Sortmark
01-03-2009, 03:10
It was the fourth day, and there was little left in York that could burn. A cloud of sour smoke still lingered over the roofs, those still standing, at least, and a thin layer of soot had been ground into the cobblestones by the boots of looters. Now, as the sack of the city died down, the air continued to slowly shed soot; everything left standing in York, and a good deal that wasn't standing anymore, was covered in ash or grime.
Only a few bands of looters still braved the terrible air to look for houses not yet picked over, or the odd inhabitant still holed up in a basement or burned-out building. The majority of the Hirdsmen was now camped outside the city, and detachments had been sent to watch what was left of the roads, and give early warning against any possible counterattack aimed towards York, although the scattered and impoverished English rarely mounted much resistance to raids from Sortmark.
But today was different. For the first, a city the size of York had never been sacked before, and so perhaps some English strongmen would start worrying for their own lands. And for the second, Torgeir of Novgorod did not plan to limit himself to simple raiding.
He had set himself up in an abbey a few miles outside the city center, and the monks had been politely directed elsewhere for the time. The Jarl of Novgorod required the building for his own uses. Now the main hall was packed with uniformed officers and stiff Hirdsmen bearing assault rifles kept a careful watch around. Events set in motion so long ago were finally coming to fruition. The campaign to capture York had been the final piece in the struggle; the Jarls had fallen into line and the various Sortmarker realms had united to defeat the common foe. And now, at last, the day was here.
The day that Sortmark would have a King again.
He sat as each Jarl entered, was proclaimed by his own men, and knelt before him. He sat as the former leaders of York were brought in as war-captives and exhibited before the assembled Sortmarkers. Television men backed away and cameras flashed, and Torgeir straightened in anticipation as the Bishop of Novgorod entered. The old man had argued long and hard against coming to York, against the danger of a raid and the better sense of waiting to be crowned at Novgorod. Torgeir had insisted, and now - at last - the Bishop was here.
Torgeir rose and approached the old man, walking slowly. He could hear his men shouting out the proclamation, but his ears were ringing too hard to make it out as he knelt and the crown descended on his head.
He let it settle for a moment, and then stood. And laughed.
Message to the world
Torgeir Jorgensen has been crowned King of the Realm of Sortmark and taken as his name Magnus IV. The King will protect the Realm of Sortmark and all its subjects in peace and in war.
The Capitol will be set at Novgorod and King Magnus invites friendly Powers to send their representatives to acknowledge him there later this month.
Finally let it be known that the King will defend the ancient claims of Sortmark upon York, and hereby creates the Jarldom of York, and names Alf Neilsen as Jarl of that realm.
OOC: Yes, this is Modern tech, just set in an impoverished and fragmented, and as you can see rather violent corner of modernity.
Only a few bands of looters still braved the terrible air to look for houses not yet picked over, or the odd inhabitant still holed up in a basement or burned-out building. The majority of the Hirdsmen was now camped outside the city, and detachments had been sent to watch what was left of the roads, and give early warning against any possible counterattack aimed towards York, although the scattered and impoverished English rarely mounted much resistance to raids from Sortmark.
But today was different. For the first, a city the size of York had never been sacked before, and so perhaps some English strongmen would start worrying for their own lands. And for the second, Torgeir of Novgorod did not plan to limit himself to simple raiding.
He had set himself up in an abbey a few miles outside the city center, and the monks had been politely directed elsewhere for the time. The Jarl of Novgorod required the building for his own uses. Now the main hall was packed with uniformed officers and stiff Hirdsmen bearing assault rifles kept a careful watch around. Events set in motion so long ago were finally coming to fruition. The campaign to capture York had been the final piece in the struggle; the Jarls had fallen into line and the various Sortmarker realms had united to defeat the common foe. And now, at last, the day was here.
The day that Sortmark would have a King again.
He sat as each Jarl entered, was proclaimed by his own men, and knelt before him. He sat as the former leaders of York were brought in as war-captives and exhibited before the assembled Sortmarkers. Television men backed away and cameras flashed, and Torgeir straightened in anticipation as the Bishop of Novgorod entered. The old man had argued long and hard against coming to York, against the danger of a raid and the better sense of waiting to be crowned at Novgorod. Torgeir had insisted, and now - at last - the Bishop was here.
Torgeir rose and approached the old man, walking slowly. He could hear his men shouting out the proclamation, but his ears were ringing too hard to make it out as he knelt and the crown descended on his head.
He let it settle for a moment, and then stood. And laughed.
Message to the world
Torgeir Jorgensen has been crowned King of the Realm of Sortmark and taken as his name Magnus IV. The King will protect the Realm of Sortmark and all its subjects in peace and in war.
The Capitol will be set at Novgorod and King Magnus invites friendly Powers to send their representatives to acknowledge him there later this month.
Finally let it be known that the King will defend the ancient claims of Sortmark upon York, and hereby creates the Jarldom of York, and names Alf Neilsen as Jarl of that realm.
OOC: Yes, this is Modern tech, just set in an impoverished and fragmented, and as you can see rather violent corner of modernity.