The House of Nesser-A CK2 Succession Game!

Ohh, I thought Lord Iggy had grabbed your save and then moved from there.

You sure? I can always put off the update. There's only one major faction getting turned into a smoldering crater.

I'll probably have a chance to play through it this weekend.

Iggy's got the current save, yeah. EQ, it'll probably be yours this weekend!

Any one have any commentary/complaints in the direction we've taken?

Yes, my complaint is about reforming the faith. I will get an Islamic concubine and soon reform Poland to the will of Allah.

Praise be him.

Take Iggy's save once you've published that update Besides, we have Iggy's write up to anticipate as well!

OOOOH this looks fun :3

Can an old friend join in? :3

Right now we're at 5, but I'd be happy to have you as a reserve if anyone might miss a turn Do you have the required DLC?

i have every DLC except Charlemange and way of life.

Get Way of Life (we're using it, and it's probably the best DLC in a LONG time.)

Yeah, get Way of Life, it's what should have been in a much earlier DLC.

ok, my birthday is coming up, ill probably pick it up

Anyone having any issues with Steam at the moment? I can't seem to get into online mode.

What happens when you try going to https://steamcommunity.com/chat/

I am working on my writeup now. King Trojden's story is an epic parable of the cost of pride and love.

Are we still tribal? Cause Republic of Poland may be amusing for me.

The Reign of Trojden the Holy, Part 1: The Unproven King

And so, on the 20th of July, 938 by the Christian Calendar, do I ascend to the Polish throne. Not one, but two rebellions stand against me... products of my father's senile conversion to that southern faith, no doubt. I was never the first in line for succession, and never the favoured child... but Ignacy is dead, and Geralt the Drunkard is but a shadow of our grandfather. The electors have chosen me, the son that his father 'didn't even know what to do with'.

I have much work to do.

My marriage with Elin Emundsdottir, of the Stakes of Medelpad, secures me but a poor alliance. My father's political maneuverings left much to be desired, or so it would seem.



However, military matters must prevail. I am swift to put down the treachery of Wojslawa of Kostrzyn, and her Pomeranian allies. I call upon a great levy, a great force of eastern tribesmen to stand by my side in this conflict.

These raiders shall teach a bloody lesson to those who do not see me as a man fit to be King.



As I campaign through Pomerania, I find Elin to be a pleasurable companion. She is a strong woman, crafty and clever... I pray that Zorja may protect her through pregnancy, and that she may bear me many strong sons and beautiful daughters.



And yea, he is born, a son! Being my first, he shall share my name: Trojden Neski.



The campaign wears on, but new life continues to find its way, as Elin and I conceive a second child. A daughter, I hope.



Although a second son is also welcome. His name shall be Henryk.

The Pomeranian rebels are now nearly defeated... but the Romuva rebels remain uncontested on the field of battle. Even within my own court, they slink. They are more like us than the Jesus-worshippers to the south, but I still find their ways to be strange and foreign. That they hold to their ways even in defeat is deeply troubling and confusing to me.



At long last, after six years of warfare and thousands of men dead, Wojslawa has nowhere left to run. She is taken prisoner in Gdansk... I shall mull over my options, for the time being.



With the Pomeranian wench in my captivity, my army wheels to the north. Outnumbered, Glande the Prussian and his Romuva army flee, but after a chase of several months we meet and do battle in Scalovia. Elin gives me a lovely gift before the battle, which steels my courage for the coming conflict.



Piorun is with us on this day, and the Prussians flee across the Neman. We make catch them attempting to recover on the far bank, and rout their force. Glande is captured and banished forever from our realm.

We return home to my great hall in Gniezno, and a great feast commemorating my victory is held. The Great Chiefs of the realm join me in the springtime festival of Jaryło. The Christ-men, my own drunkard brother Geralt among them, grumble at the rite of their forefathers, and I am troubled.

Christian chiefs, Christian bishops, all of these men reign in my land. The Holy Temple of Pruszkow itself is the demesne of a Roman Catholic! The lords of my realm, some of whom followed Tomaz the Cruel's conversion to the foreign teachers, are forming alliances with outside powers!

My mind is made. I return to my prison, and find Dytryk z Kessini of Pomerania. He may have fought me in the past, but I face a greater threat now, and must move to address it. He follows the proper ways. He is ransomed. Wojslawa sees her chiefdom revoked, and Lubusz is mine.

I now march towards the High Chiefdom of Mazovia. Siemowit II is but a boy... but he is Christianizing his lands. I arrive... and pass through. My army has other matters to deal with. But his time shall come.

And what should happen, but a miracle of the will of Dadźbóg! Drogowit Lechowicz, High Chief of Lesser Poland, has declared his own war against the Mazovian child. I salute his soldiers as we pass... but my forces are traveling into the east.



Legends tell of a great temple in the lands of Rus. They are foreigners, but they pray to the same gods as we. Perhaps, if I can seize this temple, I can win the favour of the old divines and cast out these strange ideas from my lands.

On the way, I hear a herald from Elin. We have a daughter. No! Two daughters! Twins! Truly I am blessed by Jaryło! I dearly look forward to seeing my whole family, upon my return home.

After much travel, I at last find the Temple of Dubrovitzya, in Turov. Not far off, in the land of Kiev, is yet another Christian, squatting on the Temple of Yuriev. This is the place of which I had heard! I knew at once I must have it.



However, all things in due time. I return with my war-host to the north, where a Lettigallian Christian by the name of Rusins, 'the Able', reigns. I declare war, and march against Memel. I quickly drive away his army, only to have a most inopportune collision with a rabble of Rigan peasants. We are victorious, but weakened. The Norse Princeling ruling Riga can deal with the survivors as he sees fit.



In the midst of this war, my wizened Spymaster, a wizened zealot named Leszek, warned me of some Avar chieftain who fancies my throne. At first I was frightened, but I heartened in time. Let Chepa 'the Wise' come for me! Leszek departs for lands in the far south, where he shall concoct a scheme to put steel within the man's ribs before the year is out. If he survives this gauntlet, I would like to see him defeat the great army I have gathered, through my recent conquests.



More good news! My mercy on Dytryk of Pomerania was well-placed. He has declared war on the Sorbian Duke Lech, another Christ-bearer. A holy war, and an expansion of the realm, all in one! The Christians of my realm know well to tremble.



Alas, several years have passed, but I have not had the peace nor time to return home, to rest in my capital. My quest calls me! I miss Elin, who remains in Gniezno, managing my realm... I have taken to concubines, as of late, but they are never as wonderful as she. My baby son is already a lad... they are all growing up without me.

Well that won't do at all. I send a courier home, and within a month he is by my side, in the Ruthenian campaign. He is the apple of my eye, my greatest pride. I shall teach young Trojden much, ere he becomes a man. He must be a great warrior. He must hold high the Golden Boar, the banner of our house. He will learn to desire more, just as our forefathers have for generations. I swear to the Dadźbóg himself, I shall be the best father I can be, and will see him become a ruler of many lands.

I would like to be added.

Hey Arrow Gamer, I'll definitely put you on the reserve list I want to see how the rotation currently goes before we add any more to the full roster, considering both Thomas and Iggy have had ~50 year reigns D:

The Reign of Trojden the Holy, Part 2: The Mighty King

Young Trojden is an apt pupil, and swiftly learns of his great potential.



All the while, I am on the move, striking against multiple enemies at once. Chepa arrives from the south with his little host.



Though it would be a simple matter to strike his army, I do have to watch out for the well-being of my own troops. It is a folly to throw away a thousand lives when only one is required.



And so perishes yet another false claimant to my titles. I profess myself confused as to why people call this a murder, yet will cheerily consign thousands to death in battle. I am confident that I have made the right choice.

At this point, I am visited in court by a group of bankers, who inform me of a loan- likely taken out by my father in his last senile days. I write this wrong swiftly, and send the moneylenders on their way. It is impious for a man to die indebted to another.



And then, as if on schedule, yet another preacher of the Roman Catholic Church comes to my realm. He shall prey on the minds of the weak no longer, in the prisons of Gniezno.



Still, the campaigns go on. They blur together in my head: sometimes I am pressing north into Lettigallia, other times carving out pieces of Pomerania, and sometimes I am waging war against the Germanic lords of Konugarðr. I dearly miss my wife, but my son is ever by my side, and at night, the concubines are still able to keep me company.



Ah yes, my young son. Trojden seems to be more like a man with every passing day. But I am at times alarmed by him.



I saw him, and at once thought of myself. I am a kind man, am I not? Harsh to my enemies, to be sure, but I am kind and loving to my own family and loyal kin, am I not? What if my son has not made this distinction, and is cruel to all? I must be sure to teach the boy gentleness as well as war.

Wars roll on through the years, and through my concubines I sire several more children. As my struggles begin to turn increasingly against foreign Christians, I capture a particularly fine prize.



But that's a distraction to my greater purpose. In the land of Dymin, there is a northern island-temple named Rana, a great holy site for the Slavic faithful. Like Yuriev, it will be mine. The old ways shall be united, and through unity, preserved.



It is around this time that I come to be known among my peers as Trojden the Holy.



Wait, hadn't I conquered this? Is my memory beginning to fail? Am I going senile? But I am so young!



If young Trojden is going to rule successfully, he must understand the value of gold. Perhaps he shall be both a great warrior and a great administrator.



As news reaches me of a civil war across the Baltic, I am quick to act, seizing the Sjaellander holdings in Riga while their forces are unable to reach me. With each conquest, my fame spreads wider. At last, I feel, in a moment of introspection, I am appreciated as the great lord of men that I am.



As Trojden's education continues, I find that I must always temper my messages. While it is important to understand the value of gold, there are other things of great value as well. Kindness and justice are among them.



The times between my visits home grow ever longer... at least I still have the company of many fine women.



And my wide ranging across the realm offers plenty of opportunity for other hobbies of the flesh.



But in the end, it all comes back to Trojden the younger. Once again, he did something that alarmed me.



How is he learning this behaviour? Surely it can't be from me.

Dear Zorja, he's learning it from me. I can't let him do that.

It is a heavy realization to me. I am not an altogether good man, nor am I a role model.

He must be better than me.



Hunting is a relief from these dark thoughts. Elin knows me better than any other man or woman on earth, and her gift is magnificent. Veles, I name the hound, after the great spirit of the earth and water. My son and I go hunting together, and here I realize that he is at long last become a man.

House Nesser: I'll be better than my dad!

The Reign of Trojden the Holy, Part 3: The Cruel King

Damnation! Treachery! From my own blood!

Geralt. The Drunkard. The Christian. My brother. The man who would have held the throne had it not been for me. He has plotted the death of my son! There is no adequate response for such a betrayal. May the Czarnobóg gnaw on his cold corpse for a thousand years! I had once thought that I could trust this man. My own sibling!

But no. He is my brother no longer. He is not worthy of my Grandfather's name. He is an untrustable animal.

My own kin!

All of Geralt's good deeds to me, as my general and lieutenant, are now null. The man shall see my prison, and face judgement for his crimes.



I burn his home down and capture nobody. One of his fellow Christ-worshippers must have tipped him off. Now, the treachery of siblings has brought a war to our realm, one which has enjoyed internal tranquility since the first years of my reign.



His army is destroyed in the field at once- all of his martial prowess counts for little against my numbers. A small portion of his army escapes to Marienburg, only to be wiped out by a Sjaellander army, on an ill-fated trek to retake Riga. I allow them to fight one another, before destroying the survivors.



Even as this fighting goes on, I learn that my dear Elin has been hard at work back at home, organizing my titles. Given the lands that I now control, I am not merely the King of Poland, but also the legal lord of Lithuania and Greater Moravia! I was crowned with one Kingdom, but my son shall be crowned with three. No- not just three. He shall have an Empire!

But just as I have put down my brother's rebellion, and brought him to my halls in chains, then a mass of sympathetic vassals rise up against my rule! Idiots! But wait...



Siemowit is among them! The simpering boy who defiles a holy site of the faith with his bishop and crosses is now a grown man.

And Stanislaw Neski leads it, in support of my little brother Zbigniew's laughably weak claim on my throne.



It is all as I had long feared, the Christians are rising up against me!

So be it. I shall take this opportunity to burn their vile temples to the ground. They shall not steal my son's birthright from him!

And even as this is happening, the Orthodox Moravians rise up against my rule! No! No more! This idiocy ends now!



Ondrej is swiftly defeated and executed, while my armies have a field day chasing down the disorganized revolt for Zbigniew's claim.



Then, in this most troubled time, I find myself in a fight with even my own wife!



I had long tolerated the idea that Thor was merely a foreign name for Piorun, and so on, but this was too far. I had a passionate debate with Elin... and at last she came over to my side. The fortress of my immediate family, I am now certain, is impregnable to the intrusion of foreign beliefs.

Out in the war, I learn of Stanislaw's murderous aims against my son. I am nearly numbed to such treachery, at this point.



A court matter brings my attention back to home, just as it had been at the verge of returning to the field. My second son, Henryk, has sired a boy with a serving maid. Improper as that is, it is his child and my blood, and Jacek the Bastard shall bear our family name.



The rebellion is ended by my force of arms, and the instigators of the rebellion are locked away in the burgeoning prison in Gniezno. I find some solace in travel, and I continue to hunt for the most difficult game.



I am also able to hold a festival of Jaryło, for the first time in many years. But in many ways, it is a disappointment. Where once I felt an innocent wonder at this springtime rite, now it seems... silly. Like a cheap imitation of what it ought to be. Nonetheless, I kept my mouth shut, and forced a smile at the antics of the jingle-man.



The festival had more of a legacy than just making my growing cynicism apparent to me. It also left me with a lovely case of consumption. For some time, I feared that I would die... but nay, I have the constitution of the old boar that is our family's sigil.



Meanwhile, news reaches me that the Christians have yet another split.



While this is good news, it is counterbalanced by the frustration of the White Stag's continued eluding of my searches.



Odon, let me tell you a story.

Every day... every day grows heavier for me. It comes from living a long life. For most of my years, I have been kept busy by holy war and rebellion. But occasionally, my time is free, and I make a mistake.

I look at my reflection, and see something terrible. I am aged. My hair is white and my wrinkles deep. Where did my youth go? Why did I spend so little time with my dearest? I was a known killer. I held my brothers, my cousins, and my nephews in prison cells, wasting away. I scarcely go down there, anymore... for I have a deep and secret confession to make.

I am a coward. I have marched ever with my armies, but I am craven. I fight battles only when my advantage is overwhelming. I lack even the courage to look my prisoners in the face. Some of them have been down there for most of their lives, and I can no longer recall how they have wronged me. But I know I had a reason to keep them there in the first, place, and so they will remain.

I am a kind man. Or maybe I was a kind man. But does a kind man shed the blood of tens of thousands of men for his own glorification? Does a just man? Does a pious man?

My only escape from this cloying darkness of thought is my son, and my wife. Everything I have done, I have done for them. I am uniting the faith to protect them. I am assembling an empire to support them.

But this Empire... can't be theirs. It's going to break. The realm will be shredded between two princes, and the horrors of civil war will rend us back into ruin. Fifty years of war and hatred. A brave man... a brave man might be able to face that. A cruel man might send another to face that.

But I'm not a brave man, Odon.

I stepped up to my son, and pushed the pillow down over his sleeping face.