I have been spending more nights frequenting this Greek excuse for a mead hall, and as of late spending those nights in the company of a wanderer by name of Ofeigr, a veteran raider who has taken up the more dull but questionably profitable life of being a merchant. He has heard of my desire to take a chunk out of Egypt and informs me that beyond the Sultanate of the Tulunids there lies an independent emirate, on the banks of a sea beyond the Mediterranean. It is technically part of Egypt though not part of the sultanate. In exchange for taking him into the clan he can tell us more.  I had pondered about the lands beyond the Sultanate, and the possibility of taking those, with the intention of coming back for Cairo another time. But the issue of just how we would get forty longships down the Nile without being stopped eluded me. Luck would have it then, Ofeigr tells me that Sultan Ahmad is preoccupied with fighting a popular uprising. It is not so large a rebellion that it has destabilised his realm so we may take Cairo, but we can at least sail down the Nile unopposed.  This may be the only chance I have, I gather the champions of clan Veisla in the town square of Iraklio, declaring our intention to finally end our adventure in the great and prosperous land of Egypt. We will leave at this time in one week, every last scrap of food and military supplies are to be loaded on the longships and any willing locals to join us, we will need as many as we can muster to hold our new home once we take it. The men are overjoyed, expecting us to soon be feasting in the great city of Cairo.  In spring of 880, forty longships sail from the great inland sea through the vast Nile Delta, where equally bemused and startled locals watch us drift past, as the axe wielding, fur-coat wearing strangers stare back from their dragon-headed ships.  There was indeed no opposition, we sail pass Cairo, and on the western banks, just above the rolling sand dunes we spy the tops of those 'man-made mountains', from here it is hard to judge just how tall they actually are, and despite most of the men wanting to disembark to get a closer look (and believing they are practically covered in loot just waiting for an eager viking to come along) I make them push on. We pass settlement after settlement, through the thick pockets of reeds and gazing in fear at the huge water horses and large flat scaly creatures that swim alongside our ships.  Ofeigr tells me we have gone far enough down the river, we will now have to venture east, until we get to the 'Red Sea'. It is good we are finally leaving the river, the men grow more restless and agitated with each settlement we pass, and there is increasing evidence of battles and pillaging around us, this popular uprising must not be far, which means the Sultan is surely close behind. The warriors, our retinue and councillors and all our followers are happy to finally be on land again, only to learn we must now haul the ships from the Nile and carry them with us, for an unknown number of miles through the blistering desert sun.  For three weeks we trek across the sand, pillaging every tiny town and farmstead unfortunate to be in our path for all the food and water they hold. And at night we arrange the longships in makeshift forts while we huddle for warmth around campfires and with ever depleting barrels of mead. We thankfully cross into the land of the Eastern Desert, where locals fleeing from the coast tell of an invasion, a different invasion than our own. Emir Hafiz ibn Abu Abdallah al-Umari, steward of the Eastern Deserts has enjoyed nominal independence from the Sultan of Egypt, but with Sultan Ahmad dealing with the uprising, the Eastern Desert has become a battleground between the Muslim faithful and encroaching Coptic Nubians from the south.  What a sight it must have been for those two enemy commanders, in the midst of their battle suddenly to see ships moving slowly over the sand dunes toward them, only for them to drop and come the wailing of horns and 1600 furious vikings come charging into the fray and massacre their armies equally.  Venting weeks of pent up frustration and agitation from the heat, the warriors are relentless and show no mercy to the defending Muslim and Copts, I make sure to quickly move across the battlefield until I locate Emir Hafiz and capture him alive. By the end of the battle, he is the only Arab still drawing breath.  We drag the Emir back to his capital and he convinces the garrison to open the gates, and we march into Qusayr, our new home. Our jewell on the coast of the Red Sea that now stretched out before us, where the longships are put back into the water.   The Emir is put on a boat and told to sail across the sea never to return, his rule over this land has ended. The Veisla Clan has finally found the place to establish it's permanent home.  The Jarldom of the Eastern Desert. 
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Feb 19, 2022 00:38
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If this keeps up, even the Great Pyramid of Giza won't be big enough to serve as a runestone for Jarl Alva's mighty deeds. 
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Feb 19, 2022 01:33
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Woo! Now that we have won the realm, we must r ule it.
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Feb 19, 2022 01:53
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Here's to getting the rest of Egypt!
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Feb 19, 2022 02:04
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It should be easy enough, I mean how hard can it be to raise 10 thousand troops?
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Feb 19, 2022 02:22
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Good thing we didn't stay in Krete too long, I heard tales that the place has been long beset by madmen called 'Populists'.
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Feb 19, 2022 02:39
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Technowolf posted:Good thing we didn't stay in Krete too long, I heard tales that the place has been long beset by madmen called 'Populists'. it is without doubt that these 'Populists' were behind the avalance and other ills that befell our stay there!
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Feb 19, 2022 17:36
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lets get into incense trading 
ThatBasqueGuy fucked around with this message at 22:01 on Feb 19, 2022 |
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Feb 19, 2022 21:01
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Why bother with incense when the coffee monopoly is waiting just further south? Vikings love coffee.
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Feb 19, 2022 23:38
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VideoWitch posted:It should be easy enough, I mean how hard can it be to raise 10 thousand troops?
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Feb 20, 2022 17:37
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IV - 881 - 888 - Salvation The Eastern Desert of Egypt, hugging the coastline of the Red Sea, is not the land of riches and greatness that I had promised the clan. This rugged mountainous land is inhospitable, devoid of any forests or verdant pastures; the only animals are the occasional herd of goats or aggressive horse-like creatures called camels.  The only major settlement for one hundred of miles around is Qusayr, the former hold of Emir Hafiz which is little more than a fishing village.  And the only source of groundwater is a place called Wadi Saqi, a shallow stream that is completely barren for half the year.  The only plus are the crumbling but still functional remnants left behind by some ancient empire, and much to our disbelief they were built by Romans. Even out here in the middle of nowhere, the influence of that old empire is still felt.  There is great dissent among the clan members, they had wanted us to charge up the banks of the nile and take Cairo for oursevles despite knowing how suicidal it was, or even just to stay in Crete rather than come to this dusty empty coast.  Ofeigr, the man who brought me here, who made this all possible I feel is the only one I can trust anymore. And I thank him the only way I can think of - by offering him my hand in marriage and allowing him to co-rule this new land we have conquered. And now that we are settled for good, despite how good or bad this place may be, I need to start thinking of children, if my legacy is to carry on.   To the south of the town is a region called Jabal Quzlum, even more desolate than this and it's local populace far from our control. Marshal Haraldr is sent with a small contingent of warriors to pacify the small settlements wherever they may lie.  While here in Qusayr, my steward Hśnžjófr is working on trying to find some common ground between us and the natives, seeing as we will be ruling over them from now on and any distrust needs to be stamped out now.  Though we carried a great hoard of supplies and food with us from Crete down the River Nile and on our trek through the desert, already it is greatly depleted, I have attempted to make trade contacts with tribes and ports elsewhere along the Red Sea but they are not receptive to our kind at all, and the language barrier makes our friendly intentions hard to get across.  And the few we do end up working with only end up betraying that trust and making off with our 'exotic' northern goods.  Warriors and raiders are also disappearing from the town. On a survey of the surroundings a few miles from the town we come across a band of our warriors, making their way back through the desert toward Egypt proper. They have little to say to us, only that word has reached us that the 'oh so great and fearsome Cordoba Caliphate' that we dared not attacked has fractured and continues to face problems, meaning it should have been the location we had set sail for. And they would risk the journey back across the desert and through the Sultan's land if there was even a chance at making a new home there rather than stay here.  The clan is directionless, without purpose here. A war will focus everyone's minds and get them behind me once more. To our south sits the Hadariba tribe led by Emir Ali Baba, we have fought much worse and came out unscathed, we must expand to survive here and going south is our only option.  While supplies and gold are allocated to the upcoming war, some is also put aside to ensure our new home can be protected. Emir Asif resided in a dilapidated crumbling castle built centuries ago, it will not do to make such a sorry building my home.  Local carpenters and labourers overseen by steward Hśnžjófr begin work on renovating and expanding the old ruin into a proper Northern fort.  Mid-autumn 882 we march to war once more, to double the size of our new realm and help secure our place here.   We land on the shores of Aydhab, where we find no defending army, only locals who desperately try to hold us back but to no avail.  The town falls within a week, but we cannot consider victory here until Ali Baba has been defeated lest his army retake our new claim. The locals say he fled south with the tribe's warriors when word of our attack reached them. Then south we march.   I have never before felt the bitter sting of defeat nor do I wish to feel it again. Ali Baba had spent the weeks that we were sieging his town preparing for our arrival in the mountains. His men are used to this oppressive heat, this rugged terrain and they ran circles around us, hitting our flanks and disappearing beyond ravines and hills again.  Ingjarldr was heavily injured.  Haraldr is maimed.  Askell died in battle.  Our 'easy victory' against these southern tribes is dashed. We slink away again to the north, to recuperate in the captured town of Aydhab and prepare for a possible counter-attack by the Emir.  As we crest the mountain range south of Aydhab and see the town before us, we spot an army three times our size sieging our prize. While we fought the Emir in the mountains, another of his enemies marched along the coast and will now steal away all that should rightfully be ours. We head directly east, taking the shortest route to the coast where we can see our longships already approaching - having fled from Aydhab when the large army appeared.  As we hastily re-embark on the longships I recognized one that did not join us in this war and was to stay behind in Qusayr to protect the harbour from any attacks. The ship pulls up beside us as we push off from the shore and the captain hops over to ours, his face racked with worry, and when he utters the next words I know why. Egypt has declared war on us.  This war in the south means nothing if we risk losing everything back in Qusayr. How many soldiers has the Sultan? Thousands? Tens of thousands? We are but a few hundred.  The longships arrive back in town to find it mostly deserted. Only the brave or stupid remain. To the west Sultan Ahmad is crossing the mountains and fast approaching. Those that remain are not perturbed, they know they will meet their end here on these shores against the Sultan but they will die 'a glorious death' and be welcomed into Valhalla.  This isn't how I wanted it to end though. I didn't come all this way to just die on this dusty shore for nothing. Everything I have worked for is slipping away. Everyone who stood beside me is gone.  I have nothing left.  In the harbour sits a foreign boat that arrived sometime while we were battling in the south, a merchant's longship from a foreign clan that for some reason has not fled with the impending massacre approaching. The days preparing our doomed defence become too much and I march down to the docks to demand to know why this foolish merchant has not sailed away to safety. His attire is nothing like ours but his complexion and fair hair betray his look, he was born in the north just like us.  "Why have you not sailed away from this place, merchant, there is no more trading to be done in this place lest you seek to pick our bones clean of trinkets and weapons when the Sultan has finished with us. Assuming he does not kill you too" "I fear not the Sultan, Jarl Alva. Nor any muslim warrior or chietan in this land. I follow their ways." "You forsake the Gods?" "The Old Gods have no place here, there is but one God, and his name is Allah." There is a terrible knot in my stomach, I gaze back across the town, to the distant mountains where Sultan Ahmad will soon appear. "Will converting save my people?" "Maybe. But if you are not sincere I am sure the Sultan will see right through you, and send you to Allah personally so the great one can devise an even worse punishment." "The Gods have brought me nothing, I made my own luck, I won all my great victories with my own hand, and now they abandon me to die on this shore. If accepting this Allah brings salvation, then so be it, I am ready to believe" "I have a Quran on my ship, and we haven't much time. Come Jarl, we'll save your eternal soul so you may your people"  In a dry mountain pass where the Sultan's army is cresting one of the last major ridgelines before coming upon Qusayr a lone Norseman on a horse approaches, steward Hśnžjófr (the only one of us who has managed to learn Arabic by working with the locals so much) Hśnžjófr is surrounded by Egyptian Faris and brought before the austere Egyptian ruler who looks down on the Norseman with disdain. "You're a long way from home, barbarian. Come to beg for your life? Or just to buy enough time for your people to escape?" "No. I simply come before you, Sultan, to inform you that you may not wage war on our people" Sultan Ahmad grips the hilt of his sword tightly, looking like he could cut down the steward with one swift slice. "And why, pray tell, would that be? I have ten thousand soldiers and the will of Allah behind me, I will drive you heathens from our shores and restore order to my borders. "Well, that's just it, Sultan. You may not wage holy war against fellow followers of the faith" The Sultan shoots a look of confusion to one of his generals, before he is consumed with a different type of anger. He pinches his nose and through gritted teeth utters "Are you testing me, lord?" He motions to his generals and they ride off to their various regiments. "Fine. Fine. Then take me to your 'Jarl'."  For the next few days Bergžór taught me everything he could and read to me pages over and over again from his holy book. Much of it he had memorised in fact, and the old man tried as hard as he could to part much of the wisdom he had gained on to me. He taught me of the struggles and triumphs of the prophet muhammad, of the five pillars of Islam by which I must live my life and to dispell all I had known and held dear about Odin, Thor, Tyr and all the Old Gods of our far away homeland. There is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is his messenger.  "And what of you, Bergžór? How is it you have come to find yourself on our shores in such trying times?" The merchant smiled "You are far from the first to come to the Red Sea, Alva. I was born in Jylland, yes, but it is Persia I call my home now. In the court of Sigurd Ragnarsson. I and many others accompanied him on the great journey from Daneland, but not west, to join his brothers in Britain, he had no desire to go where others of our kind had already tread well enough. Returning warriors who had served in the Varangian Guard told tales of Persia, of Anatolia and the Levant, places we could scarcely imagine, and so he went east. He took us past Novgorod and through the many rivers of the land of the Rus until we came to a great sea by the name of the Caspian. We traded with Turks and Khazar on the coasts and sailed until we could sail no more, having reached Persia. We abandoned the longships, sold them or dismantled them and we continued on foot through the desert, until we came upon a great battle between what we now know are the Abbasids and Saffarids. Sigurd made a calculated decision and waited until the battle was at it's apex and we entered the fray, saving Amir-e Amiran Ya'qub of the Saffarids, who in return allowed us to settle on the coast of the Persian Gulf. Perso-Norse culture is now flourishing beneath Sigurd though he himself has not yet shown willingness to forgo the old ways, many of us have found a new calling in words of the prophet. But, enough distractions now. You have more to learn yet..."  At the half-constructed longhouse outside the old crumbling castle overlooking Qusayr, Sultan Ahmad and a hundred of his most loyal and decorated soldiers arrive (whom they alone could probably take this town). I await inside alone, only the Sultan enters and Hśnžjófr so he may translate, though I could quite easily infer from the Sultan's tone what this was going to be about. "What trick do you play on me, heathen?"  "No trick. I have no love for the Gods of my people, I never really have. I have spent all my life raiding and ransacking, taking what wasn't mine and killing everyone who stood in my path. And it has cost me everything. Everyone who believed in me has died, everything I ever earned honestly lost to me. "I have heard tales of the 'great' Alva of the Veisla clan, scourge of the north. You even raided Alexandria many moons past. But all I see before me now is a sorry mouse who mistook herself for a lion. I have fought your people many times now, you come and go, pillaging as you please, but you are normally gone in a few weeks. Yet you have persisted like an illness that will not pass here in the Eastern Desert for the better part of two years." "I only wanted a home for my people, a place for us to prosper. And now we are but a few hundred huddled here on this forsaken shore."  "Tell me, Alva, did you mean to take my throne? And find yourself having to settle for this scrap of sand" I feel my throat tighten and my mouth is unbearably dry as I nod and utter a meek "Yes." "And would you still? Given the chance" "Yes." The Sultan smirked for a moment at my honest answer before he began to slowly pace around me, dismissively looking around at our sorry excuse for a great hall. "I am not a native of this land either. I was born a Turk, and sold as a mamluke - a slave warrior to the Abbasids. One of their best, they sent me to be governor of Egypt, and when I saw my chance, I simply took it." I listen along intently, furrowing my brow at this revelation that I and the Sultan are not too dissimilar. "You will never take my throne, Alva. While I draw breath no foreign banner will fly over Cairo. I am the first independent ruler of Egypt since Cleopatra, you probably don't know who she was, and I have amassed the largest army in all the Mediterranean to ensure my realm remains free and prosperous." The Sultan folded his arms, looking down at me, I had never felt smaller in my life and were Ingjarldr still alive he would have killed me where I stood for grovelling so before a foreign ruler.  "All the while the Umayyads buckle under the weight of local uprisings in Iberia and the Abbasids are rapidly losing control of the Levant. Egypt alone will soon stand as the great power in our world, you can either help me see Egypt remains strong and prestigious. Or you can die right here."  "Am I to be your vassal?" "No. The previous arrangement I held with Emir Hafiz will now be transferred to you. You will protect my eastern shore from raiders and from Arabian incursion, and in return you are free rule this land, rule it as a muslim not a heathen. Do not mistake my compassion and kindness for weakness. Should this turn out to be some form of deception, I will return Alva. I will destroy your clan, and no matter how I will find a way to destroy where ever it is you came from."  The Sultan departs again and I resign myself to the half-complete longhouse for the next few days. My days of conquering are over, I now only wish to care for what of my people remain and make something of this land.   With Haradlr gone, and Hjalmar without the use of one of his legs, he is in no position to be marshal of the clan or Qusayr, and so it falls to Arechis of all people.  Along with Hjalmar he is one of the last few people still remaining with me from when we departed Rogaland - and he was not even a native of our land. Most of the people here are warriors and followers we picked up in Holstein, in Crete and on our many raids, many thralls we were forced to give freedom. I asked Arechis why he had not left us, now that he easily could. "And go where?" He responded "Back to a home you took me from that I can barely remember, to a father that will disinherit me when he learns I have forsaken Christ and God for your Odin, which you could not even have the decency to die for. Leave me to train the men Alva, maybe next time a foe comes we will actually fight and not throw ourselves at their feet."  Bergžór offered to stay in Qusayr, now that Ingjarldr was dead who primarily was meant to be our physician, but did far more maiming than healing. Bergžór says he has spent time in Baghdad and is an experienced surgeon and healer. He departs for a few weeks and then returns with a whole host of Perso-Norse companions eager to work in Qusayr and aid another fledging Norse realm here in the Arab world. Ehsan Azizsson is my new holyman, a Mufti, he calls himself. Though his father came from Daneland he was born in Persia and beyond his light skin has little of the North left in him. He is more agreeable at least then my old Hofgodi.  The first test of my new faith comes when local villages decry one of our seišr of witchcraft. Everything she does is completely normal back in the north, but the villagers of Jabal Quzlum believe all their woes are down to her, and demand I kill her at once. I have known Sif for many years, she accompanied us from Rogaland. Her wailing and pleading almost break me but I fight through the hesitation and order her execution. If it is for Allah, it is right.  Luck finally begins to turn in our favour, as while sailing out near the waters of Qusayr we spot a whale, a creature I had not seen since departing the frozen northern shores.  We managed to bring the beast down and hauled it back to shore, where it's meat could feed the town for weeks and all it's bone and blubber to find various uses with the craftsmen of the town.  Curiously, my Mufti does not actually speak Arabic as the locals and Sultan Ahmad did, but Iranian, language of Persia from where he hails. Well, I know neither Arabic or Iranian, and no Quran exists in Norse. If I am to be able to read my own holy book without someone looking over my shoulder telling me the words I must learn one of these tongues at least.  It has been three years since we came to his land, there is some semblance of normalcy beginning to develop. And I am with child.  Bergžór has been acting as a mediator between the town and any Arabic traders and travellers that frequent the settlement. He has taken great joy in watching me trying, and mostly succeeding, to better this town and make something of it. He is a better conversationalist than Ehsan, who has no knowledge of our homeland or our old ways. While Bergžór has become very accustomed to this place he is not afraid of the occasional flyte or riddle.  Though sometimes I feel like he just lets me win so I feel good.  Renovation and expansion of the ancient fort is finished, and now a proper Norse longhouse sits over it.    We quickly learned however that these palm trees are not quite as versatile as the great pines back home, they are porous and bends easily in strong winds. What's more the thatched roofs from palm leaves and reeds can make the interiors unbearably hot. A local source of high quality stone is needed if we are to make more suitable permanent structures, and a quarry is drawn up to be commenced nearby.  In the Autumn of 884 I give birth to a healthy strong young boy. I had fought a life fighting on battlefields and the injuries I had sustained and healed from would prepare me for childbirth, but I was wrong. But dear Ofeigr was there to help through. We named our boy Gormr, meaning 'Glory to God'.  I question some of the literature Ehsan has me reading, perhaps it is a test I wonder. They are nonetheless, rather lurid pieces of writing, and only half way through reading one out loud in the longhouse in my terribly broken Iranian do I realise what it is I am reading when my nearby servants all chortle and blush. They mock me, I'll see how they laugh after I have them whipped.  There are an increasing number of fellow Norsemen that frequent our shores, but they have never attacked, merely pass by or stop for brief trading. The exploits of Sigurd, and maybe myself but probably not, have inspired a great deal of adventurers back home, who haul their boats across the narrow Sinai and into the Red Sea where they can raid and conquer the coasts of Arabia and even as far as the little known land of the Hindus. In Safaga, a small coastal town north of Qusayr we had stopped at a large tavern for the night which was overburdened with lively Norsemen old and young. The vigmen are inexperienced but eager, employing them would be useless as they would just seek new shores for adventures, but the Huscarls are grizzled and done with travelling, they just want a place to settle and be paid for the occasional bout. And we do need more capable warriors back in Qusayr.  Returning to Qusayr we find Hjalmar is once again locked in a fierce feud with another of my champions, and yet again demands a holmgang to settle the dispute. Everyone thinks I am mad to bet in favour of Hjalmar, the old cripple as he is unfortunately becoming known as.  But I remember the last time I bet against the old warrior, even with one leg he somehow manages to best Įli.  The nearby Sheikh Nasir in the bordering Egyptian province has been a bad influence on the local populace here, many think it wrong to serve beneath a foreigner, and a woman at that. There is even talk of trying to petition Nasir to conduct an expedition into the Eastern Desert to liberate the 'downtrodden' Egyptians who I have only tried to help. I may have forsaken my faith, but I am still a proud Norse woman, perhaps it's time I impart on the locals the virtues of our ways rather than trying to kowtow to them.   Gormr is growing up fast and he already has plenty of his mother in him, or the greater adventurer I used to be. Hopefully the world will not drag him back down too quickly.  A travelling merchant stops in Qusayr (we had rather been hoping to become a stopping point for ships travelling up to Quzlum, not far from Cairo, but many just sail right past us), and comes to me directly, offering a book he claims will help me with my attempts at learning the Iranian language. His father supposedly frequented these lands long before even the great Sigurd came to settle in Persia, and written in his book is the key to learning the language with ease. I made a deal and got the book at a far cheaper price than the merchant was offering.  It seems though, the book is actually quite handy and I find within many phrases and words that help me. In fact, I feel with this manual I am becoming so confident in my use of the Iranian tongue that I may partake in something I have been meaning to ever since converting.  Completing the Hajj is one of the five pillars expected of me, and now that I don't feel completely lost trying to communicate with the locals I feel I can finally undertake the journey to Mecca. Of course, they speak Arabic there but my hope is there will be enough Iranian speakers that I can still get by.  Mself, Ofeigr, Gormr (though I hear he will have to perform the Hajj again under his own volition as an adult) and a handful of followers depart from Qusayr in late 887, travelling west in to Qus and then skirting the banks of the Nile all the way in to Egypt. Only when we cross the Sinai Peninsula and Arabia proper do we begin to face hardship, and our numbers dwindle. But we press on, we will reach Mecca inshallah.  We reach the holy city by new year and with Ofeigr we conduct all the rites of pilgrimage. It feels good, to have done this, like a great weight has been lifted from me. I can feel a closer connection with Allah than I did with any of the Old Gods.   On the return journey we make sure to stop at Cairo and request an audience with Sultan Ahmad, I am glad to meet the ruler of Egypt again under more amicable circumstances.  We talk at length; about Qusayr and improvements I have made and how I have tried to help local Egyptians, the state of Egypt and ever growing army and wealth the Sultan has at his disposal, but mostly about my own progress with our shared faith, which Ahmad is only more than pleased to learn how far I have come.  I propose a marriage between Gormr and one of his daughters, to secure the blossoming new friendship between our two houses and, to my surprise the Sultan agrees, my little Gormr will marry a princess, and with that ensure Egypt never marches on us again.    Despite the disaster of our initial arrival in this place, over the past seven years we have recovered and rebuilt, the Eastern Desert now boasts the largest army on the shores of the Red Sea (far more than any of the Sultan's own vassals) and we actually have deterred any raiders from attacking Egypt from the south or the Red Sea. Sultan Ahmad thinks it no longer fitting that our realm simply be known as 'The Eastern Desert'. He has referred to our kind as the Nurmans, and so he proclaims us Nurmandiya.  Nurmandiya, a name I can be proud of. In a short time we have already begun heavily adopting many of the local's traditions, and they in turn some of ours.  The Egyptians of Qusayr and us Norse who come to rule them are becoming ever closer by the day, and perhaps it's time to stop denying that in no short time at all the lines between our people will blur entirely.          From this day forth the Eastern Desert shall be known as Nurmandiya. And with friendship secured with the Sultan I feel reinvigorated, we have our home and it is safe, but I still desire a throne of my own.   Veisla Clan, 888 Crisis Now fucked around with this message at 11:37 on Feb 21, 2022 |
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Feb 21, 2022 00:35
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I knew this would happen. I knew it. We should've gone for Iberia, but you fools wanted to go the route of madness. Madness, I say, for the Jarl has forsaken our gods!
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Feb 21, 2022 01:56
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That was extremely evocative. Surprising but amazingly well written and a unique narrative.
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Feb 21, 2022 01:58
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wedgekree posted:That was extremely evocative. Surprising but amazingly well written and a unique narrative. One of the hallmarks of a Crisis Now LP is rolling with weird situations and making them work. That said, I can't believe we moved to the land of the most epic runestones ever and gave up the cultural traditions of raising runestones??
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Feb 21, 2022 02:21
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GunnerJ posted:One of the hallmarks of a Crisis Now LP is rolling with weird situations and making them work. We may be able to regain them with reforming cultures down the line. I had to be strategic with what I picked and wanted a good mix of Norse-Egyptian.
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Feb 21, 2022 02:23
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I agree- this is going as badly as I'd feared, but reading it is a wonderful ride. 
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Feb 21, 2022 03:04
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Well done crafting an interesting narrative around 'I didn't say Simon says'-ing yourself out of a religious war.
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Feb 21, 2022 03:29
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The Hajj has been completed. Good, this will surely bring great prosperity to our new people
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Feb 21, 2022 05:47
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Well, that wasn't terribly unexpected. Kinda hoping we'll see some kind of custom version of Ash'arism down the line, now.
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Feb 21, 2022 14:03
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That was...honestly as well as such an adventure was going to end up, wasn't it?
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Feb 21, 2022 14:18
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We've made a strong home with good friends both to our north and scattered across the vast indian ocean. I have hopes that this "Nurmandiya" will serve as the incubator for many great adventurers to come
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Feb 21, 2022 16:15
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Well that was fun. Where next? I vote Ibiza.
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Feb 21, 2022 16:29
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Freudian posted:Well that was fun. Where next? I vote Ibiza. I think you lose the Varangian adventure CB if you stop being tribal. Are we still tribal?
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Feb 21, 2022 19:27
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Nah you keep it if you stop being tribal, I think you lose it after a certain date or if you become a king or higher?
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Feb 21, 2022 20:26
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We were gonna convert sooner or later unfortunately, not unless we stayed around in Germany. If not the Muslims breathing down our necks, then the Christians. Even as fragmented as some of them were in Britain or Iberia, The fragments joining together as allies to take on a common pagan foe wouldn't have been out of the question. That sad, it's still a shame we couldn't keep the Nordic religion and spin it into some sort of syncretic Egyptian religious revival. Xelkelvos fucked around with this message at 20:48 on Feb 21, 2022 |
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Feb 21, 2022 20:45
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Xelkelvos posted:We were gonna convert sooner or later unfortunately, not unless we stayed around in Germany. If not the Muslims breathing down our necks, then the Christians. Even as fragmented as some of them were in Britain or Iberia, The fragments joining together as allies to take on a common pagan foe wouldn't have been out of the question. The magic thing about Crusader Kings LPs, is that we'll get to spin the wheel many times on what character we'll end up with. We might see someone try to return to the old ways.
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Feb 21, 2022 23:08
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Um. You might want to replace Sig with Behruz Khorasani on your council. 8 more intrigue on a person who will hate you far less. Seeing a spymaster with -40something opinion makes my anxiety go up.
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Feb 22, 2022 01:07
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But think of the drama! The excitement! The plots!
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Feb 22, 2022 01:09
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Iranian? Iranian?!? IRANIAN?!?!?!??!?! The people are Iranian, the language is Farsi! PARADOX!!!! 
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Feb 22, 2022 07:08
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V - 888 - 898 - Ratu Layung For a decade now we have ruled the Eastern Deserts of Egypt, now named Nurmandyia since solidifying our rule and gaining the Sultan's favour. The towns of Qusayr, Safaga and North / Central Jabal Quzlum are at peace, and as prosperous as they can be in this remote desert. Though try as we might, the woes and tribulations of these simple townsfolk once again begin to weigh down on me.  Not that they know it thankfully, we do our dutiful best to listen to them and help where we can.  While the local Egyptians still consider me a foreigner they at least are no longer hostile, and with luck our new joint Nurman culture will flourish in time.  With a small band of my councillors and warriors we take a journey to Jabal Quzlum that lies south of Qusayr, a few dozen miles inland from the coast and up winding mountain passes. Here our influence is not as well felt as on the coast and the locals are more resistant to my rule.  Mayor Njįll is my representative here, a convert to Islam like myself which has helped him keep peace here far from the capital, which is lucky as he has just twenty five huscarls at his disposal to keep order. He is more popular here it seems than myself, as the Mayor holds constant festivals and celebrations for every little thing the town achieves and ensures spirits are high at all times. He insists we take a hunting trip in the mountains nearby and I feel inclined to agree.      We press on, further south to the castle of South Jabal Quzlum, at the fringes of Nurmandyia. Outside the gates I come across a small bazaar set up by local Egyptians who have travelled in from the surrounding hamlets upon hearing the Jarl was visiting, hoping to hawk their wares. One in particular 'Hussayn' talks my ear off for more than an hour, and I do actually learn some things about stewardship I hadn't considered. But much to his disappointment I depart with his knowledge but none of his goods.  The castle is held by Skśli Stjarna, a peculiar but resourceful old man who has been with us since Rogaland, for the past two years he has acted as my spymaster. Despite the fact he never leaves his castle except to make the occasional journey up to Safaga (for it's brothel I should add), he has a vast network of spies and informants and seems to know the current events of the surrounding areas more than anyone.  In the west, across our new home continent, local tribes and clans are banding together and attempting to reform their faiths in light of Muslim conquests. There is word that back in our old homeland, Sverige has been united under the banner of Clan Munso, who also seeks to reform the Asatru faith, but not because of foreign incursions, quite the opposite. The Norse are becoming so spread out across Midgard that King Eririkr fears many will start abandoning the Old Gods for local ones (who would do such a thing?), and has no desire to see once proud Norsemen fall to 'false gods'.  Across the Red Sea, and the Abbasids continue to lose their grip on the Levant. The Caliph has been moved from Baghdad to Damascus and struggles to fend off the Armenians from the north, Nestorians who have control of seized the Mesopotamia rivers, and the Orthodox Syrian Coast that makes constant battle against the Caliphate with Byzantine support. Not to mention, the sudden and alarming rise of the Nasrid Sultanate. Sultan Ya'qub or more commonly referred to as 'The Warmongering Giant' proclaims himself custodian of the holy cities of Mecca and Medina and the Holy Land, and seems to exist in a perpetual state of war with the other tribes of Arabia.  And at the other end of the Mediterranean? Well the Umayyads fare no better, Cordoba is desperately trying to maintain order while many of the emirs feel they can rule the lands of Andalusia themselves without the Umayyad's 'protection' and guiding hand. The Catholics in the north of Iberia are pressing down, and from the south, Haraldr Yngling has conquered Marrakesh and formed a Norse-Maghreb kingdom and plunders the shores of Iberia and southern Francia. The Franks themselves face endless internal strife, and revolts. We are lucky to have Sultan Ahmad as our friend, as he does not make false boats of having the largest and most stable realm in all the known land, Egypt is a beacon in these trying times.  Skśli is also eager to tell me that Chief Ali Baba of Naqis to the south of us has died, and that the mountains of Naqis where so many of our kind were killed has now been incorporated into the greater Kingdom of Nubia, against the wishes of local tribal chiefs who are proving a major issue for King Zakharias. It would be unfortunate for him should a rival army choose to invade them at this time.  Despite his resourcefulness and commitment to helping me and the realm, Skśli is still a practising Asatru, with no inclination of ever accepting the word of the Prophet. Though he understands the increased obligations and taxes I put on South Jabal Quzlum have been done so under pressure of the council back in Qusayr, I make sure Skśli knows his work is still appreciated with a slight under the table donation to his fortress.  Returning from the trip to the mountains, I spy a Perso-Norse merchant vessel docked in Qusayr and race down to the waterside, excited to try my hand at speaking Iranian to them. The merchant becomes incensed and spits at the ground, and in Norse he barks "Terrible. And it's called Farsi!". Ah, to hell with this nonsense.  Arechis is nowhere to be found in town, I quickly learn that he has returned to his homeland. Prince Guaifer of Salerno has died and with that Arechis inherited the County of Palermo, the old Prince never gave up hope that his son would return one day and never excluded him from his inheritance despite having no idea his condition or whereabouts.  A envoy was able to gain passage with a viking expedition and through them learned of Arechis' location and made his way to Qusayr while we were in the mountains. Upon learning from the envoy that he was now a count, and that a castle awaited him back in Sicily, Arechis was apparently gone in only a matter of hours.  While his father never gave up on him, his numerous siblings were none to pleased to see their long lost brother return, following the wrong faith and ill-equipped to deal with life back in the Christian world. He died only weeks after arriving back in his homeland, almost certainly killed by one of his own brothers. I am sorry Arechis.  The quarry just outside of Qusayr is complete, and with it building materials are now more readily available rather than us having to rely on trade from Egypt or the local inadequate timber.  Qusayr is growing, merchants and travellers are becoming ever more frequent, the roads are safe, the coasts have never known a raid since I took this land and thanks to the work of my council gold is flowing into the region rather than just sailing past each day.  Qusayr may not be much, but it is mine. Prosperous, peaceful, our oasis on the turbulent Red Sea.  It could all be so much more. I have never forgotten my dream. I swore I would have a throne, I left Rogaland knowing I would either find my death or forge my kingdom. My quest for greatness will never fade, not while my heart still beats. In the summer of 892 I travelled to Cairo to meet with Sultan Ahmad. I make clear my intention to form a kingdom out of Nurmandiya, to seize all the coast of the Red Sea and drive the heathen Copts out from the mountains I had tried and failed to conquer all those years ago. Should he march at my side with the armies of Egypt he will have a permanent friend in the Nurmans, he will have secured the southern and eastern flanks of his realm and shown the world the might of Egypt's military.   After departing Cairo I head further north, back to the Mediterranean for the first time in many years. To Alexandria to meet with Captain Aaron of the 'Keepers of the Lighthouse' a mercenary leader with a thousand cataphracts at his command. I inform him of my plan to conquer the Red Sea, and in return for his services I offer almost all the money Qusayr has at it's disposal.  Ironically he himself was Coptic, but gold it seems had greater sway with him than God.  I ride back south along the banks of the Nile with the Keepers of the Lighthouse following, Sultan Ahmad had gathered the forces of Cairo and was now mustering the Emirs of Egypt to join him on the southern reaches of the Sultanate. In Qusayr I gather all the warriors of the Veisla Clan, the old veterans still clinging on from the Rogaland days, the handful of Saxon and Greek followers we gained on the way, and a huge army of local levies motivated by promises of gold and greatness, marching with the Sultan and seeing the Copts driving from rightful Muslim land. Allahu Akbar.   ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Baqt is one of the longest lasting treaties in the world. An agreement between the Muslims of Egypt and Coptics of Nubia that the two should never go to war, made in the times of the Rashidun Caliphate, when Arabs first conquered Egypt. It had ensured security and prosperity for the two peoples. Alva Veisla destroyed that peace. With one action she became one of the most reviled and abhorred figures in the history of the Nubian, Beja and Copt peoples. The pale skin barbarian that descended on their land from a frozen hell they could barely fathom, who had seduced the Sultan of Egypt and turned his heart to malice. They called her 'Ratu Layung' - The Crimson Queen - for the distinctive red cloak and hood she wore, but more precisely for the amount of blood she shed, rumoured to have turned the Nile itself red. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  Excerpts from Alfutuhat Alhamra' - "Red Conquest" a journal kept by Kolbeinn Ålgård, Huscurl of Alva Veisla, written in Arabic and later translated to English. The Nile still looked as mesmerising as I remember it all those years ago, perhaps it is just the tales told of this ancient river that stirred the heart so, but gazing up on it feels different from the years I have spent looking upon the Red Sea from the shores of Safaga. We had been camped on the edge of the flood plains beside the banks of the river for a week, when the Sultan of Egypt finally arrived I (and many of the other warriors who had stuck with Alva all this way) was almost dumbfounded at the sight of the Egyptian army. I had never seen so many people before, nevermind some of the most disciplined and well equipped soldiers I had ever set eyes on, marching so perfectly in their columns. To think we would have almost faced this ourselves a decade ago, had the Jarl not saved us. Had she not brought the light of Allah in to our lives. In April of 893 we marched from Egyptian land into Nubian, two great armies flanking both sides of the Nile. Many in the border regions had already fled, they had seen our army and the Alexandrian mercenaries the Jarl had hired camped out and waiting. Some thought that we were it, that the two thousand of us was the 'great army' coming to take their land, and King Zakharias would come by any day to sweep as away. And so they stayed, only when the Sultan and his grand army arrived did they realise it was too late for them to go anywhere now. We advanced like a plague of locusts from the times of the Prophet Moses, but the Nubian people were our fields of crops to be felled.  Kalabsha fell in a matter of days. I thought I knew what devastation was, I figured the time I had spent in my previous life, before coming to this land and converting, as a viking, had prepared me for the worst humanity could inflict. But we razed Kalabsha and Sabagura and left none alive. The Jarl did not even care to take the treasures that lie in the holds of the local lords, she simply wanted to inflict the most suffering on King Zakharias' realm as possible to force his swift surrender. It would not be swift, and many more would suffer yet.  We progressed further down the Nile, sacking and destroying everything that stood in our path. Every great town, every tiny insignificant farmstead, they all burned just the same.   By mid-summer we had not seen sight of the Nubian army, suspecting they perhaps were holding in the capital and fortifying their position for our approach, but scouts brought word that the Nubians had been spotted in the mountains to the east, attempting to flank us and attack Nurmandiya. And so we departed from the banks of the Nile, once more heading into Naqis, where we had seen the terrible defeat after our first landing on these shores.   In Aydhab, the Nubian Kingdom's one and only coastal province since their acquisition of the tribal lands, they had been attempting to put together a rudimentary navy to sail up the Red Sea and either siege Qusayr or land close to Cairo. We quickly moved to seize the coast, the small villages here looking much the same as the last time we stepped foot in this land. The port was taken with ease and the Nubian boats torched.  With overland routes into Numandyia and Egypt blocked, and with the Nubian army now trapped in Suakin they had no choice but to come back north and face us.  Once again, we found ourselves facing insurmountable odds, but the Jarl did not falter. We held out ground. God is with us, she would remind us. Fourteen thousand Nubian soldiers bared down on us and with the cataphracts of the Keepers of the Lighthouse she rode head first into the fray.  God is with us, yes. And Egypt.  We watched as thousands of Sultan Ahmad's men came pouring into the Odib Valley like water cascading over falls, the Nubian army was completely surrounded, cut off. Only those that fled the moment Ahmad arrived lived, those that stood to face the Egyptians all died.  A great blow had been dealt to the Nubian Kingdom, but still King Zakharias refused to surrender.  And so the Jarl sought to 'meet' the King in person, to force his surrender.  Dongola was only a few centuries old, built around a great fortress and throne hall for the kings of Nubia. It was here that the Nubians held off the Rashidun Caliphate and formed the peace that had lasted until our conquest.  Jarl Alva vowed to burn the city to the ground. Nearby lords rose up, not against us, but against the King to try and end his madness. Meanwhile the people living along the Nile were beginning to form ad-hoc militias to try and keep order in their communities, they began waging war on anything that approached them, be it Nubian or Egyptian.   At the beginning of the summer of 896 we breached the walls of Dongola. And the Jarl was true to her word. Little of the city remained by the end of the day, those lucky enough to not be slaughtered were instead enslaved, to be sent to Qusayr or Cairo. King Zakharias was left with nothing, his kingdom shattered, his people rising up against him and his lords now clamouring for his throne.  The defeat in Naqis we had suffered all those years ago had been avenged. But, Alva was not satisfied yet.  She met with Captain Aaron once more, after the Sack of Dongola had concluded, there was a new target. She would need more land, more power if she was to realise her goal. And so the conquest continued.   While Sultan Ahmad continued to plunder the land of the Nubians, to so weaken them that a counter-attack would be impossible, we marched back across the mountains of Naqis - our mountains now, and we engaged the warriors of the Atbai Tribe, and left none standing.  Suakin fell, and with it Numandyia grew yet again.   But this was still not enough for the Jarl. She was like a woman possessed, driven by a single goal - of forging her kingdom.  The Adamites of Bazin were particularly wicked people, who lived without God, without laws and without their clothes. They believed themselves to be like Adam, without sin, and therefore anything they do is inherently without sin, as they claim to not know neither good nor evil. We would show them the error of their ways.  Sultan Ahmad rejoined us, having thoroughly destroyed Nubia and the will of it's people to ever raise arms against Egypt. Together we landed in Bazin in late spring 897.  The Jarl did not bother trying to capture or occupy the city, claiming it had no worth, a place so utterly debased by the sins of those who lived here it would simply be easier to burn it to the ground and start again.  To the south, the heathens had amassed, hoping to retake what little remained of the north of their realm, but with the Sultan at our side we engaged them, and slaughtered them like cattle.    ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Seven years. Seven years of blood and ash. I have swept through the lands of Nubia and and down the coast of the Red Sea like a scythe, cutting down all that stood before us and cementing my rule of this land.  I am exhausted, but relieved that at long last the moment I have been waiting for my whole life is about to come true. The great hoard of wealth and plunder taken from the Copts is brought back to Qusayr and the captured are given one last chance to buy their freedom before being shipped off to Cairo slave markets.  Qusayr is nice, but it is no place to proclaim yourself a queen. As we ride with the Sultan and the Egyptian army back to Cairo, he makes preparations for the celebrations of our victory to be held, and the Inauguration.  Before all the emirs and sheikhs of Egypt and visiting envoys of the Sultanates of Africa and Arabia, I am proclaimed Queen Alva. Queen of all the Nurmans.    House Veisla, 898 Crisis Now fucked around with this message at 21:29 on Feb 22, 2022 |
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Feb 22, 2022 19:57
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quote:[img]https://lpix.org/4240228/38.jpg[/img Missed a bracket here btw.
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Feb 22, 2022 20:24
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