Chronicles Of Middle Ages

Kingdom of Sweden

Node #19 - Vargatid

The English called it “The Howling Pit.” The Swedes call it Vargatid. The Poles won’t speak its name at all.

Three hundred years ago, an English regimen kmown as The Black Hounds marched into these woods and never marched out. They were mercenaries, hired ...

Kingdom of Sweden

Node #27 → “Fiskesjok

Welcome to Fiskesjok, the proud home of Sweden’s most infamous fishing tradition and the only place in the world where the fish literally joke back.

It all started centuries ago when old man Sven, the village idiot (or genius, depending on who you ask ...

Kingdom of Sweden

Node #19 - Himmelsbrant

High in the northern reaches of Sweden, where the mountains scrape the belly of the clouds, lies Himmelsbrant, a cliffside sanctuary said to be the last place the gods touched before they left the world of men. The locals call it the Stairway to the ...

Kingdom of Sweden

Node #24 - Solbacken

Nestled in a valley where the sun lingers even on the shortest winter days, Solbacken is the heartbeat of Sweden’s craftsmanship and trade. Unlike the grim tales of cursed mines or haunted lakes, Solbacken thrives on light, laughter, and the clatter of ...

Kingdom of Sweden

Node #23 - Glömsjö

The elders of Dalarna call Glömsjö a wound in the earth, a place where the water remembers what men forget. The lake sits cupped in the hills like a dropped shield, its surface never rippling, even when the winds scream through the pines. The villagers of ...

Kingdom of Sweden

Node #29 - Vargö

No one claims Vargö. Not truly. The island is a jagged tooth in the Baltic's maw, where the pines grow twisted and the fishermen pull their nets up quick when the sun dips low. They say the wolves here don't just hunt deer. They watch the water. Wait for ...

Kingdom of Sweden


Node #21 - Kungsund


The Baltic funnels into a fist at Kungsund, and Sweden clenches it tight. No ship slips past without the sundmen’s eye. No merchant, no smuggler, no king’s fool daring to test the chain. The brass bell, pocked by salt and time, doesn’t ring; it growls ...