Paradox Development Studio has announced ambitious DLC for Crusader Kings II which will convert your saves from the medieval, Eurocentric sandbox into a playable mod for the upcoming, globe-spanning Renaissance simulator, Europa Universalis IV. Yes, this means that you could potentially play the same faction through over 950 years of alternate history, from CK2: The Old Gods' start date in 867 A.D. to the end point of EU4 in 1821 A.D. I had a chance to grill Henrik Hansson, a programmer who worked on the DLC, on the specifics.

For a broad overview of the converter, you can check out Paradox's livestream demo from yesterday.

PCG: What are some Crusader Kings II realms that will have interesting Idea Tracks when you import them into in Europa Universalis IV?

Henrik Hansson, programmer: Some of them can be counted as secret, as we want the player to explore the game and find out But you can expect that major special nations like the Roman Empire will get their unique ideas. Crusader Kings II also have some special nations that also get some personal unique ideas like the Jomsvikings. It's up to the player to find them all.

Can you tell us a little about the unique Idea Tracks for the Jomsvikings and the Roman Empire?

The ideas are tied into the nations history mostly. Now, the Jomsvikings and the Roman Empire did not survive to 1444, so we had to get a bit creative when making them. So if we take the Jomsvikings for an example, their ideas are very much centered on the honor of being part of the brotherhood and how they are the best of the best soldiers the North can give. The names of their ideas are: The Jomsvikings Code, Legend of Jomsborg, For Glory of the Allfather, In the Name of Thor, Adopt Feudal System, and Implement the Högting.

You mentioned that reformed pagan religions from The Old Gods will transfer over to EU4, while unreformed will just be lumped in with the generic Animist/Shamanist. Are the imported religions cookie-cutter, or do they have variance? Zoroastrian versus reformed Norse, for example.

The religions do have variance between them with having different modifiers, icons and such. The converter also treats rulers differently based on their religion. They are not as well-fleshed out as the original religions in Europa Universalis IV with their own events, their own mechanics and such. They will though be able to put up a fight against the major religions if they have managed to survive to Europa Universalis IV.

What kind of bonuses does the Reformed Norse religion get? What about the other reformed pagans?

The Norse Reformed Faith gets increased force limits to represent how they are in the Crusader Kings II game. All other religions get something similar that will represent something from the Crusader Kings II game.



The Norse Fylkirate as a title—how does it convert to EUIV?

At the moment it is not converted, but I am trying to come up with a good way to do this so the player is rewarded for his achievement.

Are there any unique cultural units for the importable CK2 cultures that don't exist in vanilla EUIV?

At the moment, no, that isn't planned.

Can you form the Holy Roman Empire in an imported game of Europa Universalis IV if it didn't exist in the exported Cruader Kings II game?

There is no way to form the empire in Europa Universalis IV, it will have to be done in Crusader Kings II first.

How does the converter decide which Europa Universalis IV tech group to stick you in?

Various factors decide what tech group you are in. For instance Muslims get the Muslim tech group, but if they conquer large parts of Europe they will become the Ottoman tech group. If you are Ottoman in Crusader Kings II, then of course you will get the Ottoman tech group. Then you have the pagans. They will become Eastern unless you manage to do large technological advancements before the game is converted.

How does the converter decide what government type to give you?

It is kind of the same as with the tech groups, various factors. Most of the time they will get Feudal Monarchy, but Merchant Republics will become Merchant Republics, the Mongol horde will stay a Mongol horde, the Empires will be Empires and Holy Orders will be Theocracies.





How is the world outside of Crusader Kings II's boundaries generated? Does it default to the standard EU4 1444 set-up?

It depends. Most of the time, yes, it will probably be the default. But there are some special events in Crusader Kings II that changes this...

Other than the Mongols, what stuff from Crusader Kings II "spills out" onto the larger EU4 map? Is there a hard boundary to how far it can spill?

There are the Timurids who can start to invade . They start with some provinces outside of visible Europe. These two will be joined together. The same for the Golden Horde.

Are heresies for each Crusader Kings II religion converted over? If my entire Persian empire was Manichean, or I had an Iconoclast ERE, does that transfer?

The religion system in Europa Universalis IV is totally different from Crusader Kings II, where each heresy is its own proper religion. Europa Universalis IV doesn't support that, so unfortunately, you will get the parent religion after conversion.

Do converted cultures and religions get any unique CBs in EUIV?

No.

Does Muslim decadence carry over in any way?

No.

Do claims transfer over?

Some of the claims do transfer over, yes.

Can West/East Francia ever become France and Germany, or are they stuck with those names if they exist at the time the Crusader Kings II save was exported?

They will be stuck as West/East Francia in Europa Universalis IV.



You mentioned that if a realm has Minimum Crown Authority in CK2, the direct vassals will spawn as independent relams with vassalage contracts to their liege in EU4. How is multi-tiered vassalage handled? Is only the first level of vassals under each ruler relevant?

Only the direct vassals of the ruler are considered. But for Holy Roman Empire, every level of vassals is considered to take full advantage of the HRE mechanics in Europa Universalis IV.

You mentioned that importing a game with the CK2 Sunset Invasion DLC will spawn a huge Aztec Empire in North America. What flags a Crusader Kings II save as a "Sunset Invasion universe" game? Is it just having the mod checked when you export the save, or does the event actually have to fire?

Just have to have the DLC loaded when exporting!

How far ahead is the Aztec/Inca alternate history tech group in an imported Sunset Invasion game? Do they get new ideas separate from the historical Inca/Aztecs?

This is one of the things we want people to play and find out.

Do the other fictional North American states mentioned in Sunset Invasion exist in an imported game? Like, could I play as the Aztecs, and have a rebellion to restore the Shoshone/Iriquois free states? Would they then be part of the super Aztec/Inca tech group?

Nope, sorry.

Are there any plans to port Europa Universalis IV saves forward to Paradox Development Studio games set later down the timeline?

Not at the moment. One step at a time.

Thanks to Henrik for clearing up these details for us. Watch for more on Europa Universalis IV and the save game converter in the coming weeks.

This week, Cory ruins the space-time continuum by moving playlists to the front of the show, while Evan, Tyler, and T.J. look on in horror. We read some real live listener emails, and discuss the concept of mundanity in games. And yes, we discuss Euro Truck Simulator 2... on a US-based podcast!

Watch everything you thought you knew about reality writhe and die in PC Gamer Podcast 358 - Oh, the Mundanity!

@elahti (Evan Lahti)
@tyler_wilde (Tyler Wilde)
@demiurge (Cory Banks)
@AsaTJ (Grand Moff Hafer)
@belsaas (Erik Belsaas, podcast producer)

Rich's rules: 1. Play as ruler of the North, Ned Stark. 2. Don't die. 3. No honour, only backstabbing. 4. I'd really like not to die, please.

Welcome to the Game of Thrones diary, in which Rich plays as Ned Stark and tries to stay alive in the excellent Game of Thrones mod for Crusader Kings 2. The diary may contain spoilers for Game of Thrones book one and season one of the TV show. Missed the story so far? Here's part one, part two, part three and part four.

My wife tried to kill me, but that’s OK. I’ve decided Mya Stone – King Robert Baratheon’s bastard daughter, and my new bride who professes to love me – slipped and put the poison in the wrong cup. She must’ve been trying to kill someone else in the castle. An innocent mistake. A totally innocent mistake with absolutely no troubling connotations whatsoever for my rule of the largest bit of Westeros.

I think it’s time for a holiday, away from Winterfell for a bit. Fortunately, Arya has managed to fabricate a claim for me on The Twins, the province to the south. That claim means I can legally go to war for control of the region, and as I’m a double-hard bastard on the battlefield, I’ll put myself in charge of my combined armies and lead from the front. That way, I’ll be out of the house and away from any further possible poisonings. Here’s hoping I don’t come back to a heap of bodies and Mya standing over them claiming that “wolves did it”.

Arya is a genius, it should be said. I mean, she’s a ‘genius’ according to her character sheet, giving her happy bonuses to her major statistics – but she’s also a genius for managing to fabricate a claim on The Twins for me. I previously had my spymaster Roose Bolton on the task, and despite being one of the most duplicitous men in Westeros, he failed in his job time after time. I cut Roose loose earlier in the year, and installed my brilliant daughter in his place on my small council instead. It’s not simple nepotism. Roose held the position for half a decade; in the six months it took Arya to draw up a fake claim and let me go to war, the only thing he managed was to die of severe stress.



My daughter is turning into one of the game’s best characters, and everyone else knows it. She’s inundated with marriage proposals and, as her dad, I get to choose which ones she says no to. For now, that’s all of them: not only are most of them too lowly to consider – and in the case of Narbert Whent, too stupidly named – but Arya’s too useful to lose.

"Arya’s also, weirdly, followed around by a big brown bear."

If she marries, she goes off to live in another castle, and I lose control of someone sneakier, cleverer and more dastardly than Roose Bolton. Arya’s also, weirdly, followed around by a big brown bear, and bears – as I’m sure you know – are handy to have around in a fight. Between her, Daenerys (married to my son Robb) and baby Batman (who’s responding well to her schooling), I might be able to dominate Westeros with a cabal of brilliant women in a few decades, thanks to my excellent genes and good eye for marriage.

Crusader Kings II’s marriage system is accurate to 12th century customs and, unless the female partner in the marriage is a lordly step above the male partner, the woman shacks up with the man. That’s why Bran – second in line for my seat after Robb, but not yet a full lord – has moved away to live with his betrothed wife, Lady Pia of the Vale, and why Jon Snow’s wife now lives in my house.

She’s clever but only a courtier, so I took a hit in my familial prestige. Worse, she’s called ‘Eddara’. Bit close to Eddard, that one, making me – as marriage organiser – look like a mad egotist. Jon seems happy, though, and when I attack, take and give him control of The Twins, he’ll be even happier.



I call up my armies from all corners of the north. CKII’s armies are made up of local peasants rather than professional standing troops, and the size of my lands mean it takes the most northerly men weeks to get down south. I arrange to meet them all at Greywater Watch, on the border of The Twins, and then cool my heels for a month or so. Once there, I install myself as their leader, and bring up the Diplomacy menu.

"I declare war for my claim on The Twins: a claim that’s total bollocks."

The option for ‘declare war’ is greyed out. I hover over the tooltip. It kindly informs me that I can’t start a war with armies already on the field.

Back home, lads! Yes, I know the castle we’re going to attack is just across the river, and yes I know you’ve marched for 30 days solid and some of you live half a continent away, and yes I am going to give you a Westerosi version of a phonecall when you get home to come back south again, but rules are rules.

I stay over in Greywater for a while as my troops disperse – the old gods know I don’t want to get back into the marital bed with poisoner Mya – and bring up the Diplomacy menu again. This time, I can follow the options that let me declare war for my claim on The Twins: a claim, remember, that’s total bollocks.





The Twins are run by Edwyn Frey. I’ve still technically got a hit out on him, but my co-conspirators have taken five years to do absolutely nothing. I make a mental note to set Arya on him when I’m done with his land, but it’s not him I’ll need to be declaring war on. Edwyn is a vassal of the Lord of the Riverlands – a title that’s changed hands a few times since the Tully family rose up against Robert Baratheon during the early years of my reign. I click on Riverrun and find its new ruler is Duncan Whent, Narbert’s dad.

"He dallies too long and I reinforce quickly."

The Whents are nobodies though, and I’m not messing up any important alliances by antagonising Duncan. My only problem will be the amount of time it’ll take my armies to march down the continent, leaving the forces of the Riverlands fairly free to molest my southern regions.

No matter. The only important province down here is the Neck, and that’s held by Meera Reed who already hates me (I cut her dad’s head off a while back and she’s yet to get over it). I declare my war, immediately call my troops, and gather in Meera’s garden before marching south.

I don’t have to go very far to meet my opposition: Duncan Whent’s forces are sat in The Twins. For a time, he has more than me – some 15,000 Riverlanders versus my 10,000 from the north’s south. But he dallies too long and I reinforce quickly, soon outnumbering him by 10,000 men. With Ned at the head of one front, and Benjen Stark – another tip-top fighter – at the head of the other, Duncan’s forces are quickly smashed.



Out on the field, I see Duncan between the pikes and horsies of battle. At least, I’m told by way of menu that I can – CKII’s battle screens aren’t so hot on the majesty and noise of battle, being two sets of numbers slowly reducing each other. The menu gives me the option to leave him alone and let him escape, or go over and duff him up. I rely on Ned’s superior sword-handling, and storm over to boss Whent.

"I can either jab my sword through his neck or take him prisoner"

Fair play to Dunc: he parries a number of my blows, but Ned is one of Westeros’s best fighters, and after knocking him onto his armoured rump a fourth time, I’m given the choice to either jab my sword through his neck or take him prisoner. Thinking that a man clapped in irons in my dungeon will be a lot more willing to negotiate for land than a head mounted on a spike on my castle wall, I let him live and scatter his forces to a hasty retreat.

The Whents are broken, but they have a few armies dotted around the Riverlands. My men and I have been aching for a proper fight since the start of this diary, so I take them on a tour of the region’s best locations, before laying siege to them and drinking all their booze. Last on my whistle-stop tour of Time Out Westeros’s “top 10 places to set fire to” list is Riverrun itself.

I’ve been holding on to Duncan Whent all throughout my rampage. He’s in chains somewhere in my retinue, held for when I’ve stopped killing his generals and shrinking his line of succession. I can only really demand The Twins from him – although, with his army gone, I could grab so much more – but I figure he’ll say yes on the spot.





He doesn’t. I keep pressing the matter in the Diplomacy menu, asking him to give me The Twins in exchange for the safety of his family and the pleasure of not having his entire lordship revoked, but he just won’t listen. I try waving my sword about and pointing up at all the heads of his citizens that I’ve arranged in neat little rows, but he’s still not giving in.

"I send super-Arya to fabricate a claim."

So I take him home. Not back to his home, but to mine. I pull my forces back – they’re overextended and starting to succumb to disease and lack of resources – and set a course for Winterfell. The second I drag Duncan over the border, he capitulates, offering me peace, money and, most importantly, the Twins. I immediately accept and let Duncan loose. He’s a good prize, but he fought well and I’m in danger of forgetting my original aim: wiping the Freys off the map.

I give The Twins to Jon Snow. He’s an acceptable commander, and it should stop his – heavily accented – bleating. Next on the list of Frey properties I want to pilfer is the Freylands themselves.

As before, I send super-Arya to fabricate a claim on them. As before, it takes her about 13 minutes before she has rustled up enough ‘evidence’ of my right to their control to convince the king. Think about this for a minute: she’s managed to convince the ruler of Westeros that the Starks have more of a claim on the Freylands than the Freys themselves. She will make a hell of a queen one day, this one.



I begin the process of war again, and bring up Riverrun’s ruler. It’s not Duncan any more: the poor bastard died of ‘severe stress’ a few weeks back. Riding along with an invading force as they pillage your lands and nick your stuff will do that to a person, I guess. His son Malwyn is the new leader of the Riverlands. Luckily for me, he’s totally useless.

"I seem to be caught in the grip of late-onset homosexuality"

My forces rampage through his already- depleted group and lay siege to Riverrun. Malwyn is trapped inside, but every time I walk up to the murder-hole and shout “give up yet?”, he shrieks “no!” and slams the door shut. Looks like my army is in this for the long haul.

I say “my army”, because I’m not going to be there all the time. I’m not going home to Winterfell – Mya’s there after all, and she might get a bit poison-y again. Instead I’m off to King’s Landing, where Robert, ever the hedonist even as his two biggest allies are butting heads, is holding a tournament. Sit tight at the gates, lads, I’ll be back in a few months.

Something strange happens at the tournament. I win the melee, which is nice – but that’s not the strange bit. I’ve been to loads of these since taking on Ned’s crown, after all, and I’m good enough in a fight that I usually come back with a win and a prestige boost. No, the strangeness is my suddenly apparent attraction to men.



I seem to be caught in the grip of late-onset homosexuality – I’m 48 now – seemingly caused by watching dudes beat the snot out of each other in a load of mud. My Ned is now gay, and I’ve taken hits to my fertility as a result, but I’m mainly worried about what Mya is going to say, and who she’ll try to poison because of it. Maybe I’ll put off that triumphant homecoming for a little while longer.

I’m on my way back to Riverrun to rejoin my troops when I get even more surprising news: Robert Baratheon is dead, and his son Steffon – no Joffrey in this campaign – has taken the throne. “Suspicious circumstances” are to blame for Robert’s passing, so I pause the game and scan through a list of the usual suspects: Cersei, Tyrion, Theon.

They’re all dead. Cersei died at 43. Tyrion died at 39, chaste and a widower, his wife Asha Greyjoy having died three years previously. I’m one of the last survivors of the old guard. Suddenly, I feel very mortal, and very alone.

Rich's rules: 1. Play as ruler of the North, Ned Stark. 2. Don't die. 3. No honour, only backstabbing. 4. I'd really like not to die, please.

Welcome to the Game of Thrones diary, in which Rich plays as Ned Stark and tries to stay alive in the excellent Game of Thrones mod for Crusader Kings 2. The diary may contain spoilers for Game of Thrones book one and season one of the TV show. Missed the start? Here's part one, part two and part three.

My wife is dead and I am sad. Catelyn Stark died last month, and Ned Stark – still ruler of the North of Westeros, and still alive at my hands – is in some serious mourning. Crusader Kings II codifies that mourning in the form of negative character traits: my Ned is now ‘depressed’, ‘chaste’, and a ‘widower’ – traits that conspire to make him about as fertile as a socially awkward panda. That’s a problem when Crusader Kings II’s explicit aim is to create as strong a dynasty as possible, and my eldest son Robb is useless in a fight, diplomatic or otherwise.

Ned’s sad right now but I’m confident, thanks to some Wiki reading, that his malaise will lift. I’ll get over Catelyn, shake off my temporary chasteness and get back to the business of making strong little babies to continue the Stark name. But to do that, I need a new wife.

That’s another problem. Ned’s a Lord, meaning that he’ll be wanting to marry into one of Westeros’s powerful families: the Tyrells, the Arryns, the Baratheons, that class of people. If Ned was to marry someone beneath the Starks in terms of influence, I’d take a massive hit to my prestige – and prestige is the main measure of success in Crusader Kings II. But these similarly highborn families have already been stripped of their eligible womenfolk. Even Asha Greyjoy, hard-faced daughter of piratical plunderer Balon Greyjoy, is married - to Tyrion Lannister, no less.



Shuddering at the thought of their brittle, political union, I scan around Westerosi highborn family trees. I find almost everyone is taken or dead, except for one: Pia Arryn, the daughter of Jon Arryn and Lysa Tully. Lysa is Catelyn’s sister, lending an air of creepy serendipity to a potential betrothal, but more importantly, she’s currently the first in line to the Arryn lordship. With it, command of Westeros’s eastern Vale, one of the continent’s seven kingdoms. Excited, I check her relationship status. She’s single! Brilliant, I’ve found a second wife for Ned after only a few months of searching, and she’s soon-to-be head of one of the world’s most powerful families. I click through to the ‘suggest marriage’ menu and start to draw up wedding terms, when I realise there’s a small problem with my plan.
"I’m 38, with six kids and a dead wife."
Pia is eight years old. I’m 38, with six kids and a dead wife. I’ve seen the world, I’ve cut off my best friend’s head with a sword; my potential bride is probably still learning how to tie her shoelaces. I understand these unions are necessary for the peace of the land, but a 30-year age gap might be a bit too far. What would we talk about? She’s an 8290s kid, all my references are from the 8260s. I cancel the wedding proposal.

But this is business. Ned’s not the only one in the family currently unattached. My son Bran is single, and crucially, not 38 years old. He’s about the same age as her, able to talk to her about wooden blocks or skateboards or kicking a severed head around a courtyard, whatever it is Westerosi kids like talking about. In the interests of getting his dad as much glory as humanly possible, I lock him into an arranged marriage with Pia. I like to think I’ve convinced the Arryns that marrying Bran off to Pia was my plan all along, but I imagine they’re probably watching me head back up the road to Winterfell with the kind of shifty eyes reserved for 38-year-old men who try to show off to eight-year-old girls.



I’m happy for Bran – who, thanks to a careful regimen of not hanging around in windows while the Lannisters are visiting, has retained the use of his legs – but Ned is still flying solo, and is not getting any younger. This fact is further drilled home when I get notification that I’ve contracted a severe illness.
"Maesters are basically pigeon fanciers in whizzo robes"
It’s a gutpunch. The closest Westeros gets to doctors are its Maesters, and they’re basically pigeon fanciers in whizzo robes. My chances of survival are lessened by my advancing years, and the lengthy winter that’s already killing a good proportion of my northern populace. I pause the game, take a deep breath, and make preparations for my end.

Good news arrives on my apparent deathbed. Robb and Daenerys have had their first child, and it’s a son. They’ve named it Eddard. In my weakened state, I find this act of tribute surprisingly emotional: I picture stoic Ned wiping away a single tear as his firstborn boy tells him of his news; in reality, I Alt+Tab to look at a picture of a cat that’s very attached to cheeseburgers.

Proud of my grandson, I check little Eddard’s character sheet and find a honkingly huge negative character modifier in place already. It seems that as a child born of Targaryen parents – Dany’s familial house, which famously married brother with sister – he’s a child of incest. The poor bugger is only a few days old, and half the populace already hate him.





Fortunately, his lineage also means that he’ll likely develop positive traits to balance out the innate disadvantages. Dany is one of the Game of Thrones mod’s best characters, and I believe her son will do well. I call Robb to my deathbed and beckon him closer, ready to say my farewells and wish him the best – he’ll be the character I control next when Ned passes. I croak out the beginning of a goodbye when another tooltip pops up.
"Lying in bed and hacking my guts up has made Ned super-horny."
Ned’s better. I’ve been cured of my disease and am back to full strength. Not only am I healthy again, but I’ve shed my depression and chasteness. Lying in bed and hacking my guts up has made Ned super-horny. I leap out of bed and sprint past Robb, eager to get back to the business of ruling the North and finding a wife.

The former is still easy. The people of the North are a contented bunch compared with those further down Westeros. I’m notified of constant rebellions, with the most unruly territory seeming to be a place called Dalston, in the far south. Presumably Robert’s regnum hasn’t kept the region as well stocked with brightly coloured Ray-Ban ripoffs and tight red trousers as they would like: I count three open attacks on the King’s armies in a few months.

The latter is tougher, but the possibility of nabbing a spouse is growing more promising as the years go on. Ned’s illness has given some of Westeros’s eligible women the time to reach marriageable age. Primary amongst these potential wives is Mya Stone. She’s one of Robert’s many bastard daughters, and although Ned would take a small prestige hit for marrying her, she’s a better option than most. I write a list to weigh up her pros and cons.



She’s attractive! But she’s scarred. She’s gregarious! But envious. She’s a poet! But she’s greedy. With a surfeit of ladies to choose from she’d be mid-table, but my woman-cupboard is bare. As is sensible when deciding to spend the rest of your life with someone, I shrug, consider the worst that could happen, and ask her to marry me.
"I shrug, consider the worst that could happen, and ask her to marry me."
She accepts quickly and I prepare Winterfell for a wedding feast, to which I invite all my vassals. They’re joined by a troop of wandering jongleurs, in off the street. I hate jongleurs, but for some reason having them there jongling around while my guests eat is worth five prestige points. I let them in on the proviso that they don’t jongle anywhere near me, and get down to the serious business of stuffing my lordly face with capons to demonstrate how virile I am to my new wife.

The wedding clears out, my servants clear up, and I bundle the jongleurs out into the cold Winterfell night. I’m still riding a post-disease, post-marriage high, so when an invite comes in to attend a tournament I accept, and take part in the jousting competition. I bring my new wife along and show off to her by using a ten-foot pole to whack another man carrying a ten-foot pole off a horse. Apparently she likes that, as she’s pregnant within the month.

I’m finding life with Mya charmingly simple. It took Ned and Catelyn years to truly love each other; within a few months I was given the option to buy Mya a set of earrings that apparently made me utterly irresistible. Mya’s now in love with me – either Crusader Kings II has a strange view on women or I’ve married a materialistic idiot.





Elsewhere in love, Tyrion’s marriage with Asha Greyjoy is going so well that he’s decided to become chaste, and Robb and Daenerys have just squeezed out their second child. They name this one Bran, another bit of nominative copycattery. I thought naming the first one Eddard was sweet, but now I’m worried Robb might just be terminally uncreative.
"I’m worried Robb might be terminally uncreative."
Robb’s also an ultra-wuss. He comes to me and asks for an honorary title, giving him some glory but meaning he’ll not have to do much. I decide to pick the burliest honorary title I have, and make him Master of the Hunt, assuming he’ll get some fresh air without cocking anything up.

It takes him two months to cock it up spectacularly, getting himself kidnapped while on duty. I imagine he fell into a big net while backing away from his own shadow. Luckily, Daddy’s here to go and save him. Being a burly Northman, I wave off the hired help and sally forth to go and bash the Robb-nappers up. I bring him – and a boatload of personal prestige – back to the castle at Winterfell, where I’m greeted by Mya and our new baby that she managed to pop out while I was out on rescue duty.



It’s a girl! As demonstrated by the birth of baby Batman, I’ve run out of girl’s names. Instead, I remember back to Robb’s naming conventions and how pleased I was to hear about my namesake grandson. In a move of tremendous egotism, I call my seventh child Nednina.
"Robb is crowing for some land of his own, and baby Batman needs a guardian."
It’s a tumultuous time for my kids. Bran’s reached an age where he can move in with his betrothed, so I send him packing off to the Vale to live with Pia – reminding him before he goes to knock before entering Lannister bedrooms. Sansa’s had what Crusader Kings II describes as her ‘bleedings’, and can therefore be married off for my own benefit; Robb is crowing for some land of his own, and baby Batman needs a guardian. I think there’s something backwards about that last one, but I let it slide and assign her education to the Maester. There are no eligible bachelors around at the moment so Sansa will have to wait, but a turn of events means I can help Robb.

One of my vassals, Daryn of Hornwood, has been caught plotting. I’ve been rash in my reactions to these kinds of plots before, but this one is a legitimate cause for concern: he’s trying to fabricate claims to the entire North, making him Lord and usurping the Stark family. This can’t stand, and I send a group of goons to duff him up and bring him back to me. They succeed in the former but fail in the latter, and Daryn escapes to put together an army.



A fight! It’s only a small one, but it’s a fight, something my men – and me – have been desperate for since I started to wear Ned’s skin. Daryn flits about his corner of the North, sacking small towns and moving on. I set Hornwood itself as my prize, and install my troops around the castle walls, starving Daryn’s pals out.
"A fight! It’s only a small one, but it’s a fight."
It’s not long before the upstart himself appears; he approaches me on the field of battle and I batter him around the head. My army takes him prisoner, I take his town, and before he can say anything seditious to his cellmate I chop off his head with my super-sword, Ice. His baby son comes to me, asking for his rightful land – at least I think that’s what he was asking, he’s two years old and there’s a lot of raspberry blowing – and I deny him outright. Hornwood is now mine. Shortly afterwards, it becomes Robb’s. My firstborn is happy, and at the cost of just one rebel head.

This is a great success for Ned: spotting a plot and stopping it in his tracks shows how he’s grown as a duplicitous, cynical sneak – exactly how I wanted to play him. I’m proud. Proud until I come home to Winterfell, and find Mya putting something strange in my wine glass. Mya likes me 100, and I like her 97: as close to a perfect match as possible. But, as I check the plot menu to confirm my fears, I see that Mya Stone – my new bride and the mother of my youngest baby – wants me dead.

So I married a murderer. Now what?

Can Ned survive his wife? Find out next Sunday in PART FIVE of the Game of Thrones diary.

Rich's rules: 1. Play as ruler of the North, Ned Stark. 2. Don't die. 3. No honour, only backstabbing. 4. I'd really like not to die, please.

Welcome to the Game of Thrones diary, in which Rich plays as Ned Stark and tries to stay alive in the excellent Game of Thrones mod for Crusader Kings 2. The diary may contain spoilers for Game of Thrones book one and season one of the TV show. Missed the start? Here's part one, part two and part three.

My wife is dead and I am sad. Catelyn Stark died last month, and Ned Stark – still ruler of the North of Westeros, and still alive at my hands – is in some serious mourning. Crusader Kings II codifies that mourning in the form of negative character traits: my Ned is now ‘depressed’, ‘chaste’, and a ‘widower’ – traits that conspire to make him about as fertile as a socially awkward panda. That’s a problem when Crusader Kings II’s explicit aim is to create as strong a dynasty as possible, and my eldest son Robb is useless in a fight, diplomatic or otherwise.

Ned’s sad right now but I’m confident, thanks to some Wiki reading, that his malaise will lift. I’ll get over Catelyn, shake off my temporary chasteness and get back to the business of making strong little babies to continue the Stark name. But to do that, I need a new wife.

That’s another problem. Ned’s a Lord, meaning that he’ll be wanting to marry into one of Westeros’s powerful families: the Tyrells, the Arryns, the Baratheons, that class of people. If Ned was to marry someone beneath the Starks in terms of influence, I’d take a massive hit to my prestige – and prestige is the main measure of success in Crusader Kings II. But these similarly highborn families have already been stripped of their eligible womenfolk. Even Asha Greyjoy, hard-faced daughter of piratical plunderer Balon Greyjoy, is married - to Tyrion Lannister, no less.



Shuddering at the thought of their brittle, political union, I scan around Westerosi highborn family trees. I find almost everyone is taken or dead, except for one: Pia Arryn, the daughter of Jon Arryn and Lysa Tully. Lysa is Catelyn’s sister, lending an air of creepy serendipity to a potential betrothal, but more importantly, she’s currently the first in line to the Arryn lordship. With it, command of Westeros’s eastern Vale, one of the continent’s seven kingdoms. Excited, I check her relationship status. She’s single! Brilliant, I’ve found a second wife for Ned after only a few months of searching, and she’s soon-to-be head of one of the world’s most powerful families. I click through to the ‘suggest marriage’ menu and start to draw up wedding terms, when I realise there’s a small problem with my plan.

"I’m 38, with six kids and a dead wife."

Pia is eight years old. I’m 38, with six kids and a dead wife. I’ve seen the world, I’ve cut off my best friend’s head with a sword; my potential bride is probably still learning how to tie her shoelaces. I understand these unions are necessary for the peace of the land, but a 30-year age gap might be a bit too far. What would we talk about? She’s an 8290s kid, all my references are from the 8260s. I cancel the wedding proposal.

But this is business. Ned’s not the only one in the family currently unattached. My son Bran is single, and crucially, not 38 years old. He’s about the same age as her, able to talk to her about wooden blocks or skateboards or kicking a severed head around a courtyard, whatever it is Westerosi kids like talking about. In the interests of getting his dad as much glory as humanly possible, I lock him into an arranged marriage with Pia. I like to think I’ve convinced the Arryns that marrying Bran off to Pia was my plan all along, but I imagine they’re probably watching me head back up the road to Winterfell with the kind of shifty eyes reserved for 38-year-old men who try to show off to eight-year-old girls.



I’m happy for Bran – who, thanks to a careful regimen of not hanging around in windows while the Lannisters are visiting, has retained the use of his legs – but Ned is still flying solo, and is not getting any younger. This fact is further drilled home when I get notification that I’ve contracted a severe illness.

"Maesters are basically pigeon fanciers in whizzo robes"

It’s a gutpunch. The closest Westeros gets to doctors are its Maesters, and they’re basically pigeon fanciers in whizzo robes. My chances of survival are lessened by my advancing years, and the lengthy winter that’s already killing a good proportion of my northern populace. I pause the game, take a deep breath, and make preparations for my end.

Good news arrives on my apparent deathbed. Robb and Daenerys have had their first child, and it’s a son. They’ve named it Eddard. In my weakened state, I find this act of tribute surprisingly emotional: I picture stoic Ned wiping away a single tear as his firstborn boy tells him of his news; in reality, I Alt+Tab to look at a picture of a cat that’s very attached to cheeseburgers.

Proud of my grandson, I check little Eddard’s character sheet and find a honkingly huge negative character modifier in place already. It seems that as a child born of Targaryen parents – Dany’s familial house, which famously married brother with sister – he’s a child of incest. The poor bugger is only a few days old, and half the populace already hate him.





Fortunately, his lineage also means that he’ll likely develop positive traits to balance out the innate disadvantages. Dany is one of the Game of Thrones mod’s best characters, and I believe her son will do well. I call Robb to my deathbed and beckon him closer, ready to say my farewells and wish him the best – he’ll be the character I control next when Ned passes. I croak out the beginning of a goodbye when another tooltip pops up.

"Lying in bed and hacking my guts up has made Ned super-horny."

Ned’s better. I’ve been cured of my disease and am back to full strength. Not only am I healthy again, but I’ve shed my depression and chasteness. Lying in bed and hacking my guts up has made Ned super-horny. I leap out of bed and sprint past Robb, eager to get back to the business of ruling the North and finding a wife.

The former is still easy. The people of the North are a contented bunch compared with those further down Westeros. I’m notified of constant rebellions, with the most unruly territory seeming to be a place called Dalston, in the far south. Presumably Robert’s regnum hasn’t kept the region as well stocked with brightly coloured Ray-Ban ripoffs and tight red trousers as they would like: I count three open attacks on the King’s armies in a few months.

The latter is tougher, but the possibility of nabbing a spouse is growing more promising as the years go on. Ned’s illness has given some of Westeros’s eligible women the time to reach marriageable age. Primary amongst these potential wives is Mya Stone. She’s one of Robert’s many bastard daughters, and although Ned would take a small prestige hit for marrying her, she’s a better option than most. I write a list to weigh up her pros and cons.



She’s attractive! But she’s scarred. She’s gregarious! But envious. She’s a poet! But she’s greedy. With a surfeit of ladies to choose from she’d be mid-table, but my woman-cupboard is bare. As is sensible when deciding to spend the rest of your life with someone, I shrug, consider the worst that could happen, and ask her to marry me.

"I shrug, consider the worst that could happen, and ask her to marry me."

She accepts quickly and I prepare Winterfell for a wedding feast, to which I invite all my vassals. They’re joined by a troop of wandering jongleurs, in off the street. I hate jongleurs, but for some reason having them there jongling around while my guests eat is worth five prestige points. I let them in on the proviso that they don’t jongle anywhere near me, and get down to the serious business of stuffing my lordly face with capons to demonstrate how virile I am to my new wife.

The wedding clears out, my servants clear up, and I bundle the jongleurs out into the cold Winterfell night. I’m still riding a post-disease, post-marriage high, so when an invite comes in to attend a tournament I accept, and take part in the jousting competition. I bring my new wife along and show off to her by using a ten-foot pole to whack another man carrying a ten-foot pole off a horse. Apparently she likes that, as she’s pregnant within the month.

I’m finding life with Mya charmingly simple. It took Ned and Catelyn years to truly love each other; within a few months I was given the option to buy Mya a set of earrings that apparently made me utterly irresistible. Mya’s now in love with me – either Crusader Kings II has a strange view on women or I’ve married a materialistic idiot.





Elsewhere in love, Tyrion’s marriage with Asha Greyjoy is going so well that he’s decided to become chaste, and Robb and Daenerys have just squeezed out their second child. They name this one Bran, another bit of nominative copycattery. I thought naming the first one Eddard was sweet, but now I’m worried Robb might just be terminally uncreative.

"I’m worried Robb might be terminally uncreative."

Robb’s also an ultra-wuss. He comes to me and asks for an honorary title, giving him some glory but meaning he’ll not have to do much. I decide to pick the burliest honorary title I have, and make him Master of the Hunt, assuming he’ll get some fresh air without cocking anything up.

It takes him two months to cock it up spectacularly, getting himself kidnapped while on duty. I imagine he fell into a big net while backing away from his own shadow. Luckily, Daddy’s here to go and save him. Being a burly Northman, I wave off the hired help and sally forth to go and bash the Robb-nappers up. I bring him – and a boatload of personal prestige – back to the castle at Winterfell, where I’m greeted by Mya and our new baby that she managed to pop out while I was out on rescue duty.



It’s a girl! As demonstrated by the birth of baby Batman, I’ve run out of girl’s names. Instead, I remember back to Robb’s naming conventions and how pleased I was to hear about my namesake grandson. In a move of tremendous egotism, I call my seventh child Nednina.

"Robb is crowing for some land of his own, and baby Batman needs a guardian."

It’s a tumultuous time for my kids. Bran’s reached an age where he can move in with his betrothed, so I send him packing off to the Vale to live with Pia – reminding him before he goes to knock before entering Lannister bedrooms. Sansa’s had what Crusader Kings II describes as her ‘bleedings’, and can therefore be married off for my own benefit; Robb is crowing for some land of his own, and baby Batman needs a guardian. I think there’s something backwards about that last one, but I let it slide and assign her education to the Maester. There are no eligible bachelors around at the moment so Sansa will have to wait, but a turn of events means I can help Robb.

One of my vassals, Daryn of Hornwood, has been caught plotting. I’ve been rash in my reactions to these kinds of plots before, but this one is a legitimate cause for concern: he’s trying to fabricate claims to the entire North, making him Lord and usurping the Stark family. This can’t stand, and I send a group of goons to duff him up and bring him back to me. They succeed in the former but fail in the latter, and Daryn escapes to put together an army.



A fight! It’s only a small one, but it’s a fight, something my men – and me – have been desperate for since I started to wear Ned’s skin. Daryn flits about his corner of the North, sacking small towns and moving on. I set Hornwood itself as my prize, and install my troops around the castle walls, starving Daryn’s pals out.

"A fight! It’s only a small one, but it’s a fight."

It’s not long before the upstart himself appears; he approaches me on the field of battle and I batter him around the head. My army takes him prisoner, I take his town, and before he can say anything seditious to his cellmate I chop off his head with my super-sword, Ice. His baby son comes to me, asking for his rightful land – at least I think that’s what he was asking, he’s two years old and there’s a lot of raspberry blowing – and I deny him outright. Hornwood is now mine. Shortly afterwards, it becomes Robb’s. My firstborn is happy, and at the cost of just one rebel head.

This is a great success for Ned: spotting a plot and stopping it in his tracks shows how he’s grown as a duplicitous, cynical sneak – exactly how I wanted to play him. I’m proud. Proud until I come home to Winterfell, and find Mya putting something strange in my wine glass. Mya likes me 100, and I like her 97: as close to a perfect match as possible. But, as I check the plot menu to confirm my fears, I see that Mya Stone – my new bride and the mother of my youngest baby – wants me dead.

So I married a murderer. Now what?

Can Ned survive his wife? Find out next Sunday in PART FIVE of the Game of Thrones diary.

Rich's rules: 1. Play as ruler of the North, Ned Stark. 2. Don't die. 3. No honour, only backstabbing. 4. I'd really like not to die, please.

Welcome to the Game of Thrones diary, in which Rich plays as Ned Stark and tries to stay alive in the excellent Game of Thrones mod for Crusader Kings 2. The diary may contain spoilers for Game of Thrones book one and season one of the TV show. Missed the start? Here's part one, and part two.

For the Old Gods’ sake Robert, can you please let someone else have some fun? No sooner have I re-rallied my northern forces (for the second time in as many months) with the express intention of crushing Mace Tyrell’s bid for kingship (also the second in as many months), than Robert beats him up in battle and puts him in his castle. The last time Robert did this, he let Mace go after a stern telling off, patting him on the Tyrell posterior and asking him nicely not to rebel again. Mace, being head of one of Westeros’s most powerful families and ‘Ambitious’ by nature – by character sheet anyway – immediately made another bid for the kingship.

Robert isn’t going to make the same mistake again. Out comes old headlopper, and Mace is no more, executed on Baratheon turf for his repeated treasons. My armies, raised from local peasantry and armed with northern steel – and some sticks and pitchforks – have to once again lay down arms and go back to their respective villages, their swords and pointy objects boringly blood-free. I feel bad. I promised these guys a war – several, really – but my remoteness in comparison to the rest of Westeros means I’m always the warmaid, never the warbastard.

I’m back at Winterfell a few days later when I get a notification that Jeor the Old Bear has been killed. Jeor wasn’t an actual old bear – at least I hope he wasn’t. Instead, he was my Master at Arms, the man (or bear?) responsible for maintaining my armies and garrisons. I would be OK with his death, he was old after all (and also maybe a bear), but the tooltip mentions he died in a suspicious accident. That’s Crusader Kings-ese for ‘someone’s done a plot’. I wonder if it’s one of my bloodthirsty peasants, annoyed at me for making him dress up in all his armour and then take it off again before he got to stab anything. Time to make shifty eyes at everyone in Winterfell’s streets and to swing my sword arm around menacingly, just in case anyone else has plotty plans.



The Old Bear’s death (seriously, I would’ve noticed if he was a bear) seems to have awakened strong feelings in Ned: suddenly I realise – by means of popup window - that I love my wife Catelyn. It’s probably for the best, given that I’ve had four children by her already and have been married for years, but it also helps give my relationship some spice and buffs to fertility. Those buffs manifest themselves quickly: Catelyn is impregnated by my now-loving Ned.

"Bolton’s people are being terrorised by something called an ‘Army of Pate’."

While I’m revelling in my newfound adoration for the woman I’ve been sleeping next to for the past ten years, the north is going a bit wrong. Peasants on Bear Island have started revolting against my rule. The problem is, I don’t really know how to stop them. I stroke my chin and consider their motivations for kicking off, coming to the conclusion that they’re probably angry because of all the bears. I know how you feel, Bear Islanders, I had one working for me until recently! Those duplicitous eight-foot killing machines. I resolve to help my people, and click around my council menu until I find the option for ‘subdue revolt’, sending one of my closest men over to pacify my peasants.

I’m getting more worrying news from the lands of Roose Bolton, lord of the Dreadfort and my Spymaster. Bolton’s people are being terrorised by something called an ‘Army of Pate’. Bears I can handle, but an enemy made entirely of coarse meaty paste is scarier than anything that could come over the Wall. I decide to leave this one to Bolton and co, and resolve to stay away from the Dreadfort. It doesn’t take long before the clinical Roose smashes the army apart, imprisons their leader, and, presumably, spreads his remains on toast.





Back in Winterfell, my son Robb has come of age. He’s got a real face now – Crusader Kings II has a marked distinction between its child and adult portraits – which means it’s time for him to get a wife. As his dad, I’m chief wifepicker, and get to travel the continent asking women if they fancy my 16- year-old boy. Fortunately, as lord of the north, that question isn’t as creepy to Westerosi women as you might think, and most jump at the chance. The best option would be to marry Robb off to the daughter of one of the continent’s lords, but they all seem to be either married or dead. Neither is ideal. I widen my net and idly follow a few potential leads through to the “eh, how about it?” screen. They’re nice girls, but they’re all from lower families than Ned’s, and the wedding would cost me a good chunk of prestige (the closest thing CKII has to a score).

"It’s not a boy. It’s a girl. I decide to name her Batman."

Then a familiar name catches my eye. She’s not a landed lady any more, but Daenerys Targaryen’s family is one of the most prestigious in Westeros. Sure, her dad was famously insane and her brother got killed by having molten gold poured onto his head by a horse-obsessed guy in eyeliner, but Dany’s got her head screwed on straight, and – at least in the fiction – comes with three dragony bonuses. Excited, I pause time so no one else can snap her up, and suggest a marriage to Robb. She accepts, and I make preparations for welcoming one of A Song of Ice and Fire’s most important characters into my home. I had been worried about Robb: unlike the canonical Stark son, my Robb is cowardly and a bit rubbish at commanding troops. Marrying Dany is a great move. She’s ‘Attractive’, ‘Quick’, and a ‘Genius’. Ned’s positive traits may have missed Robb’s generation, but I’ve now got a good chance of producing a strong grandson to carry on the Stark line.

Ned’s doing a good job of carrying on that line himself. Catelyn pops out her fifth baby shortly after Robb’s betrothal. I’ve already had Robb, Sansa, Arya and Bran. Were I to continue my slavishness to ASoIaF’s canon, this one should be a boy, and I should name it Rickon. It’s not a boy. It’s a girl. I decide to name her Batman.



Meanwhile, more trouble is brewing. For all the Game of Thrones mod’s brilliance, it can be a little unrealistic, nobles rising up against people who they’re a tiny bit miffed at, no matter their chances of success.

"I decide to accept the invitation to a tournament."

Sweetsister is the tiniest of the Sisters: a group of tiny, windswept islands nestled off Westeros’s eastern seaboard. Its leader has just declared war on Robert, king of all Westeros and a man who’s really keen on not only killing challengers, but mounting their heads on things. It takes the poor idiots of Sweetsister a fair while to actually make landfall with their miniscule army, all the while Robert’s troops are stood at the shore, idly planning all the interesting ways they’ll get to stab the rebels. I half-heartedly try and join in, aiming to get to Sweetsister itself before they land on the continent, but I can’t figure out how to do boats, and my expeditionary force gets stuck at the coast before being disbanded.

Sick of failing to get into fights, I decide to accept the invitation to a tournament. This one’s taking place on the newly subdued Bear Island, and isn’t organised by bears in a sneaky attempt to kill me when I’m not expecting it. I checked. Crusader Kings II’s tournaments offer the chance to earn prestige for your family, and Ned’s combat character bonuses always come in handy. I win the melee, and come home covered in glory. And blood.



I’m fresh from the festivities when I learn Daenerys and Robb are to be married in a few days. I opt for a wedding feast: I don’t need to show off for the in-laws as they’re inbred, insane and dead, but a lord of the north should never turn down the chance for a capon or two. I invite all my favourite people of the north, and devise a seating plan that puts me as far away from Roose Bolton as possible. The wedding itself is beautiful. Probably. Crusader Kings II doesn’t model it beyond informing me that it happened. Dany moves into my castle. She doesn’t have direct access to her dragons in the mod, but then I can’t help but feel that having three fire-breathing monsters in my castle mainly made of wood is a bad idea in any case. Still, at least my first-born son is married, and my line will continue. Now I just need to find him some land.

"Jon Snow is my bastard, and a total wuss."

All this attention on Robb is getting my second-born’s back up. Jon Snow is my bastard, and a total wuss. My attendance at the Bear Island tournament prompts him to ask me to stop risking my life so often. I give him a noogie and punch him in the arm, taking the time to suggest he is a capon. We in the north practise the old ways.

Beyond Jon’s bleating, all is fairly quiet at home in Winterfell – at least until I get the notification that Jorah Mormont has been captured and killed by peasants. Jorah is Jeor’s son – Dany’s protector in the fiction– and as good a soldier as you’d expect someone who may or may not have had a bear for a dad to be. To have him lynched by peasants is unlucky: one of CKII’s lower probability events that can topple a wobbly regime without proper preparation. Fortunately, my court’s big enough that I’m able to appoint another skilled Master at Arms: my third in a year.





Another council spot is quickly vacated as Maester Luwin snuffs it. There’s no foul play or peasant murdering here: Luwin was just really old, and the north’s continuing winter finished him off. Maesters are ASoIaF’s scientists and teachers, and are trained down in Oldtown in the extreme southwest of Westeros. When one dies, the lord can send for a replacement. Mine doesn’t take too long to turn up.

"I find Tyrion Lannister not only married, but married to Asha Greyjoy"

I get lucky: he’s a ‘Mastermind Scholar’. He’s also ‘Shy’, and ‘Rude’. Nevertheless, I ask him to start teaching my kids how to do stuff, and with a muttered “fuck off” and a red face, he goes about his duties.

Westeros remains peaceful for a spell, and I spend my time looking for the series’ major characters, using the map like a fantasy medieval version of Facebook. I find Tyrion Lannister not only married, but married to Asha Greyjoy, daughter of Balon, lord of the Iron Islands. I can’t think of a more mismatched pair, and imagine bounding up the Winterfell stairs to tell my lady love Catelyn the news when a popup appears.

‘Catelyn Stark has died.’



I’m stunned. I – not Ned, me – sit in silence for a while. I pause the flow of time and Alt-Tab out from Crusader Kings II, rocked by the news. I flit back to the game and confirm her death. She died of natural causes at age 34. Her face on her character sheet – the mother of Robb, Sansa, Bran, Arya, and little Batman – is tarnished by a little skull symbol in the corner, her braided red hair only just starting to fade with age. Ned had only come to love her this year, but she was a constant companion for my time in Westeros. She’d helped me avoid narrative determinism, avoid the blade that should’ve canonically chopped Ned’s head off. Survival was hard enough when we were in this together, and now I was in this alone.

"The light in Ned’s eyes grows dim."

The light in Ned’s eyes grows dim. The game puts him in mourning and lumbers him with depressive, widower traits. A short time afterwards, Ned becomes ‘Chaste’. I ‘don’t feel comfortable touching other human beings’ with my wife gone.

For a time I embrace Ned’s sadness and toy with the idea of reloading an old save when Catelyn was still alive. It’s a bastard that snaps me out of my funk. One of my illegitimate children – I swear I don’t remember anything your honour – comes to me and asks to be legitimised. With Catelyn gone I incur no spousal wrath for my infidelity, so I accept the claim. I realise that although Ned might have lost his wife, he hasn’t yet lost his life: he’s still a virile young man at 38, and – more pragmatically – my two oldest sons are massive nerds blessed with some of life’s most useless traits. It’s time to put myself back on the market.

Return next Sunday for PART FOUR of the Game of Thrones diary.