American Viking: a timeline

[Odinson]

1035: OTL coastal Massachusetts

"Fleeing the violent skrælings of the north, and not deterred enough to leave, Thorfinn Karlsefni departed south in the early years of the 11th century. He and his settlers traveled down the east coast of the newly discovered land until they reached a great bay. It was here that they began anew."

Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson closed his eyes as he listened to the skald read aloud the beginning of the saga. The monotone voice of the old man was begining to put Snorri to sleep. But, tradition mandated that he listen to it. It happened at every Thing. The skald continued.

"Thus, our forefathers, the karls and the Jarl Thorfinn founded Botnborg in this place, free from prying eyes. Our king and his wife, Gudrid Thorbjarnarddóttir, ruled with responsibility and kindness. It was here that we started our first farms, built our new homes, and our new lives. And this line continues with our Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson."

The crowd of free men let out a collective sigh of relief as the skald ended his speech. The Thing began, starting with a dispute between a Skræling hunter from the Wampanoag tribe and a Norse hunter. The Norse man had apparently intruded onto the tribes private hunting grounds and killed several deer. The lawspeaker ruled in favor of the Wampanoag.

Such were the type of cases heard at the gathering. A boring a tedious process, the Thing is what helped keep order. When the gathering ended, Snorri retreated back to his longhouse.

Resting in front of the fire, the king relaxed as he laid on one of the many crude benches that lined the hall. His wife, Astrid, was already in the bedroom sleeping. She was often exaughsted due to being with child. He was often feeling tired of being Jarl. He sometimes wished his brother, Thorbjorn Thorfinnsson was the ruler. But then, if that was the case, perhaps it would be Snorri who would be leading the church services. With a lack of contact with the Holy See in Rome, Thorbjorn took it upon himself to preach to the masses, especialy since there had to be at least one closet pagan who still clung to Odin.

Snorri often wondered if he was living up to his father's expectations. The old man was out, burried in a small grove to the west. However, due to the lack of materials, Snorri could not afford to bury the sword with him. Instead, he kept it in the meager royal armory. Thankfully, he hasn't had to wield it in battle, peace holding with these "people of the dawn." That thought reminded him, he was to meet with his brother "Bishop" Thorbjorn tomorrow. With that, Snorri traveled to his quarters to go sleep.

 

[Odinson]

Snorri Thorfinnsson awoke when his wife pushed him out of bed and onto the cold dirt floor. Licking his lips, the Jarl grumbled. I like eating carpet, not earth. Cocking his head, he could hear Astrid's heavy snore. Sighing in frustration, Snorri started to get up.

Once dressed, the nobleman walked along the muddy streets towards the church. The locals of Botnborg waved and bowed to their Jarl. All of the karls showed their respect by stopping their work. A few children ran at him before bowing and running again. Smiling, Snorri thought of his own unborn child.

He stood outside the church. The church was a wooden structure, built with notched wood, allowing it to interlock. The roof was thatch, giving it a golden appearance from a distance. His brother, Thorbjorn, stood in the doorway. Tall and stocky with a chest the size of a ship's keel, he looked like he would be more at home cracking skulls than healing souls.
"Jarl."
"Bishop."
Grunting, Thorbjorn let his elder brother inside.

The two norsemen started a game of chess to pass the time. "Bishop," started Snorri. His brother moved a pawn forward. "You know how I feel about that."
"What's Pope whateverhisnameis XVI going to say about It? You're helping people. Hell, you got the only bible in this land."
"It's just... I'm not a bishop. I'm just helping people. I feel I was ment to spread the word of God." Snorri captured a took with his knight. "Speaking of which, how does your expeditions to the skrælings go?"
"These people, they're heathens. But, at least they tolerate me and my preaching. They're more into mother earth than the father, the son, and the holy ghost."
Snorri grunted, understanding. "I think the Sachem is sending some of his own people to try and convert us. He's a crafty one, as is his shaman Soaring Hawk."
"His name is Soaring Hawk?"
"Well, roughly translated. I know what you're thinking: 'I don't need a war over an insult.' Don't worry, he calls me something too."
Tilting his head, Snorri asked what they called his brother.
Smiling, Thorbjorn said "Wòpe. It means 'white'".
Capturing the king, Snorri sighed. "Bards, the lot of them."

 

[Odinson]

Sitting in the Great Hall of Botnborg, Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson basked in the warmth of the hearth. In front of him was two settlers, Sigurd and Rolf, who came with a proposition.

"My Jarl, we believe that we can solve a major issue that has plagued our colony since your father's rule."
"Oh? And what is that? We have many issues."
Sigurd readied himself for his comeback. "No, my lord. Iron. We think that we can find iron in the bogs to the north. This could be our saving grace to keep an edge over the Skræling braves."

Snorri looked them down, debating on sending them out. "How many men do you require for your expedition?"
"Only twenty five, sir."
Thinking, the Jarl replied. "Aye, we can spare it. But do not offend the natives."

Snorri patted the belly of his wife, Astrid. Her belly had bulged quite a bit these last few months. "Do you feel him kicking, dear husband? He is strong like his father." Snorri smiled at her. "I do. I hope that he will be as smart as he is strong."
"If he is like you, I'm sure he will." She relaxed. "Tell me, how goes conversion?"
"Not well. Thorbjorn has managed to convert a token number, but the rest seem to be content with their heathen religion."
"Has the Bishop thought of putting the bible into their words, instead of just preaching it in latin or norse?" Snorri looked at her for a moment. "Darling, that's genius."
"I would hope so. After all, you didn't marry me only for my looks."

 

[Odinson]

As the humidity of the summer increased, Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson found himself inspecting the repaired longship. A supply of bog iron had been discovered in the north. This allowed them to repair the ship. However, instead of making a return voyage to Iceland, the crew wished to make a trip down south. In two months time, the ship returned with its crew and some new faces: sixteen members of the Powhatan tribe. These men and women had been captured during the trip down. While Snorri took little issue with it, Thorbjorn Thorfinnsson did. Once word that some of the settlers had taken thralls, the Bishop was apalled. Then, enraged. Thorbjorn resolved to do something about it.

Bishop Thorbjorn strode down to the docks the very next day, holy wrath lurking behind the eyes. The salt of the sea was blown towards him by the winds coming off the cape, the collar of his brown robe starting to crust over. He saw the captain of the ship speaking with some fishermen, likely telling them about the Powhatan tribes to the south. A great bear of a man, Thorbjorn roughly poked him in the back. The captain turned to look at his accuser, only to crane his neck back a couple of degrees to meet the religius leader's gaze.
"What is this that I hear of you taking thralls?"
"I.. I did bring back some thralls. I thought they could help work the lands here."
"You and your crew went raiding, huh? Do you want to upset the balance between us and the skrælings? Eh? You like the idea of a hundred war canoes emerging from the early morning fog and slaughtering and scalping us?"
"We didn't kill anybody, I swear! We traded some goods, some fish, some clothing, and in turn they gave us some plants to smoke and some slaves. No imbalance!" Thorbjorn's eyes narrowed.
"But thralls you did take. Thralls you did not free."
"There... there isn't a law against it here."
"When my father founded this settlement, we were all freemen or karls. No thralls. Perhaps thralldom is still accepted in Iceland or Norway, but this is Vinland. Do you see any other thralls?" The captain stammered, not sure what to say to him. The bishop continued to lecture him.
"I know I've seen you in my church. Tell me, captain. Do you remember which book succeeds Genisis?" The captain looks down, ashamed.
"Exodus," he mumbles softly. Bishop Thorbjorn crossed his arms.
"And I assume you remember what happens in the good book, hm?" Ashamed and frustrated, the captain aggresivly told the priest he was not the leader of the settlement.
"No, I am not the Jarl. But I am the moral leader of Botnborg." The captain and the bishop looked each other in the eye, the others watching. Thorbjorn waved him away.
"Free them by spring, and your soul will be cleansed. But no more bring of thralls, lest you be rejected from my flock." The captain slowly nodded, shame and anger burning inside him as the bishop left to return to his work transcribing the good book into native tongue.

 

[Odinson]

Spring, 1036: coastal Massachusetts

Jarl Snorri drank from his wooden goblet a most bitter wine. Drinking it most of his adult life, he no longer furrowed his brow when he drank it. Much. He watched as his young son Thorgeir played with his rough cut toy long ship. Only born in early January, he could only make incomprehensible gurgling sounds. Snorri thought it was adorable.

Astrid was sleeping after taking care of the child during the late hours. Let her rest, it's not even mid day yet, thought Snorri. A servant from down south in the Chesepiooc region threw a log onto the fire. Not a thrall any longer, he worked where he could in the settlement. Though warmer weather was on the horizon, a persistent chill still clung to the bones.

Snorri scooped up his child and rubbed noses with the future leader of Botnborg as the wide pine doors to the great hall were pushed open. "Thorbjorn! How good to see you! Come in, come in! I'll have Tahtay fetch you some wine."

Thorbjorn, his cloak soaked by the fine, continuous drizzle outside, shook his head. "Actually, I came here with a guest." He pointed a flattened hand towards a tall, intimidating Wampanoag brave who had followed him in. "This is Annawan, and he comes with a message from the sachem."
"Greetings Jarl. I have come to offer you a place at the New Year festival in three weeks hence. There, we will dance and feast. Will you honor us with your presence?"

Snorri glanced at his brother, the resident expert on Skrælings. Should I say yes? He mouthed at him.
If you want to keep their respect, I would. He mouthed back. "We would be honored to attend." The brave nodded. "Good. We look forward to seeing you." The Jarl of the North men offered Annawan wine. He politely refused. "Your braves on the big canoe already allowed me to taste some." He rubbed his stomach. "I was sick as a dog after I tried it. Never again!" He exclaimed, earning a burst of laughter from Snorri and Thorbjorn. After a short conversation, the brave departed the settlement.

 

[Odinson]

The festival was held in a clearing, a wide open glade. Snorri and most of the residents of Botnborg joined the Skrælings for the new year celebrations. A great feast had been prepared. Tables were filled with squash, maize, and beans, and other food stuffs. Snorri Thorfinnsson himself brought sixteen lobsters that he had cought off the cape.

The norsemen, or easterners as the Wampanoag called them, were honored guests, this being their first celebration with the natives. There was much talking amongst the crowd and around the fire pits. Of course, most couldn't understand due to language barriers, but everyone could hum a dumb tune. Snorri and his young boy Thorgeir sat with the great sachem and the clan mothers. Astrid talked up a storm with the clan mothers about childbirth with the help of a very red faced Thorbjorn.

Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson passed a wrapped bundle to the chief. The older man looked at the deerskin wrapping. "Thorbjorn, little help? My skræling isn't as good as yours." His younger brother, glad to be distracted from describing a child exiting the mother, quickly started explaining that it was a gift. Curious, the sachem opened the gift. Tearing away the deerskin revealed a shiny hatchet head attached to a oak handle.
"Its a gift," explained Thorbjorn. "A peace offering. It's a new weapon, harder and more durable than your current weapon." The chief ran his thumb over the blade, earning him a small cut.
"Does he like it?" The chief said some words to the bishop.
"He thanks you for your generosity." The sachem stood tall and called for an end to the feasting and proclaimed that it was time for the celebratory dance.

Men and women stood and danced around the fires, chanting. Others beat the drums. The Vikings were invited to dance, clumsily copying the moves. The dancing went long into the night, stars and fires illuminating the glade. By the time the dance ended, the fire pits were simply charred remnants of their bright former selves. Tired, sore, and bellies full, the settlers from Botnborg and the Wampanoag started to walk back to their homes.

 

[Odinson]

Winter 1040: Coastal Massachusetts

It's been four years since the first Norse included New Years festival. Botnborg has expanded further into cape cod. Iron production from the bogs have increased, as has the amount of trade with the Wampanoag.

Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson readied his bow, drawing back on the string. His now four year old son Thorgeir watched happily. Not being his first hunting trip, the boy knew to be quiet. Twack! Snorri let the arrow fly, finding its way to the deer, felling it.

"You killed it pa! You killed it!" He ruffled the blonde tuff of hair. Wading through the snow, he picked up the deer and carried it towards the sled. Three other hunters stood around it, piling on their kills. The two norsemen and the skræling, Harald, Ivar and Wamsutta, spoke with loud, boastful tones about the beasts they took down.
"I'm telling you, the bear was as big as the church! And fangs that drug the ground!"
"Ivar," interrupted Snorri as he got closer. "That bear gets bigger every time you tell the story!"
"Ah, a pox on you Jarl! You always ruin the fun!" Joked the karl.
"Well, lucky for you, there's enough ale at the long house to restart the fun. Come on, let's head back."

The inn, run by a rather thick, red faced woman by the name of Ingrid, was packed full of men and women trying to escape the cold. She sat down a couple wooden mugs. "Hello my Jarl."
"Greetings, Ingrid." Snorri rested a fist full of white shells, the universal currency on this part of the world. With Thorgeir on his lap and a mug of ale in his hand, He felt content. The inn was were everyone in town would come together. Outside of church of course. Speaking of church, Snorri saw a skræling with a cross necklace. Smiling inwardly, he applauded his brother's efforts. His bible was slowly but surely finding its way to the natives. Norse runes were difficult to translate to the native tounge, but Thorbjorn still managed.
"Papa, I'm sleepy," said Thorgeir as he rubbed his eyes. "Come little pup, I'll carry you." Saying his goodbyes, the Jarl returned home to find the servants cooking venison on a spit. He also found a stranger standing by the fire. "Who are you?"
Turning at the sound, the man stood up. Red ringlets of hair dangled to his chest.
"Ah, I was hoping you would arrive today. I'm captain Jòn, me and my ships arrived a few weeks ago up north."
"Ships?"
"We came from Iceland. One of your settlers was selling goods and talking about how nice Vinland was. So we came here. Figured if we sailed long enough south we'd find you."
"Nice to meet someone from the motherland."
"Eh?"
"You see, I was born here, lots of us were."
"Gone native, huh? Say, I heard that some tribals live around here. What are they like?" Ignoring the gone native comment, Snorri answered him. "Not particularly war like, lots of hunters and traders. Peaceful with us." Jòn rubbed his chin. "Good to know..."

Snorri didn't know why, but he didn't like the other man's tone. It felt... ominous.

 

[Odinson]

Winter, 1040

Once again the great hall was filled to the brim with people. This time however, it was in the honor of Captain Jòn Jònson and his band of settlers. Snorri raised his wooden goblet. "To the settlers of Nyhöfn!"
"To Nyhöfn!" Captain Jòn raised his own cup. "To Botnborg!" "To Botnborg!"

The two tables, capable of seating a hundred each, were packed with both people and food. The mouth watering sent of goat filled the hall as Tahtay of the Powhatan turned the spit. Some of the newly arrived Icelanders pointed and muttered. Snorri couldn't hear What they were saying. Jòn was tearing into his food, telling the story of why he had come across the sea.
".... and those cowards thought that we wouldn't know. You don't kill one of my clan and get away with it. We raided their homestead." He swallowed. His dark gaze swept the table. "We killed them. I beat the clan head with his prized war hammer." He paused to drink from his cup. "And that's why we're here. We got banished. Plain and simple."

Dinner was awkward after that. How does one even continue a conversation after that? Snorri Thorfinnsson was glad when the visitors left. Snorri didn't trust Jòn. Not one bit. Astrid and Thorbjorn didn't like him either.
"That man is a sinner. I don't think it will be long until him and his kin kill somebody," said the informal spiritual leader of the town. "I don't like the way he talks about his kills. There was no honor in killing and old man. And..."
Thorbjorn raised an eyebrow. Astrid motioned for him to go on. "And....?"
"And he talks about the Skrælings. He talks about them like they're inferior. Lesser beings. He thinks them to be weak and primitive."
"Does the great sachem know?" Inquired his wife.
"I do not know. I fear he might soon."

Early 1041

Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson had a guest in his hall: the great sachem himself. "Jarl Snorri of Botnborg, I request your aid." Snorri lifted himself from the throne and stepped closer to the Wampanoag war leader. "Great sachem, leader in war and times of trouble, chief of the-"
"Alright. Stop. Please. In the name of your foreign God, stop. I do not wish to be here until harvest time."
"Er, yes. Sorry. What do you need?"
"Your fellow easterners, the new ones. They want war." Oh no.
"They raided several of our villages, kidnapped and raped our women, and killed our warriors. Some of the lesser chiefs have called for your heads, believing that you're in league with these.....Nyhöfn..ers. If you wish to put these rumors to rest, I suggest you March with us."
"Great sachem, I beseech you, hold thy blade. Halt the armies. Be patient. We will march with you, but let us ready. Your weapons are inferior. Let us train your soldiers prior to this engagement." The two argued over waiting to strike. The great sachem relented and asked Snorri to speak to the council.
Snorri spoke passionately to the other chiefs and told them of their odds, and the terror of iron and steel weapons. The Jarl promised to outfit the entire army and train them in their usage.

"You want what?"
"500 shields and axes."
The blacksmith shook his head in disbelief. "Iron weaponry is the only advantage we have over the Skrælings. And we're going to give it too them?"
"The new settlers are waging war. We need an edge."
"Don't you think that 500 is a bit of over kill?"
"We need to be sure we kill them all. I don't want to think about them escaping in a ship and raiding the cape. Now start making weapons."

One month later

"Swing! Block! Swing! Block! Shield wall!" Screamed the drill instructor. The man was in his late eighties, and claimed that his great great great great great great great great great (*sucks in a breath*) Great great great grandfather was a Roman legionnaire. His ferocity certainly matched his story. "Charge!" The Wampanoag charged at their "enemies", a collection of wooden dummies with squash heads. The dummies slain, the drill master nodded approvingly. "They'd make great raiders." The chiefs looked at the men training. The great sachem had ordered the attack to begin on the first day of spring.

Vengeance would be brought down upon Nyhöfn like the pagan Thor's hammer.

 

[Odinson]

Spring 1041

Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson marched alongside the other five hundred and seventy nine men towards Nyhöfn. The other twenty were on a long ship en route to the rival settlement to block the harbor. They had set out from Botnborg a week ago and were making good time. The plan was to storm the town and kill all the men, capture the women and children. The great sachem would then give the town to the remnants of the broken clans whose warriors had been killed previously by the easterners.

Snorri thought that was fair. As did the bishop of Botnborg. Thorbjorn called this a just war against the vile invaders. As a matter of fact, he told Snorri to rip Jòn's lungs out. Snorri wouldn't go that far, but he would try to kill Jòn Jònson personally. After all, he felt that this was partly his family's fault. His father had come here, had helped blaze the trail. Thank goodness most people thought the traders were crazy.

The silhouette of Nyhöfn stood against the horizon. The Wampanoag army stood tall and formed a shield wall, waiting for the signal. A grizzled raider in his younger days, Olaf Back-breaker raised his fist and opened before motioning to advance.

Charging at the town, their war cries roused the new comers. Men who had their vision blurred by sleep stumbled out of their homes, only to be cut down. Blood filled the dirt street. The screaming of the dying pierced the darkness. Snorri saw Jòn fighting three Skrælings with a battle ax. Kicking a downed icelander in the jaw, he jogged to fight the beefy red head.

Jòn had a way with fighting, his long arms coupled with the big ax gave him a wide arc. Snorri and the other warriors gave him a wide space, not wanting to get hit. One warrior got cocky and came at him, only for his shield to shatter into a thousand splinters. A skræling who had come with a hunting bow notched an arrow and let it fly, embedding the stone arrow in Jòn's neck. The tall raider gasped and giggled as he choked on his own blood. His body fell to the ground, stirring up dirt and dust. The warriors of Nyhöfn were dead.

Snorri Thorfinnsson met with the great sachem a few days later.
"How are your people living in Nyhöfn?"
"They're adjusting well. I think many of them are getting used to living in permanent houses. But that is not why I called you."
Snorri cocked his head. "No?"
"No. I called you here to be informed that you are well respected. You have shown honor and courage in battle, and honesty to our people. This is why we name you an honorary member of the Wampanoag tribe."
Snorri blinked and bowed to the skræling. "I am honored, great sachem. I will do my best to continue to honor your people."

 

[Odinson]

Winter, 1080

Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson walked with his entourage of warriors and nobles. His eldest child, Thorgeir Snorrisson, stayed behind in Botnborg to oversee the city. The population had risen to a little over 400 citizens in the town.

Snorri arrived at the relatively new city of Wampanoagborg at mid day. And city was, indeed an accurate description. Founded just shy of 40 years ago, it already boasted a population of 900. It's name came from both the tribe and a Norse loan word. Which in this case made sense, seeing the city was surrounded by thick palisades of wood. Archers stood on raised platforms.

With his brother Thorbjorn dead six years now, the new bishop Faltheim had taken his place. Faltheim had been a monk at Saint Ansgar monastery, just north of Botnborg. The old bishop had encouraged the Skrælings to learn the alphabet, and Faltheim saw no reason to stop encouraging education.

Entering Wampanoagborg Snorri was able to better grasp of life in the city. Instead of wigwams, it was filled with something akin to homes in Botnborg. These were permanent houses: solid wooden buildings held together with iron nails.

The city boasted it's own trade district, filled with traders and blacksmiths. Smithing as a skill was introduced to the Wampanoag by Vikings who married into the tribe, erasing Botnborg technological supremacy in less than twenty years after sacking Nyhöfn in 1041. As Snorri toured the area, he witnessed white shells changing hands for a variety of goods: Botnborg weaved cloaks, Wampanoag forged spears, food, and Mohawk jewelry.

Skræling warriors, clothed in chain mail and armed with spears, stood guard at the entry way to the long house of the great sachem. They looked at Snorri with brief interest before sending him inside. Snorri, an old man walked with a limp to the open chamber where the sachems met to meet with the great sachem. He was instructed to sit.
"You are here today for an offer, Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson. We have lived side by side for generations, living in harmony. But now, we give you a choice, a gift."
"We do not wish to treat you as an individual tribe, an independent entity," said one of the lesser sachems. Snorri began to panic. Are they going to invade? "We wish to see you as a sachem like us." Wait, what?
"You are a member of the tribe, and now we wish to add your territory to the fold. We wish to see your people one with us, and you on the council."
They're asking me to renounce independence and join their confederation.
"This is.. quite an offer. But, can I have time to debate this with my council that I brought with me?"
"Go, decide and return."

"They want us to what?"
"Join them. As equals."
"My Jarl, this is..."
"We no longer have any advantages. Their army is bigger, their economy is greater, their land is bigger. We should take the offer my Jarl."
"We lose our independence."
"We instead get greater safety." Hours of arguing passed between the advisors to the Jarl. Snorri made a choice.

He re-entered the council chamber and bowed to the great sachem. "Botnborg pledges it's alligence to you, great sachem, and to the tribe. May we serve you in war and council you in peace."

 

[Odinson]

Summer 1086

It has been six years since Botnborg has formally been admitted to the Wampanoag tribe. The tribe, under the leadership of the Great Sachem (chief/king), has solidified into a more closely knit entity, the ten tribes and the Norse county all swearing fealty to him. The tribes of the Wampanoag nation are Aquinnah, Chappaquiddick, Nantucket, Nauset, Mashpee, Patuxet, Pokanoket, Pocasset, Herring Pond, Assonet, and the Norse tribe.

For ages uncounted, the Wampanoag have been enemies of the Narragansett tribe, feuding for generations. Now that the Great Sachem has a standing army of braves equipped with iron weapons, he has a new goal in mind...

Tisquantum marched alongside his fellow warriors. Most were dark skinned like himself, but a few pale faces were mixed in. The warriors were on their way down south to the Great swamp area. The Narragansett had raided Wampanoag land for the last time.

Each man in the army was trained to be an effective fighter and to fight in a group using basic tactics like shield wall and rush. Was it a perfect strategy? No, the enemy didn't always flee, but it was better than attacking in disorganized bands.

A herd of hearty goats followed the army of 2,000, carrying food, water, arrows, bed rolls, and other tools. The beasts had been brought from the lands the Norse tribe hailed from, and they had quickly proven their use as a source of meat and furs, as well as pack animals.

One of the warriors relayed orders from the head of the massive party. "We're making camp tonight. We just crossed into Narragansett territory." The army split off into groups, readying their camps. Tisquantum unrolled his blanket as another brave struck rocks together to produce a spark. A pale face from Botnborg started cooking a rabbit he caught. A fine, Savory scent wafted through the air. Marching had made Tisquantum a hungry warrior. Deciding that he could wait a bit before resting, he went to get a bowl.

He'd need a full stomach to keep marching tomorrow.

 

[Odinson]

Summer, 1086

Tisquantum pulled at the buck skin shirt under his mail armor as he and the rest of the war party trudged through the swamp. The mud (If you could call it that. By this point it was more like water) threatened to suck off his moccasin. The air was hot and muggy, the humidity making the march particularly bad. A frog jumped from underfoot. Tisquantum cursed. "Thought it was a damned snake." The two Norse in front of him were talking in that guttural tounge they had brought from across the great sea. Tisquantum couldn't understand but a few sparse words. He hated when people from Botnborg spoke it. "What in the hell are you talkin about? Speak in Algonquin, for Kehtannit's sake." The norseman turned back and prepared to retort back with obscenities until he saw who it was. Tisquantum, while not leading the army or any individual party, was the son of a powerful warrior. That made him minor nobility. "I.. um.." The Botnborg man turned a bit red in the cheeks. "I was talking to Ivar about my wife's squirrel stew."

Closing his eyes and exhaling, he grumbled. "Why do you pale faces insist on using that foreign tounge?"
"Because we're Botnborgers," he fired back. "If not for us, you'd never know how to make those iron weapons you're so fond of."
"We know how to make them on our own now, so what do we need you for?"

The words hung stale in the air. The Wampanoag had learned a lot from the Vikings. Things like metal working and warfare. Was Botnborg even still needed? Tisquantum didn't think so.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Another hard days march brought the army to the edges of the Narragansett settlement. At the front of the fighting force, a minor sachem gave the orders to light the arrows to burn the warriors out of the settlement. The fire spread from wigwam to wigwam, causing chaos. The order to charge was given. Dirt and mud was kicked up as 2,000 men stormed the field, shields linked together tightly. The two forces clashed like thunder.

Tisquantum swung his war ax at a rival brave, the arc catching him in the midriff. Howling in pain, the unnamed brave lurched backwards out of Tisquantum 's reach. A second brave came from the side and swung down into the shoulder with a stone club. Grunting, Tisquantum counterattacked with a shield strike to the jaw, shattering the front teeth. His attention returning to his first combatant, he charged forward and thrust the handle of his ax upwards, catching the wounded brave in the noggin. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he shouted out "Wampanoag!!"
"Wampanoag!!!!!!"

The renewed vigor of the Wampanoag army was enough to break the will of the Narragansett. The army surrendered and the survivors were taken as slaves. The encampment torched. It was a tremendous victory for the Wampanoag. And yet, it was only the first step in the wars of unification, which would lead to eventual Wampanoag domination over the entire region.

 

[Odinson]

Summer, 1086

Jarl Snorri Thorfinnssonn of Botnborg suffered from the aches and pains attributed to an old man. But he still went to every meeting held by the Great Sachem. Even if that meant he had to deal with the less then pleasant Namumpum.

Entering the meeting place of the chiefs, Snorri spotted his friend Chief Sokanon of the Mashpee Wampanoag. "Greetings old friend!" "Snorri!" the two elders embraced one another, not having seen one another in a fortnight. Another elder walked past them at a brisk pace, giving Snorri a glare of contempt. Snorri released Sokanon and watched the man pass. "Namumpum."
"Ignore that piece of dung. The Aquinnah don't trust you or your people." "They see us as interlopers," growled Snorri. "Aye, but the rest of the council doesn't trust them much either." A small twinkle shimmered in the elder skraeling's eye. It was true, most of the sub tribes of the wampanoag enjoyed the presence of the Norse people. This was probably due to more contact since Snorri's father first landed in Vinland.

"Doesn't change the fact that Namumpum and his clan hate mine. I don't like him, and his son Tisquantum is too much like his father."
"Just remember old friend, the Aquinnah still live in peace with your tribe," reminded Sokanon. "And if they do attack your tribe, we'll nail Namumpum to a cross."



Acording to the Great Sachem, the Narraganset were on the ropes. "Their warriors stone clubs are shattering on our army's shields, and their bare skin pierced by our iron blades. Reports from the field have informed us of a great victory in the southern swamps, and the conflict should be done before fall."
"What will we do with the land? Divide it among our tribes?" asked an elder. "Certainly not let it be ruled by the Narraganset!"
"Once captured from the enemy, we should fill it with settlers from all the tribes and encourage the remaining Narraganset to marry into our tribe."
"I would rather my people marry a Botnborger than a Narraganset mongrel. We do not need that... filth in our tribe." Namumpum spat into the fire. His arrogance hung over him like a cloud, forcing the other tribal leaders to scowl. Prideful was too lacking to describe the Aquinnah leader.

"If we can marry them into our tribe," began Sokanon. "We not only end their threat, but it also means we don't have to kill all of them. My father's father's father helped kill off an entire tribe in distant memory. I would rather lead us into a new age where we do not need to do this." Many nodded their heads. Namumpum drew a long breath on the pipe, the flickers of flame catching in his eyes. "You are showing weakness. We killed all of the men in Nyhöfn. We filled it with our own." He glared at Snorri. "Perhaps we shouldn't have spared the women, for now they live in Botnborg, festering like disease one gets from the big, snorting beasts they brought here."
"You are implying my people are not loyal to the Confederacy." Snorri stood as straight as he could. "My people have done nothing to betray the trust of the tribe. By God, we are now part of this tribe! We have served loyally, fighting alongside you when the invaders came, and fighting for you when the Narraganset raided your lands. No, our lands!" Snorri slapped his fist against his chest. "Any attack on the Wampanoag is an attack on Botnbotrg. And I was made to believe the reverse was also true! So if you and your people really don't like us, then by all means, attack us and drive us across the Atlantic. But just know, you won't just be fighting us pale faces."

The others nodded and smiled, glad that somebody had dared to put Namumpum in his place. The Great Sachem hid his smile behind his hand, admiring the famous spirit of Snorri. Snorri, the same man who kept peace and made friendship with his father, the previous Sachem. Snorri, the Norse Wampanoag. The white red skin. Snorri the Uniter.

The Great Sachem called everyone's attention and informed them of his decision. He supported Sokanon's proposal for enforced integration of the Narraganset instead of just wiping them out. And the meeting was then adjourned.

 

[Odinson]

Fall, 1086

The war with the Narraganset has largely gone well with minimum losses for the Wampanoag. The power of the Narraganset has been broken in the south and settlers are starting to arrive.

As the weather gradually changed from sweltering heat to a more comfortable breezy day, Tisquantum was forced to keep the peace alongside the Wampanog army. As members from his own tribe made their way south where the longtime rivals lived for centuries, the army ensured no new conflicts took place. Scattered reports told about small bands of warriors striking at isolated camps. Any of the braves caught in the raids was killed. Weakness could not be presented to an enemy that refused to give in.

And thus, Tisquantum was stuck protecting a growing settlement named Secotan. Secotan means burning ground, so named for the charred fields from a battle months ago. The arrogant son of Namumpum sat at a table drinking a goblet of fire water. He was always careful not to drink it too much. He had seen many tribesmen ruined by it. Ever since the whites came fro across the great sea (or Atlantic Ocean as the Norse called it), the natives of his land have had to deal with the addictive quality of wine and ale, and the slow spread of diseases from their filthy animals. He hated the Norse. Almost as much as his father hated them. Why couldn't the rest of the Wampanoag see this? The Norse ruined everything. It would have been better off if they never came. If the norse had never came... Tisquantum knocked back a gulp of ale. If the Norse hadn't come, hadn't brought those disgusting pigs, his mother wouldn't have gotten sick. His mother would still live. He, Namumpum, and his mother could still be a happy family. Whole. United.

But instead he and his village lost over a hundred due to sickness. Sure, the survivors were immune now, but that wouldn't bring back his loved one. And he hoped all the Norse would suffer in the next life.

 

[Odinson]

Winter 1086

Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson rested his old bones in the meeting house in Wampanoagborg with Chief Sokanon.
"I've been thinking of passing my title to Thorgeir. I don't really spend much time in Botnborg anymore. Not with my duties here." His friend looked at him. Sokanon's face showed his age of eighty winters, his once smooth face now dominated by leathery wrinkles. But his eyes, despite their age, still had that bright brown twinkle of youth. Chuckling, he replied to his friend. "You think your son is ready? It's not like he's been ruling the lands for six winters now while you were on the council and raising a growing family."
"No need to be sarcastic, Sokanon."
"Though I jest, your son will be a good Jarl. And when he becomes decrepit, he can take your place on the council like the rest of us geezers." Snorri rolled his eyes.
"Yes, when you stop being of use to the village, you're sentenced to serve the Great Sachem and work with the ancients. So sayeth me." That earned a laugh from the skræling chieftain.

The door to the hall was pushed open. Sitting up to see who was entering, Snorri hissed. "Namumpum," he whispered to Sokanon. "I see him. Dirty snake." The aquinnah elder found his seat and sat down with some difficulty. As usual, he was glaring at Snorri. His son Tisquantum entered as well, which was different.

Snorri didn't realize that his rival's son was back from the southern swamp yet. Not that he was happy about it. Tisquantum was as arrogant as his father. One or two of the other elders shook their heads in irritation when they saw him. Tisquantum was not the most well liked. He was seen as provocative and foolhardy. When the warrior saw Snorri Thorfinnsson, his face clouded over.
"Degenerate filth."

Snorri would have usually let the comment slide, be he had had enough.
"Filthy savage mongrel." The hall became silent. All conversations stopped.
"What did you call me?"
"I called you a filthy savage mongrel!"
"How dare you! You disgusting pale faced bastard!"
"You insult me! Your father insults me! Enough is enough! You hear me!? If I am to be insulted, I demand a reason!"
"You killed my mother!!!"

Snorri was taken aback by this.
"I did no such thing! I never met your mother."

Growling, Tisquantum began yelling again. "Your filthy animals! You dirty pale faces brought your diseases here! It killed my village! It killed my people! My mother! You should be burned off the face of the earth like a sick forest! We should have killed your father when he first landed here! Worthless! Filthy! Son of a whore!"

Snorri started to stand up. "Who do... who do...."
Snorri grabbed at his chest. Struggling for breath, he couldn't even get any words out. The world blurred around him. The Jarl placed his hand on the table to steady himself. His breathing was choppy. The other council men surrounded him.
"Snorri?" Asked Sokanon.
"What's wrong?"
Snorri collapsed and hit the ground with a thud as the rest of council paniced.
"Somebody get the medicine man!"
"Somebody get the priest!"
"Don't die, Snorri!"

 

[Odinson]

Early Winter, 1087

Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson shifted uncomfortably in his bed. An old skræling woman spoon fed him hot squirrel soup. Her leather features bunched together as she scowled at him. She poked his face with the wooden utensil. "Eat. Eat. Soup. It good for you. Open your trap." Hesitantly, Snorri took it into his mouth. She smiled at him, flashing her toothless gums. Snorri grudgingly gave her a grin.

Ever since collapsing in the meeting hall, he found himself more exhausted. He struggled to get out of bed most days, and some he was trapped in it. He wasn't able enough to go back to Botnborg, and so he was confined to a hut in Wampanoagborg. It was a comfortable building, wooden walls insulated from the cold, a thatch roof overhead, and a fire pit in the center of the house. Smoke drifted lazily through the opening at the top. A hundred years ago, this would have been a temporary home instead of permanent. A hundred years ago, Wampanoagborg wouldn't have existed. At least, Snorri didn't think so. He looked up at elder who took care of him during the weekdays.
"Do you ever wonder about how things could be different?"
She looked at him. "I suppose." She shrugged. "I'm more concerned with keeping grandson fed. Great Sachem or no, he has to eat."
"I mean like... what if the raiders from Nyhöfn escaped? And brought back more from Iceland? Or if my father never came here?"
"Oh. Eh, not really then."
Snorri leaned back. "I guess just me, than."
"Did you hear about Tisquantum?"
"No, what?"
"He's been brought before the thing." Snorri's eyes widened. "For what?"
" malicious attacks on your character and Clan. His father opposes this, but the Great Sachem himself supports it. He says this has to end. No more feuding."
"Who will oversee it? One of my people will obviously be biased towards me."
"One of the other tribes will. Not sure who, but someone who knows your customs and language. Seems fair enough to me."
Snorri grunted. It did seem to be a good compromise. Fair. Balanced. In theory anyhow.
"The thing is in spring, right?"
She nodded. "Means you'll have to be better soon if you want to watch."

Personally, I just wish it hadn't come to this point, Snorri thought to himself.

 

[Odinson]

Early Winter, 1087

Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson watched as the birds zoomed around him, chirping and tweeting. He whistled at them, watching his misty breath float away as a small cloud. He missed watching the boats sail past in Botnborg, the way the sun glittered off the water at sunrise. The way the fishermen would smile and show him their catch of the day. But at least the markets in Wampanaogborg were kinda like home. After resting up for a few weeks, he felt strong enough to take a stroll. He liked the market district, the smells, the sights, the locals. The mouthwatering scent of cooked fish and goat drifted lazily towards him, drawing him to a booth manned by an attractive Skraeling woman.
"My, that smells wonderful."
"Thank you, Jarl Snorri of the Norse."
"Did your husband catch these fish?"
"No, actually I have a friend up in Nyhöfn who gives me a share of his catch so I can sell at my stall. He in turn gets a small share of my profits I make."
"Oh. Do you have a husband?" She smiled at him softly and cocked her head.
"Not like that! Trust me, I'm a little old to.. you know."
"My husband is serving in the Sachem's grand army and is currently occupying the southern swamps. I have this stall so I'm not bored out of my mind." She paused. "You Norse certainly have gotten the hand of our tongue."
"You're the only people around for rôst in any direction. We kinda had to. What else were we going to do? Subjugate your entire tribe and force them to learn our language? We wouldn't have the people!"
She agreed with his assessment. "Then we'd have to kill you and your people. That would mean we wouldn't have this." She gestured to the city as a whole.
"Speaking of which, did you visit the Longhouse of Stories? Yet?"
"I went back during the last summer. Why?"
"They just unveiled a new animal hide. You should see it, its pretty amazing."

She wasn't wrong. In vivid detail, the markings on the tanned deer hide told the story of the war with the invaders who came after Snorri's father. It showed the sacking of several villages before the combined Norse/Skraeling army attacked the city of Nyholfn and defeated the rival warriors from across the ocean. Beofre it was a colorful tapesty of Botnborg make depicting the rule of Jarl Thorfinn Karlsefni, Snorri's father. The tapestry showed one of the earlier Sachems smoking a peace pipe with Thorfinn and the peace agreement, and the first Althing in Vinland. It showed his death, and the crowing of Snorri. He was impressed. He assumed that he would get his own tapestry when he finally died. He went wandering around the wooden building. Scrolls and leather bound books with animal skin pages were safely stored in shelves, including a Norse/Skraeling bible. He flipped through the pages, looking at how his now dead genius brother had used the closest sounding letters to develop a language for the natives to convert them more easily. He noticed for the frst time how some words had been changed for the Wampanoag audience. King Herod became Chief Herod and any mentions of the Pharaoh had been changed to Sachem. And Caesar Augustus was... still Caesar Augustus. I guess the more.. regal ones stay the same? He thought to himself.

He roamed from shelf to shelf. Since the introduction of writing, the tribes had an explosion of new ideas emerging. Historical records galore were made to describe their early leaders that they could still remember. The myths (or truths, depending on which person you asked) were put to paper. Stories told by both the natives and the Norse were made into books. One of the tribe members had even written a short play. It was incredibly short, but it was new all the same. Snorri once again thought about his people's effect on the skraelings and their culture. He saw one of the elders leading a group of children around, showing them the murals and telling them the stories of what they represented. One child asked if more invaders would come across the ocean to their shores. Snorri slid a book back into its place as he listened.

Good question.

 

[Odinson]

Spring, 1087

The snow was starting to thaw, and the weather was gradually getting warmer. And Tisquantum's trial at the Althing was supposed to start yesterday. Instead, here he laid in a bed in Wampanoagborg, shivering and sweating under a heap of furs. Snorri, Sokanon, and the Great Sachem stood in the doorway while Namumpum knelt beside his son, holding his hand and talking to him. A medicine man stood with them. Snorri decided to speak. "What's wrong with him?"
"He is very sick. He's been suffering from joint pain and a severe rash for months. Something he caught while hunting." The medicine man glanced at Tisquantum. "Going untreated, his body became weaker and weaker. Now he's suffering from shakes and has a high fever."
Sokanon bit his lip before asking his own question.
"Will he live?" The medicine man slowly shook his head. "The boy is a dead man walking. His pride and arrogance kept him from coming to the Healing Hall to see me or any of the other healers. I expect him to die within the next few days. I pray to Kehtannit that I'm wrong." The medicine man sighed and left the room. The window allowed a beautiful view, which only served as a contrast to Tisquantum and Namumpum's fates. Snorri and his two friends left the building, wanting to leave a grieving father alone with his son.

Snorri returned later that night, long after when the sun vanished over the horizon. Nampumum was still there, just as expected. A candle poorly illuminated the chamber, shadows danced on the walls. Tisquantum was still shaking, but that was also as to be expected. Snorri didn't want to be here, but he was all the same.
"Namumpum." The skraeling's back stiffened,
"You and I do not get along. At all. As a matter of fact, I think you're an @$$hole. But... I am sorry. I am very sorry for what has happened to you. I'm a father as well, and I would be devastated if my Thorgeir was suffering from the same affliction." Snorri's eyes fell to the floor for a moment before rising back up. "I don't hate you. Nor do I hate your son. I would not wish this on any father." By now, Namumpum was looking at Snorri, his mouth opening wordlessly. Snorri held up a hand. "Don't say anything. Not one word. I just came to say I'm sorry and.. to give you this." With a soft thud, Snorri dropped a leather bound bible on the bed. "I found solstice in scripture after the passing of my brother and my wife. Perhaps... perhaps you too can find peace." Without another word, Snorri left the room.

Summer, 1087

The church was filled with the harmony of three hundred Christians singing hymns, their voices rising to the rafters. While Botnborg was the religious center of the Wampanoag Confederacy, Wampanoagborg boasted its own impressive cathedral. Lacking any large windows, the building was illuminated with thousands of small candles. The scent of tobacco waffed in the air, slowly oozing from small iron lanterns as small amounts of plant burned inside. A proper replacement for incense in this corner of the world. After the service, Snorri saw Namumpum exiting the building after speaking with the father. It was unusual, seeing as he was always an opponent of the Norse foreign God and the faith as a whole. Snorri thought about chasing him down, but he lost the Skraeling chief in the crowd.

Winter, 1087

Snow was falling gently. All across the domain of the Wampanoag was white with snow, and the christian subjects were taking the time to celebrate. But this year, Bishop Faltheim was putting together something different. In the capital of the growing empire, the bishop had organized a play about the life of Jesus. Snorri wouldn't miss it for the world. It was almost the pinnacle of his brother's life work. For a first time play put on by the church, It was rather enjoyable. Snorri got a kick out of his fellow Norse playing the roman occupiers and the Great Sachem himself playing Jesus, wailing on a cross. Though the costumes and armor were certainly out of place, Snorri was sure the romans didn't dress like vikings, he greatly appreciated the story. When "Jesus" rose from the "dead", Bishop Faltheim stood in front of the crowd and asked everyone to quiet down and gestured for a large wooden tub filled with water to be brought forth.
"My children, I hope you have enjoyed the performance. But now, I have a very special announcement to make; an opponent, a non believer, has asked to join our ranks among the faithful. Long has he despised us, the flock of the lamb, but he is now ready to renounce his ways for he has seen the light of God." Namumpum walked to the center of the stage, prompting shocked whispers in the audience. His usual attire had been replaced with simple white robes.
"Namumpum, do you accept Jesus into your heart and be washed of your sins so you may be born again?"
"I do."
"Then by the powers invested in me by the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I declare you reborn and absolved of your sins." The Bishop himself submerged Namumpum into the water. He raised him back up, Namumpum sputtering out water and gasping. The audience clapped, and Snorri hoped that this meant that their feud could finally be put to rest.

 

[Odinson]

1090: OTL Coastal Massachusetts

Snorri sighed and grunted as he sat beside Astrid's rune stone memorial. Her tomb wasn't far behind it. She had died a long time ago and was buried on a hill overlooking Botnborg.
"Hey, Astrid. Its been a while since I last sat here and spoke, hasn't it?" Snorri sighed again. His hair had gone snow white, his face was a maze of crags and crevices, signs of a long, and at times, hard life. His back was hunched, and his body had gotten lean and thin. He was forced to walk with a pine wood cane to help him along. His eyes, however, were still bright like stars.
"Thorgier has certainly stepped into the roll of jarl. The city prospers. Thorbjorn is gone too but... his legacy lives on. The new bishop, Faltheim, he's done pretty well so far. From what I've heard, he's even talking about canonizing Thorbjorn as a saint." Snorri's smile faded.
"I still miss you, you know. It's... not the same without you. Some days are easier than others." He interlinked his fingers. "I like to think you're proud of how I've lived after you died." He softly smiled as he leaned against the stone.
"I can't wait until I see you again, Astrid. I love you."

With those words, Snorri Thorfinnsson, former Jarl of Botnborg, son of Thorfinn Karlsefni, brother of Bishop Thorbjorn Thorfinnsson, husband of Astrid Liefdottir, and father of Thorgier and Hallfrid, closed his eyes and passed on to the afterlife. The next day, Snorri's body was discovered by a goat herder. Snorri was laid to rest in Botnborg at Saint Jerome Cathedral, and Astrid's remains were moved as well to the site. His funeral was attended to by the Great Sachem and the lesser chiefs, as well as most of Botnborg proper. Centuries later, the Bishop of Botnborg would canonize him as Saint Snorri, the patron saint of peacemakers in the Vinland Church.




(Snorri Thorfinnsson's story is now over. But do not fret, for this is not the end of the timeline. More will follow under new characters. Also, sorry for the shortness, I just didn't know how to wrap up Snorri Thorfinnsson story.)

 

[Odinson]

History: Powhatan and Tsenacommacah

Since the reign of Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson, nordic traders have traveled down the coast of Vinland to Chesepiooc, home of the Powhatan to trade their goods. In return for furs and meats and squash, the settlers from Botnborg traded iron tools, such as knives and axes. In the span of a few years, white man became a regular sight on the coast. In the northern lands under the control of the Wampanoag confederacy, Botnborg began using the white shells of the skraelings as a uniform currency. Traders frequented the bay area often enough that a small rading outpost was built at the mouth of a large river called Powhatani (OTL James River), named for the tribe that dominated the coastal areas. The river allowed access to the interior of the land that the Powahtan called Tsenacommacah. North of the Powhatani river was the epicenter of Powhatan control, the seat of their empire. Controlled by a mamanatowick (supreme chief), the Powhatan exerted control over other tribes in the region and forced tribes on the peninsula that straddled the Atlantic Ocean to pay tribute.

The Norse, Christians who had brought their faith with them from Iceland, brought back tales of the native religion of the southern skraelings back to Botnborg. The Powhatan belived in two chief deities, a good god called Ahone and an evil spirit called Oke. Under these two spirits was a host of lesser spirits. The then Bishop Thorbjorn approved a missionary trip to be under taken by a group of Wampanoag Christian priests to convert the Powhatan to their faith in the 1040s. The Wampanoag priests at first tried to reconcile the Powhatan faith by drawing comparisons between the Norse (and increasingly Wampanoag) God and Ahone. The priests also drew parallels with Oke and Satan. The priests tried to convert the populace. One way that they did this was through reading the Bible in large informal sermons to crowds of interested members of the tribe. One popular subject was the retelling of the story of Adam and Eve with the places of God and the Devil/snake being replaced by Ahone and Oke respectively. In the retelling, the dark spirit Oke took the form of a copperhead and convinced Eve to eat a plum from the Tree of Knowledge, which led to Ahone banishing Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. These missionary practices created conflict with the religious leaders. This angered the shamans of the Powhatan, who felt that this missionaries were trying to influence the tribe and destroy its traditions in addition to erosion of their culture. The shamans tried to convince the mamanatowick to ban missionaries from the north to enter Tsenacommacah. The Mamanatowick instead prohibited Christian missionaries from entering the capital city of the Confederacy, and left the werowances (Male lesser chief) and weroansquas (female lesser chiefs) to decide individually if missionaries could enter their specific domains. While many closed their lands off to them at the suggestion of their shamans, some remained more open to them, resulting in a very small but still existent Christian minority in the region. The first Christian church would not be built in the area until around the year 1100, several years after the death of Bishop Thorbjorn.