File: HouseGrallnerCoA.2.png (58 KB, 615x727)

58 KB PNG

[28th Month I, 288AC - Early Morning]

“Ser Grallner do you find yourself ill?” his voice comes at a buzz, barely registering within your ears, his hand goes to touch your shoulder and you jerk away violently, receiving a perplexed yet distasteful look in response, “Ser Grallner?” Lord Benedar Belmore asks again and you ease your face, turning again to attempt to refocus.

“No my Lord, I am… I am well,” you mutter, “A poor night of sleep.”

He grunts, folding his hands over his stomach, you had hardly touched the five course breakfast that Lord Belmore had insisted upon you attending before you departed, the last course of baked sweetbread with raisins, dates, and prunes grew cold before you. He continues to speak, though you hardly hear it all the same. Mind elsewhere, unfocused, unsettled. You have a son… You could not believe it, the truth of it was somewhere lost between reality and fantasy, those born of youth and poor decision. Upon reflection you had realized long ago perhaps the decision had never been yours.

---

“What sort of man brings his daughter to the field of battle?” Ser Trevor Trant asks of you, the two of you walk through the warcamp, somewhere in the Riverlands, far away from home, “The kind that wants to marry her off, that’s who,” he scoffs, “And now he wastes you, assigning you her personal sworn sword in the rear.”

“It is a great honor,” you reply on repeated words.

“It reeks of pettiness, Ser Landon,” Trevor says, “For every day that you waste away with that girl we could be a step closer to ending this thing.”

“I am charged by the Maiden to protect those of fair and young heart, that is my sworn vow,” you respond, “To do as my Lord orders.”

Trevor stops frowning deeply, “Ser Landon, he is not your Lord. Not yet anyway, sure you may have sworn your sword to him after what happened at the Whitestone, but that does not make him your Lord. Do not again fall into this trapping, shed this yoke of protecting a fat Lord’s daughter. Win your glory as you did in the Taking of Gulltown. Become your own Lord.”

Her voice brightens the clouded thoughts that come to mind when Trevor got like this, “Good evening good Sers,” she sang sweetly with a smile.

Trevor turns his head slightly, dropping his finger, and bowing his head, “Good evening Lady Belmore, how does the camp treat you?”

She laughs, a silly thing, covering her mouth with a gloved hand, myrish lace she had told you, “Oh Ser Trant you worry too much for me, I am perfectly capable of handling myself thank you. And should I find myself lacking I do have the good Ser Landon Grallner to aid me.”

You incline your head, stiffly, and she takes your offered arm with a slight look, she dictated this encounter, hardly you, her smile was real but it was not for the purpose that Trevor thought it.

File: HouseGrallnerCoA.3.png (98 KB, 432x446)

98 KB PNG

“Now if you’ll excuse us,” she says and Trevor leaves off with nary a word, the two of you continuing walking, attempting to avoid the muck and mire of the battlefield, her free hand pulls her dress up in a bunch and you notice the boots she wore were clasped with silver, the pair you had gifted her a small smile comes to your face. She speaks, “He was trying to convince you of it again wasn’t he?”

“He was.”

“And you said what I told you?”

“I did.”

She smiles, the dimples on her cheeks folding in amongst the endless freckles, “Soon Ser Grallner. Soon my father will grant you lands and titles, I know it. You saved Cador in Gulltown, won victory and glory for his name. He is indebted to you.”

And then you may win my hand and we can be together without the veil of lies and secrecy. We may open and truthful of our love, my silver Knight… Is how this conversation ended away from prying eyes and ears, she was far too smart to say it here, and you kept your tongue guarded, better silence than slipped word. I wish to give you a son… A family… Soon, my love, soon…

---

The Belmore Household is assembled outside of the gates of Strong Song, you give it a final look, from atop Warrior, the black courser stamps at the ground impatiently, Ser Marwyn Belmore is amongst your escort, as he was upon your arrival. You a bid farewell with fanfare, bells tolling and ringing in your ears enough to pull you back to reality. Lord Belmore has pulled himself up beside your horse and you lean down to hear him over the cacophony, “Do not make yourself so sparse again Ser Grallner,” he says, “I expect to hear of your victory in Krayenport, over these heathens in your Dawntower, and your taking of Fossett Hall in the coming months, hm?”

“Yes my Lord, I swear it.”

“Good, good,” he pats the side of your horse, “Remember Knight-Commander, your victories reflect upon my House, as do your loses. I expect nothing but the best from you. I will send word when I intend to send Ser Vyell Vyvyan to familiarize yourself with our forces, and when I get in contact with Lord Bordain regarding your weapon requisitions.”

“Thank you my Lord, I shall not dishonor you.”

“I would expect no less from you Ser Grallner,” he calls over a servant holding a box upon a pillow and the lad kneels in the snow beside the two of you, Lord Belmore opens the box and pulls from it a pair of beautiful spurs, gilded with silver, the spur itself a seven pointed star, they were inlaid with etchings of bells and griffons and you almost gawk at them, “A parting gift Ser Grallner. To represent your new station as Knight-Commander,” he does you great honor putting them upon your heel with his own hands, “Wear them with pride Ser Grallner and do them justice. And allow no man to think himself your better bar those you have sworn otherwise, ambition is not a thing to suppress. Safe journeys Ser Grallner, Faith and Glory.”

File: P.LandonCoA.png (64 KB, 620x734)

64 KB PNG

You nod stiffly and he leaves off, your small train leaving the castle behind. Maffew Shett rides behind you on his mule, bounds of tomes, scrolls, and various other things strapped about him, he had been busy you realize. Ser Michel the Sisterman rides alongside Ser Bryen Belmore before a carriage that carries the latter’s family that now joined you in Whitestone Keep. Lady Sara Fossett was a good woman you think, you only hoped that her daughters would not be dismayed by the lack of warmth about your keep compared to the only other home they’ve ever known. You frown with frustration, the warmth had never returned to your lands, it had drained from it over the years as it had from you, and now in the depths of winter it dared not reignite.

Ser Marwyn Belmore rides up alongside you, and tosses a small leather satchel into your lap, it thuds on your plate and you give him a queer look, he says, “Your brother requested I give that to you. Figured it was a family heirloom if the griffon is any indication.”

Loosing the knot with your free hand you pull the pommel Ser Gerold Stone had brought before you at the beginning of the month. Your thumb rubs the etched griffon the few flakes of gold left managing to stay upon it for another day. You frown deeply, it was a fool’s thing, more suited for the wills of your younger brothers rather than yourself. It still cut at you, what had happened, what had been allowed by the blind warrior.

“Your brother has requested to join my guard, the younger one, Liam,” Marwyn says, “I’ve understanding that he was a captain amongst your forces?”

“He was,” you respond simply. At least he had taken something to heart in all of that, joining the infantry was a death sentence after what occurred between Ser Vyell and yourself. But no doubt he’d grow restless sitting about Strong Song, it was unlike him.

“Do you think of him as a good commander? A good fighter?”

You pause and look towards your hands, “If he were under more capable hand, perhaps. But under mine he was not, in truth. His hand is sure though, with training he could be more.”

Ser Marwyn clicks his tongue, “I’ll start him out under some of the others, shame he isn’t a Knight, would serve him better. All the same, I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“I would appreciate that Ser Marwyn,” you respond and receive a gruff nod in return, silence resuming thereafter.

You find your lonely cog upon the docks beneath Strong Song once again, the Spruce Sound lazes about at anchor the Captain fidgeting with his pipe as he speak to a young lad. Upon closer inspection you find it to be Eamonn Elesham, arguing with the greybeard.

File: GrallnerFamilyTree.png (153 KB, 1378x808)

153 KB PNG

“I ain’t givin’ you passage son,” the captain says spitting on the docks, “This ‘ere ship is for Ser Landon Grallner and his, and his only. Now git,” the man turns on heel and begins down the dock with a limp towards your train. He flings a couple fingers forward and some of the shiphands begin to disassemble the mass of luggage and furniture that Bryen’s family were bringing with them.

“I understand that Captain,” the boy says following hot on his heels, frustration evident on his voice, “I only wish to come with, I have the coin, Ser Grallner knows me, I swear it.”

“What don’t you ‘stand bout no boy? Now fuckin’ git!” the Captain yells swatting at him with his hat. Eamonn’s hand goes towards his sword but stops when he notices you standing over the two of them.

“What are you still doing here Eamonn?” you ask, “I thought you had left with those Knights last night?”

Eamonn bows his head deeply, “Ser Grallner, please excuse me. I find myself without sponsor nor home, those Hedge Knights took offense to my riding with you ahead of them. They said I was too big for my own good, and they refused my services. Leaving me here. I…” he frowns and gestures with his hands, “I came to offer myself to you. I know you have your own squire but perhaps I could find purpose and cause amongst your men. I require little and wish to learn from someone great such as yourself Ser. Please, I would beg of you if I knew not it was unwise.”

The Captain throws his hands up and walks away, muttering to himself and Eamonn’s eyes turn to watch him before falling to the ground below you again.

In truth, you could use more squires about the Keep, you had a handful of Knights who did not keep them and Parwyn Waynwood was only one lad, “You have the coin for your own passage?”

“I do Ser.”

“Then you will pay it,” you say, “The good Captain does not ferry for free. You may come to Whitestone Keep and if you find a place amongst my men you will be given it. All men must prove their value, is this understood?”

“Yes Ser, I promise you I will prove useful,” he says with a glimmer of joy.

“Good,” you respond, “Gather your things then, we are to make leave soon.”

The journey home to Whitestone Keep is shorter than it was to Strogn Song. Flowing downstream with a tailwind in the sails kept the journey and you being left alone with idle thoughts and worries thankfully brief. You are amongst the first to taxi to dry land, wishing to return to the Keep as soon as possible. Ser Bryen and Ser Michel remain upon the dock to help unload and safeguard their passage to Whitestone Keep. Ser Steffon Stonesifer and his guard are amongst those that welcome you, and he rides back with you from the delipidated port town with a heavier guard than you were use to.

File: Vale1.png (320 KB, 1044x384)

320 KB PNG

You ride in silence again, looking at the buildings in turn, your almshouse would need to either be built from scratch given the state of things here, or perhaps you could purchase one of the few good buildings left for a meager sum. You watch a cavalry patrol pass by and frown.

“Ser Stonesifer, why are the men out in such force?”

He clears his throat with a cough, “Ser Trant told me it best you hear it from him. But in truth Ser, I believe you deserve fair warning. We were attacked by Moon Swallows while you were away. The castle obviously remained unharmed but we lost a caravan and they burnt out a few of the still livable parts of the port town. Jonothor, your brother’s third, died in one of the attacks, attempting to protect the silver caravan, they were simply overwhelmed. By the time the cavalry rode out they had melted away into the forests leaving only ruin behind them.”

You could feel the heat upon your temples again, a slow anger built in your gut and your mind turned, those godless heathens dare to strike while you were away, like scavengers knowing you would not be there for full and righteous reprisal. You dig your new spurs into Warrior, the great black beast breaking into a gallop immediately as you race towards Whitestone Keep, Ser Stonesifer yelling behind you to wait. You arrive at the main gate and swing off your horse without missing a step, the guards there snap off their salutes but you ignore it, pushing forward into your home with little thought otherwise. Arriving in the great hall you find your Household out to greet you, a quiet and small affair, Ser Trevor Trant stands before you in gambeson with his sword upon his belt.

“Ser Landon it is good-”

You storm past him, putting a hand on his shoulder to pull him behind, “To the solar, now. Everyone is dismissed!”

The servants and guards disperse quickly to your word and Ser Trevor is upon your heels as the two of you ascend to Lord Earp’s old solar, you cast a look about it quickly and tear down a tapestry with his colors upon it.

“What happened? Why was I not informed?” you ask Trevor, not yet sitting at the desk, but pacing back and forth. You could ride out tonight, kill them all before they even knew you were upon them. You had the manpower could lead the infantry yourself, bring down a hellfire born of the Seven Hells themselves. Seven guide me, Warrior give me strength...

File: BelmoreFamilyTree.png (292 KB, 2136x768)

292 KB PNG

“Ser, please, calm yourself, this is why I told them not to tell you,” Trevor says with frustration in his voice, “It has been handled. We could not send word in time for your departure from Strong Song.”

“The death of my men, good men, is not what I would call handled Ser Trevor!” you respond with a snap, “Jonothor was a loyal and respected man. Has he even been given his last rites?”

“We thought it appropiate you do it Ser,” Trevor responds with a lowered tone, “Please Ser, sit. We’ve much to discuss. Asher has sent his reports from the foothills and this, please sit. ”

What would you like to discuss first?
>Ser Asher Harp’s reports regarding the scouting of the Dawntower Ruins
>Ser Trevor Trant’s reports regarding the ambush and attacks by Moon Swallows while you were away

Sorry about yesterday lads. 100% not going to lie to you, I got shitfaced drunk on Sunday and spent the better part of Monday being hungover and wishing for death. I wasn't any good for running and probably would have been an abusive drunk dad. So... Yeah. Sorry about that but we live now!

>>1951748
>>Ser Trevor Trant’s reports regarding the ambush and attacks by Moon Swallows while you were away

>>1951752
>>Ser Trevor Trant’s reports regarding the ambush and attacks by Moon Swallows while you were away

>>1951752
>Ser Trevor Trant’s reports regarding the ambush and attacks by Moon Swallows while you were away


Force, numbers and disposition now.

>>1951752
>Ser Trevor Trant’s reports regarding the ambush and attacks by Moon Swallows while you were away

>>1951752
>trants report

proving once again that the only good Moon Swallow is a dead one.

and that they knew we had left. spies here? or in strong song?

whose words whisper into heathen ears?

>>1951752
>>Ser Trevor Trant’s reports regarding the ambush and attacks by Moon Swallows while you were away

Alright four votes is enough on this one, to avoid having too slow of a start. Anyway, we're going to do a series of rolls here to see what happened, and what information you were able to glean from the encounter.

We will be doing a 3D for Jonothor's Warfare, 3D for the First's Fighting, and depending upon the result of both of those a 3D for Trevor's Awareness(Notice).

So first up:

>Please roll a 3d6 for Warfare(Command).
Taking Bo3.

Rolled 3, 4, 3 = 10 (3d6)

>>1951791
Hope this goes well

>>1951784
Well we know House Back is using the Moon Swallows and he probably has spies in Strong Song. So that'd be my guess.

Rolled 5, 3, 3 = 11 (3d6)

>>1951791

Rolled 4, 2, 3 = 9 (3d6)

>>1951791

>>1951824
>>1951806
>>1951797
Hardly the result I was hoping for

>>1951797
>>1951806
>>1951824
10,11,9
Not a good start, Jonothor failed which confers a -1D to Fighting. So next...

>Please roll 2d6 for Fighting.
Taking all three.

Rolled 1, 2 = 3 (2d6)

>>1951837
Fail train full steam ahead

Rolled 4, 6 = 10 (2d6)

>>1951837

Rolled 1, 5 = 6 (2d6)

>>1951837
Fug

Rolled 6, 3 = 9 (2d6)

>>1951837

Rolled 6, 4 = 10 (2d6)

>>1951840
never rolling again

>>1951840
>>1951846
>>1951847
3,10,6

Only 1 success, which confers a -1D to Trevor's Awareness Test. So one final roll:

>Please roll 2d6 for Awareness(Notice).
Taking Bo3.

>>1951840
>>1951846
>>1951847
Looks like we've lost all our forces. Great.

Rolled 5, 6 = 11 (2d6)

>>1951855
lasers

Rolled 1, 2 = 3 (2d6)

>>1951855

Rolled 6, 6 = 12 (2d6)

>>1951855

>>1951721
Hey daddy, glad you're back <3

>>1951860
>>1951861
>>1951865
11,3,12
>dat perfect roll
Well the DC was 12, did not expect you guys to hit it, so that's a consolation in this shit show.

Writing now.

Rolled 6, 5 = 11 (2d6)

>>1951855

>>1951732
Who is Cyrol to us and why is his coat of arms black?

>>1951724
Wait now he wants us take take Fossett hall back?

>>1951870
Well we seem to have had everything fucked to the nines already so small comfort.

>>1951732
one of those griffons should be down a leg Wardad

>>1951873
yes, for Bryen after letting the Fosset boy die

>>1951873
Cyrol is your uncle, he joined the Night's Watch after the Rebellion.

He always wanted you to take Fossett Hall back, after Soren is done killing himself he wanted Landon to go in and do clean up, installing Bryen and his wife as its Knight and Lady.

>>1951880
I chuckled.

Jonothor’s Warfare(Command)
DC: 12
Rolls: 10,11,9
>Failed

Grallner First Regiment’s Attack I
DC: 7
Roll: 3
>Failed

Grallner First Regiment’s Attack II
DC: 7
Roll: 10
>Success, One Degree.
>Damage: 4*1=4-2AR=2 Damage
>Ambusher’s Health: 6-2=4
>Result: Ambusher’s Retreat

Grallner First Regiment’s Attack III
DC:7
Roll: 6
>Failed

Ser Trevor Trant’s Awareness(Notice)
DC:12
Roll: 11,3,12
>Success, One Degree.
>Critical Success, +1 Degree!
>Success, Two Degrees.
You lean against the table, and fold your arms, you could not calm yourself anymore than this and Trevor is able to take the hint relatively quickly.

“I will be frank Ser, it was not good,” he begins, “They ambushed a caravan. We had maybe a score of men with it, Jonothor was leading, to return home to see his wife and children for a few days I am told. They came from the woods like a pack of wolves, the men didn’t even notice them before their arrows were cutting them down. Jonothor attempting to rally them, but they were disorganized far beyond his command at that point, they mounted a counteroffensive as well they could but the Swallows were hidden and picked them off before they reached the tree line. I was told Jonothor managed to get a few men together and lead an attack on a grouping of them, breaking their circle about the caravan. When I found him he was so riddled with arrows I couldn’t even recognize his face. But that suicide attack caused them to break and retreat. While we were about Ser Steffon Stonesifer saw the fires breaking out below the Keep and lead the garrison there, there was no fight, but he did a thorough check of the area and helped to put out the fires. The smallfolk on still filled with fear.”

Again with your damned bows showing up where they shouldn’t be, you cursed internally, “Seven…” your voice drifts, “Survivors?”

“But three, a young lad that was amongst the caravan, an orphan now, hide in a tree until we came. The outrider that ran at first sign of trouble to warn us. And one of the soldiers, badly beaten up. I’ve little doubt he’ll survive without a proper healer.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath, “Do everything we can for them.”

“I will see to it Ser.”

“Did you find anything there? Bodies, tracks?”

“I had the lads scour the forests, if they had dead they took them with them, and covered their tracks well. Asher has the scout remnants right now, we couldn’t find a trail in the snow. But… Oddly enough, they didn’t take the silver. They killed the horses and the men, but left the silver be, it was beyond odd, perhaps Jon’s last ditch attack was all that kept them from taking it. Besides that, the boy we found says he knows where they camp, apparently he was one of the boys we took from their warcamp to the northeast and placed in new homes. His mother died with the caravan, like as not the boy was the product of rape after the way we found her body, truly monsters. He pointed it out on the map with some help, it might be worth a look. And, we found a satchel,” he tears the thing from his belt and throws it to you, rough untreated leather, bound with plant fibers, you open it and find a crude map of the area. General landmarks, forests, your castle, the mine the mountains, and a path leading up through them to a lone house with a moon drawn over it.

“What is it?”

“Guessing by the men’s reactions and some light inquiry, it’s a map to the wood witch’s dwelling. I don’t think she’s just a hedge witch Ser Landon, I think she’s a Moon Swallow, their ‘Seer’ as those heathens like to call them. It is my opinion we should take our forces there and burn her out but when I questioned Asher, he said the path was too narrow to take a full army, that we’d need to take only a few men and he could lead us there. I did not like that answer.”

“Nor do I,” you respond, Ser Asher was of the North true, and he kept his Old Gods rather than your new, but if he was dealing with witches, it alarmed you greatly.

Jonothor takes his own seat, and slumps, “The First took heavy losses Ser,” he says, “That lack of discipline instilled by Lincoln and Liam led to this, I know you do not lik-”

“Enough,” you cut him off, “My brothers have decided to stay in Strong Song. I will not hear word of it again. We will find them a new Captain.”

Trevor picks at the arms of the chair and nods his head, “Ah… Of course Ser, as you say. Those men need discipline Ser, either we should find a hard Knight to drill it into them or perhaps you could take over their direct training. In truth Ser, I would request that I be allowed to lead your forces against this enemy. You are direly needed elsewhere, and I wish to prove my worth once more, allow me to take the cavalry and deal with them, tonight.”

Your fingers trace the lines of the crude drawing and you mutter words of prayer. A part of you wished to take the fight to this supposed warcamp, to burn them out with righteous fire and reclaim the last of your bows, there was still daylight left. But the other part of you remembered the trust you once held in Ser Trevor Trant, how he had been a mentor to you, and his regrets for his failings, perhaps as you had allowed Maffew to regain some of your trust you should allow Trevor to as well.

Upon the other side of your mind you did not know what to do with the First Regiment, they had been battered and the men had lost their resolve in the face of ambush, the lack of discipline had finally caught up to them and now you only had four score men with nary a hope of morale. A lesser man may dissolve them repurpose the men for other tasks but you were not willing to give up on them so easily, they simply needed proper discipline and then they could reach their potential.

A New Captain for the Grallner First Regiment:
>Send out the call for a proper Captain (Will require a Status(Reputation) roll)
>Have the men elect their new Captain themselves from amongst their ranks
>Take over the unit yourself

Attack the supposed Moon Swallow encampment:
>Lead the men yourself, you could not risk this to another’s hands
>Allow Ser Trevor Trant to lead the Cavalrymen on his own (We'll do a series of rolls as above for this)

>>1952013
>>Take over the unit yourself
>Allow Ser Trevor Trant to lead the Cavalrymen on his own (We'll do a series of rolls as above for this)

>>1952013
>>Take over the unit yourself
>>Lead the men yourself, you could not risk this to another’s hands
If only just because we need to farm XP

>>1952013
>>Take over the unit yourself

>>Lead the men yourself, you could not risk this to another’s hands

>>1952013
>Send out the call for a proper Captain (Will require a Status(Reputation) roll)
>Allow Ser Trevor Trant to lead the Cavalrymen on his own (We'll do a series of rolls as above for this)

>>1952013
>Send out the call for a proper Captain (Will require a Status(Reputation) roll)

>>let Trevor lead.

>>1952013
>send out a call

>Allow see Trevor

His rolls for warfare are better than ours.

Perhaps we could take some men and see about this Witch while they do that. Hit them all at once?

>>1952013
>>Take over the unit yourself
>Lead the men yourself, you could not risk this to another’s hands

>>1952013
>Send out the call for a proper Captain (Will require a Status(Reputation) roll)
>Have the men elect their new Captain themselves from amongst their ranks
let the men put forth their candidate, and we shall choose the best man.

>Allow Ser Trevor Trant to lead the Cavalrymen on his own (We'll do a series of rolls as above for this)

>>1952013
>Send out the call for a proper Captain (Will require a Status(Reputation) roll)

>Allow Ser Trevor Trant to lead the Cavalrymen on his own (We'll do a series of rolls as above for this)

>>1952013
>Have the men elect their new Captain themselves from amongst their ranks

>Allow Ser Trevor Trant to lead the Cavalrymen on his own (We'll do a series of rolls as above for this)

>>1951994
>“I will be frank Ser, it was not good,”

>Write in
After giving your command as Trevor makes to leave say one more thing.
"Oh and Frank. I just want to tell you good luck we're all counting on you."

Alright so it looks like putting out a call wins and allowing Trevor to lead the men. We'll do Trevor's rolls later, but right now we'll do the call.

>Please roll 5d6 for Status(Reputation).
Taking Bo3.

Rolled 3, 5, 3, 3, 6 = 20 (5d6)

>>1952073
we shall see!

Rolled 6, 1, 2, 3, 1 = 13 (5d6)

>>1952073
gains

Rolled 6, 3, 1, 2, 5 = 17 (5d6)

>>1952073

>>1952075
>>1952078
>>1952080
14,11,14

So close x2.

>>1952089
We seem to be rolling poorly. Quick someone sacrifice something to R’hllor

Speaking of rolling I just remembered we need to do a series of rolls for Asher's mission in the woods. We will need to do a 3D for Awareness(Notice), a 2D+3 for Stealth, and based upon those a 3D for Marksmanship. So first off:

>Please roll 3d6 for Awareness(Notice).
Taking Bo3.

Rolled 2, 6, 5 = 13 (3d6)

>>1952122

>>1952122
18 ez

Rolled 6, 5 = 11 (2d6)

>>1952122
Let's hope it goes better for Asher

>>1952114
>R'hllor

Shiggy.... the Seven are literally Kek.

Rolled 2, 3, 4 = 9 (3d6)

>>1952122

Rolled 4, 3, 5 = 12 (3d6)

>>1952122

Rolled 2, 1, 5 = 8 (3d6)

>>1952127
Oops that was the wrong field
I haven't rolled in too long lmao

Rolled 4 (1d6)

>>1952128
well shit i forgot the last die

>>1952126
>>1952128
>>1952131
13,11,9

Much better start for Asher. That confers a +1D to Stealth.

>Please roll 3d6+3 for Stealth.

Rolled 6, 2, 2 = 10 (3d6)

>>1952138

>>1952138
missed a die war dad, can you add the 4 to my 11?

Rolled 1, 5, 5 + 3 = 14 (3d6 + 3)

>>1952138

Rolled 5, 4, 6 + 3 = 18 (3d6 + 3)

>>1952138

Rolled 2, 3, 1 + 3 = 9 (3d6 + 3)

>>1952138

>>1952136
>>1952141
Ah hell, since I didn't notice I'll go ahead and add that on to give that 11 a 15. My bad. Which is even better for Asher though since he hits the secondary DC.

>>1952143
>>1952144
>>1952146
14,18,9
Solid 18 there, Asher is doing way better. As a note the +3 to Stealth comes from part of the Archers being the former Scouts. Anyway, that confers a +1D to Marksmanship and allows the 'Bowmen to ambush some Moon Swallows, basically playing there own game and waging a lowkey guerilla war against them. So...

>Please roll a 4d6 for Marksmanship.
Taking all 3.

Rolled 2, 4, 3, 4 = 13 (4d6)

>>1952152

Rolled 3, 6, 1, 2 = 12 (4d6)

>>1952152

Rolled 5, 5, 6, 3 = 19 (4d6)

>>1952152

>>1952159
Thanks bud

File: SerAsherHarp.jpg (186 KB, 668x930)

186 KB JPG

>>1952156
>>1952157
>>1952159
13,12,19

Very nice. Asher Harp had a killer outing on a very risky mission. High risk, high reward. Good job lads.

>>1952159
Seven be good Asher, you're a shadow that kills.

>>1952170
>high reward
Top tier
All in all I think the trip has been pretty useful, also taking into consideration what happened back home. We got money, and got fucked a little but not too bad it seems

>>1952006
>I don’t think she’s just a hedge witch Ser Landon, I think she’s a Moon Swallow, their ‘Seer’ as those heathens like to call them
Bloody witches

We should have burnt her at the stake long ago

>>1952194
Burning is a Lord of Light thing. Drowning is a Drowned God thing.

I'm sure the Septons can inform us of the proper method of disposing of witches.

>>1952275
its Dicking

>>1952290
No. Bad anon.

>>1952275
A hanging should suffice.

That or a righteous dicking

Ser Landon Grallner’s Status(Reputation)
DCs: 12,15,18
Rolls: 14,11,14
>Success, One Degree.
>Failed.
>Failed.

“Send word out as we did with Ser Stonesifer,” you say, “Try to make it with haste, the First is held together by a thin thread of Faith at the moment.”

“Of course Ser,” Trevor responds, “The rush may lead to lesser candidates, I hope you understand.”

You nod, looking to the side and out the window, perhaps four hours of daylight left, you sigh, Maffew did his part to begin repairing the rift between the two of you, Ser Trevor Trant deserved that as well, “Take the cavalry and rout them,” you say simply, “Rally them and leave soon. Ser Bryen and Michel should be able to join you.”

Trevor licks his lips and nods, “Thank you Ser, the men needed this, I needed this.”

“Do not misplace my trust Ser Trevor.”

He looks at the arm of his chair and nods, “Of course.”

“What of Asher’s report then?”

Ser Asher Harp and Whitestone Longbowmen’s Awarness(Notice)
DCs: 12,15
Rolls: 13,15,9
>Success, One Degree.
>Success, One Degree.

Ser Asher Harp and Whitestone Longbowmen’s Stealth
DC: 15
Rolls: 14,18,9
>Success, One Degree.

Whitestone Longbowmen’s Ambush I
DC: 7
Roll: 13
>Success, One Degree.
>Damage: 4*1=4-2AR=2 Damage
>Moon Swallow Raider I’s Health: 6-2=4
>Result: Successful Attack and Retreat

Whitestone Longbowmen’s Ambush II
DC: 7
Roll: 12
>Success, One Degree.
>Damage, 4*1=4-2AR=2 Damage
>Moon Swallow Raider II’s Health: 6-2=4
>Result: Successful Attack and Retreat

Whitestone Longbowmen’s Ambush III
DC: 9
Roll:19
>Success, Three Degrees.
>Damage, 4*3=12-3AR=9 Damage
>Moon Swallow Bear Warriors I’s Health: 9-9=0
>Result: Successful Attack and Retreat, Enemy Disorganized

“A lighter note,” Trevor responds, “I had intended to begin with them. Asher sends reports of great success within the field. The foothills were rife with traps, pitfalls, forward scouts, everything under the sun. Luckily the scouts with them and Asher’s own leadership were able to give them a leg up. Their forward scouts were dealt with or can be dealt with when we attack, they’ve mapped a careful route through the majority of the dangers and with any luck we’ll be able to make our attack without the Moon Swallows even knowing we’re coming. Their high ground will do them nothing. Best of all, a few, such as Carver Rivers, managed to get close enough to get a true count, some five hundred men there, all fighting ready it seems. They report a man in elaborate head dress prowling the camp as well, we assume this is their Chieftain, Coark.”

You nod your head, “And they were never found?”

>>1952299
but anon,

>>1952300
the septon said so!

“Quite the opposite,” Trevor says flipping through some papers, “Asher says they were able to hole up in a few hidden nooks and caves, from there they led strike teams to harry the enemy. First two missions they disrupted supply lines, killed a few raiders before disappearing into the forests again. But the last, they found more of the Bear Warriors.”

You tilt your head, “He did not.”

Trevor nods his head with pursed lips, “The man has something to prove it would seem. He attacked them with the full force of the ‘Bowmen. An ambush as the others had been. They routed them, their berserkers hadn’t had the chance to take their foul poultice before Asher’s men were upon them. It was a slaughter to hear him tell it, they struck them down from one hundred to perhaps two score before the rest ran. No doubt the Moon Swallows are on to us now and Asher has retreated further from the foothills and still harries their supply lines but all in all it was a great success. The foothills are cleared of the majority of their traps and men, we can launch an attack as soon as you are ready Ser.”

You stand up, scratching at the stubble on the underside of your neck, so quick it had grown back, “Where is Ser Asher now?”

“He remains in the foothills, he sent a few of the men to escort us should you desire to attack them or… Deal with this wood’s witch.”

You frown though come upon a small thing, “Ser Trevor, I assume we have room in the barracks for more men?”

“Barely, but enough, why?”

You go on to explain Soren Fossett’s plight and your agreeance to help him retake Fossett Hall, house his men in Whitestone Keep, and his vow to help you in some way in return. You leave out Lord Belmore’s wishes for the boy to die but all the same Trevor looks perturbed.

“As much as I appreciate helping the weak and weary Ser Landon, we barely get by on our own, these men will surely need to be fed and if what you tell me is true then we cannot expect this Soren Fossett to provide it for them.”

“Maffew negotiated a better trade deal for us,” you say, “We’ll have more food to go around.”

“At the cost of your almshouse and our own growth. How long do we expect them?”

You frown, though perhaps he was right, “Until Fossett Hall is dealt with. The Moon Swallow’s there are our problem as much as the one’s here. I will not broken my solemn vow.”

Trevor clicks his tongue, “As you say Ser Landon. Perhaps they can be of some use in the coming days. If I may make a recommendation?”

“Speak freely Ser.”

“Allow Asher to continue his guerrilla war in the foothills, we can resupply them with the current positioning and will be able to attack larger hosts should we receive word and thin their numbers before the main attack. It will give us time to rebuild the First, get them a new Captain, and for Soren Fossett’s men to arrive, if they wish to repay you they can start with that. This should take us two weeks perhaps, you can go to the Melee in Krayenport in the meanwhile, perhaps that will embolden them further and we can get the drop on them this time. And before you leave Asher and yourself can deal with the hedge witch, cutting off their Bear Warrior’s supply before the final battle. We need every advantage we can get in this Ser, with the men barely at three hundred and the ‘Bowmen tired from being so far afield for so long we will need reinforcements and time to organize. Attacking now is certainly an option, but if we can gain further advantage now, I say we take it.”

Ser Trevor Trant’s Plan:
>Yay, you will need to gain every advantage before the final battle
>Nay, attack now while the iron is hot

Dealing with the Hedge Witch:
>Do it now before the final battle
>Ignore her

>>1952275
Actually burning is an acceptable answer for dealing with witches in this case. The Defiance of Duskendale and its aftermath regarding the Lace Serpent, Lady Serala, who some supposed a witch or some sort gives enough precedent for burning of a witch amongst other ghoulish things.

>>1952326
>>Nay, attack now while the iron is hot
rip and tear
>>Ignore her
For now.

>>1952326
>>Yay, you will need to gain every advantage before the final battle

>>Do it now before the final battle

>>1952326
>yay

>do it now

>>1952326
Yay, BURN THE WITCH

>>1952326
>Yay, you will need to gain every advantage before the final battle

>Do it now before the final battle

>>1952326
>Yay, you will need to gain every advantage before the final battle

>Do it now before the final battle

>>1952326

>Yay

>Ignore her

Better have Asher with us to deal with her.

>>1952326
>Yay
>Do it now

>>1952326
>Yay
>Now

Aerys was a fiend for fire. He was always burning people.

A true Holy execution fit for a demon worshipper would be dismemberment. A piece for each of the seven.

>>1952326
>Ser Trevor Trant’s Plan:
>>Yay, you will need to gain every advantage before the final battle

>Dealing with the Hedge Witch:
>>Do it now before the final battle

>>1952350

I would rather we end this now, so i am going to change my yay for a quick attack. We need to have that Dawntower secured a soon as possible.

File: sallet1.jpg (67 KB, 430x640)

67 KB JPG

>>1952326
>>Yay, you will need to gain every advantage before the final battle
>Do it now before the final battle

The witch dies tonight

Alright pretty easy win for yay and dealing with the witch.

So what that means for everyone is.
>Ser Trevor Trant will deal with the Moon Swallow camp tonight with the cavalry. You'll do his series of rolls for that after you return from dealing with the witch.
>Ser Trevor Trant will help to rebuild the Grallner First Regiment and get a Captain for you so they'll be at full force for the final battle.
>Ser Asher Harp will continue his guerrilla war on the Moon Swallows in the foothills. He'll have another series of rolls with some bonuses that we'll do after Ser Landon Grallner returns from the Melee in Krayenport.
>Soren Fossett and his men will be enlisted to help with the attack on the Dawntower Ruins, they will arrive in two weeks. This may prompt him to ask for you to attack Fossett Hall sooner.
>Ser Landon Grallner will deal with the witch tomorrow with Ser Asher Harp's help, it'll take the better part of the day.
>Ser Landon Grallner will go to the Melee in Krayenport in a week's time, leaving the House to Maffew and Trevor for the two days he'll be gone.

Going to grab a quick bite to eat and let the dogs out.

Everyone good with how things are going? We're doing a lot of rolling I use to do behind the scenes so I hope people aren't too worn out on it. It's keeping me a bit more honest as well. I think it's good you're getting some good with the bad makes things more difficult and the decisions have more weight or at least that's how I see it

>>1952413
>It's keeping me a bit more honest as well
Were you a cheating bastard before?

>>1952413
I'm cool with the rolls. Haven't even rolled yet anyway.

>>1952413
It's fine wardad, but like the other anon asked were ya cheating us before or something?

>>1952431
>>1952440
Nah the opposite, I cheated myself a couple times and fudged into towards you guys because it made the story better or you guys had done something to deserve it with your actions. That was all in Malroy mind, but yeah. Honestly, it wasn't anything major like the archery contest, just smaller things.

>>1952445
Well, still I think you made the right choice by having us roll. Enjoy your dinner

>>1952445
Still better to have some people roll so we can all bitch about qst dice and do enjoy yer dinner

>Landon dies
>We end up as playing four year old Ormund Perryn
>Word reach our home about the death of Landon
>Mother looks sad and hug us very tightly and tells us she loves us.

>>1952465
Odds are we would probably be playing Landon's elder sister. Since she's a PC level character and has more direct ties. Liam and Lincoln would either turn lordship down or she'd need to machinate to get them removed
(because they would be terrible at it) leaving inheritance to her and her children.

“It is a good plan, solid and true,” you say after a few moments of thought, “Ser Trant, I need to be able to trust you as my Knight-Commander, my castellan, my… once again. This is a small step towards that. You will need to make leave within the hour.”

The elder Knight stands up and bows his head respectfully, “I swear it Ser Landon. Thank you for allowing me to regain your trust once more.”

“Seven guide you, may the Warrior lend you his strength and the Mother her protection.”

“And also to you Ser,” he responds and briskly leaves the room. You take a deep breath, watching the light snowfall outside. Things were calm for a moment but your mind did not rest. Worry still sat upon it. Mind was leagues away. What did she gain by telling you such things? Was it born of anger yet still that you denied her Lord husband and instead took the lands and titles offered by her father. How wroth she had been when you told her you would be returning to Whitestone Keep, she had begged you to stay to discard the titles, and stay with her. But the truth of the matter was it was she who had told you to reach for them, to indebt her father to you so that he may land you and make you his banner. It was all her plan… And you could do little to help her father’s machinations otherwise. Why now, of all times should she come back into your life, with words of love and orders of wait, and the possibility of having a son. He would be by all accounts be considered a Perryn now, the first-born son. But if he was yours, by some small sliver of fate… What did you do? Acknowledging him would ruin his life and the reputation of his mother. He would hate you for it perhaps she would as well. And bastards… They were an affront to the Seven, how could such a thing be reconciled before your time before the Father for your judgment?

The mind moved slowly, the cold of the day slowing the warmth of wroth and anger, it hurt with the thoughts. You idly leaf through the pile of letters upon Lord Earp’s old desk. Well you supposed your desk now, not that the eagle’s carved into it did anything to make you think otherwise. Perhaps it was time to be done with it. You see the silver bell of House Belmore several times, unopened, a single letter from the Lynderlys to the east, and another from the Corbrays to the southeast. You chuckle, it had been awhile since you had heard from Ser Lyn Corbray, a good man with honor and skill far beyond his age, a true knight if you ever met one. And a virtuous one at that, his refusal to take women despite their sordid attempts to fling themselves at him was something you admired of the man. Perhaps he too often got too far into his cups, but every man had his vice you supposed. You wondered what he was up to, mayhaps you would see him in Krayenport or one of the other Melees, no doubt Lady Waynwood would invite such a man to compete for the hand of her daughter.

Nodding to yourself with aimless reflection you pick out a letter with the Frey seal and shudder slightly putting it behind the others. No letters from Riverfoot Keep you find, though you can only assume as much as the words were lost upon you regardless. With a frustrated sigh you pick up the oldest letter, one from House Belmore and open it sitting down behind the desk and looking at it with strained eyes.

“De… De… Dear. Dear, Ser Landon Grallner,” you read aloud to the audience of the Whitestone Keep’s old silent ghosts.

>Spent 10 EXP, Language(Common) 2 to 3 training begun, 9 months

---

[29th Month I, 288AC - Early Morning]

Your time in the makeshift chapel is brief this morning. Prayer was put to good purpose and you donned your full plate and sharpened your sword, and doing minor details upon your new shield. Ser Asher’s men had told you the night before that you would need to make leave early to link up with him in the foothills before you could travel to the hedge witch’s hut. The trip was easily of the day as it was according to them, as you followed after upon Warrior, silent prayer upon lip. Now more than ever you found a need to surround yourself with your Faith. The Mother’s protection was whom your prayers often found themselves today, the Warrior’s hand was among them, but magic and those that dabbled with higher mysteries were a thing foreign to you, in truth, there was a fear in the back of your throat that despite your best efforts could not be swallowed.

You find Asher Harp in a save dwelling with two score men, their bristly defense that you had seen at the Skirmish of the Silver Mine earlier this month greets you. You give Wat the Scout a short nod as you pass by, seeing that the lad had found his place amongst the archers was a good feeling in truth, perhaps it would walk alongside your atonement for his wrongful imprisonment. You swing off your horse and Asher shakes his head, “I tell ‘em, no horses, no plate maille, no bloody colors. And what do you show up in? Upon a bloody horse, in bleedin’ plate maille, and with that damn cape drapped over your shoulders. Fucking Hells it’s good to see you Lan.”

The two of you embrace quickly, Asher laughing and patting your shoulder as you break, “I understand things have been going well?” you ask.

“Figured Ser Trevor would have given you the sitrep already,” Asher responds as he goes further into the cave, “Aye, better than. Be real honest with you, the scouts have proven themselves invaluable, Carver Rivers and Wat have both stepped up big time for me. Surely we’re just giving ‘em a thorn in their side now. But we got some of their traps disabled, planning on a big strike using their own weapons against ‘em,” he stops standing over a man in hide and war paint, “Swallower here has been so kind to lend us his tongue, turns out they’re expecting some reinforcements from the north.”

“Likely from Fossett Hall,” you say and kick the man in the foot which rouses him, he growls and gnashes at you from his chains through you hardly give him a step, “A Bear Warrior?”

“Aye, turns out whatever they’re pumping into this boys is addictive as all Hells,” Asher says, “We kept ‘im locked down here for a couple nights after the raid, let the old wound fester a bit and the withdrawals to set it. First time we offered him a hit in exchange for information and a fresh bandage he sung like a… Well like a bird, excuse the phrasing. Ain’t torture exactly, his pain is entire his own fault.”

He looks at you with rabid eyes, his voice guttural and muffled behind the gag. You give him a long look before turning to Asher, “And what good is he now?”

“Ain’t much, his head is mush by now, but turns out Swallower here knows the way to the hedge witch’s roost. Ain’t that something? When Trevor told me ‘bout that map I figured between the two we got a pretty good idea of where she’s at. And I figures, you got some righteous Seven devoted smiting to do.”

You chuckle, though a relief set in, Asher had his connections to the Old Gods to be sure, but he was not in league with heathens nor witches, just had his own plans. You nod your head, scratching at your stubble, “Let’s get to it then.”

“Aye Ser,” Asher says with an easy smile, “Marc, you take command for the day. Wat, Cross, Orson! On me and Ser Grallner! We’re going witch huntin’ boys!”

---

The five of you carefully pick through the snow and mountain of your domain, the forests grow thicker here but not so much as to be worth the effort to log them, too far away and too slow to grow. The three Archer-Scouts lead the way, Wat in the lead with the surest foot, Asher stays by your side making sure you keep your own in the dangerous tangles and unsure rocks of the sheer mountain paths. As you journey Asher tells you tales of the Old Gods, in the North a Hedge Witch is not the reviled thing she is here, just as uncommon to be sure, but the Northern Mountain Clans like the Flints still revered her wisdom. A Seer was a woman that saw the green dreams according to him, that plucked the strings of fate with her old wizened bones. Nonsense you would tell him, women of heathen faith, they were an abomination upon this earth to be stricken with Sevenly guided hand and sword. And while he would laugh, you could tell there was some fear in him as well.

Day turns to twilight and to dusk not soon after as you journey through the Mountains of the Dawn. You can feel your muscles beginning to ache from the weight of the plate upon your back, the new shield wore heavier upon your arm than your old one ever had. The hooting of an owl in the dark nearly spooks you, his sharp eyes following you as you walk past his roost.

It is nearly night before you see the wisps of smoke lingering in the still air, a cottage hidden away in a mountain crack glows with soft warmth from the fire within. You look about and don’t see your three guides a worry setting in, Asher whistles and looks back expecting a whistle in return but only receives his own echo.

“Something isn’t right here,” Asher says, “They shouldn’t have seen us coming…”

You jostle your longsword free, halfway drawn upon your approach towards the cottage. Asher is first, his bow half cocked by his side, the two of you take careful steps in the snow, the crunch of it the only noise that meets your ears. Eyes look about nervously, this place felt heavy, and dark. The walls of the mountains about you felt as if they could close in at any moment, and upon them you finally realize that they are not as still as the night. Shadows upon them dance and move, underneath the full moon of the night, the paintings upon them reach for the skies. You swivel only to find more upon the other side and a dread begins to set in. What foul unholy world had you set foot upon? The Seven’s Light felt distant, its warmth draining away with every step towards the cottage’s door.

The two of you reach the door with breath coming short and silence upon your tongues. Asher’s hand reaches out to press upon it and when it gives ever so slightly he nods towards you. Breach and clear. The two of you had done it before a thousand times. Now was no different even under this unholy cloud. He holds his fingers up.

Three.

Two.

One.

The two of your burst in, weapons raised and at the ready. Asher’s bow drawn to full length, your sword upon the top of your shield in your defensive stance. But it was empty. Cold. No fire burned in here despite what you had seen from the outside. It looked as if it had been abandoned for years even. The two of you turn towards each other, taking a half of the cottage to search carefully each. You kick over a pot and it shatters, old grey dirt spreading on the floor.

“What is this place?” Asher asks though your eyes fall upon the shadow that comes from the door and lands upon him. Your heart beats are heavy as you turn to regard a woman standing in full dress at the doorway. A wooden between her hands, and a mask of pure white bones, feathers, and animal hide in the shape of some nightmarishly overgrown bird its beak standing two feet from her head and pointed towards you both with multiple sets of antlers worn upon her head. She takes a step and the two of you enter your guards once again.

“Not another step you damned wit-” your voice catches in your throat.

“Sal mun fer rok. Cral mor tok sen,” she responds taking her steps still, her hand raises towards you with a dagger upon it, and she slashes her arm, blood running from it free as she picks a bag from her side. The two of you stand still, as if unable to move, you scream for your body to react but it does nothing as she continues to chant, “Sal mun fer rok. Cral mor tok sen.”

Your mind races as she draws ever nearer, allowing the blood from her arm to drain upon her palm as she approaches Asher, she sprinkles some greyish powder upon her hand and mixes it with her fingers, you can see the strain upon him as he attempts to regain control of himself. Her fingers press upon her own lips with the foul mixture and she presses them to his. You watch as his eyes go blank, rolling back into his head and he falls to the ground with foam upon his lips. Your voice screams but it is as if you have no mouth in which to do so with, your heart continues its heavy thumping as she draws nearer to you, repeating the process upon chanted lip in sync with your heart.

Seven protect me for I am there child.

She smears the mixture upon her lips.

May the Father bless me with rightousness and just cause.

She lowers your guard, removing your helmet. You can smell burnt wood upon her and death.

May the Mother protect me as she does all her children with her warm embrace.

She draws near, your mind continues its prayers until the cracked flesh of her wind torn lips meet your own, the foul poison taking root as she draws away. Your mind goes blank, vision blurs and soon all is dark the world coming as a whisper.

“Sal mun fer rok. Cral mor tok sen.”

>Please roll 5d6 for Endurance.

Rolled 6, 1, 1, 5, 1 = 14 (5d6)

>>1952622
dice please be good

Rolled 1, 3, 2, 5, 1 = 12 (5d6)

>>1952622

Rolled 1, 2, 1, 4, 6 = 14 (5d6)

>>1952622

Rolled 5, 6, 2, 4, 4 = 21 (5d6)

>>1952622
>mfw Wardad just went full dark voodoo magic

I did not see that coming from him. Legit spooped.

>>1952622

Should have brought our dog with us.

>>1952627
>>1952633
>>1952639
you've got to be fucking shitting me

>>1952658
hopefully it's only a Hard dc so we can pop Andal and get out.

>>1952664
Andal only works on Fighting tests

>>1952713
The +2 works on any tests actually . The reroll is fighting only.

Ser Landon Grallner’s Endurance
DC: 15
Rolls: 14,12,14
>Failed
>Blood of the Andals activated, +2=16
>Success, One Degree.
>The poison is slowed...

“Lan…” her voice was sweet in your ears despite its distance.

“Oh Landon, wake up love,” it whispered.

“Come on Landon, this isn’t where you end, my silver Knight has more in him than that.”

“Cassondra!” you yell jolting up. Where am I, you think. This is not the cottage. No it was a hall, a tower perhaps. Somewhere that felt far away yet it was not. You look about and find yourself surrounded by seven men clad in heavy plate. Gold with blue capes upon their shoulders, their helmets in the shape of griffon’s heads. Each holds a sword before him pointed towards the ground.

“Ser Landon Grallner we do charge you to be just,” a voice booms and you find yourself upon your knees, clad in the same wear as them.

“We do charge you to protect all innocents.”

“Of those young and fair of heart.”

“To be the arm of the Faith in battle, shroud in their Light.”

You lips move upon their own, eyes laid upon a blade of beauty that you had never known yet felt as if you always had its blade a blue of the deep sea, its ornament gold down to the pommel where a griffon etched in gold yelled in defiance, “I do so swear.”

The sharp twang of a sword pulls your attention to a man dressed in red, gold, and black, his blade thrusts into the man beside him. Though none go to move as he continues to strike them down, again and again in the circle of hellish slaughter before he reaches you and places his blade upon the one laid before you, and with a single thrust shatters the thing into a thousand pieces as he laughs, “Remember your loyalties.”

---

“Landon get up,” her voice comes again, “Please love, I beg of you get up. This poison is killing you. You need to save yourself.”

The world is dark this time, it smelt of wood and dirt, the sound of a thousand horses reach your ears before they do and as you stand looking at the grove of oak trees standing proud and tall and old you begin to feel the heat upon the back of your neck. The forest begins to burn and you suddenly feel the rush of the herd coming down upon you, hundreds, perhaps thousands of black horses gallop around you. Screaming in fear of the fire, some catching ablaze, but continue to run all the same. You fall to the ground, and shelter your head from them and the overwhelming heat. Though in a moment it is gone and you look up to see a fiery red horse standing over you, bridling with muscle, its nostrils flare with fire. It rears and you attempt to scramble away but its hooves fall upon you turning the world to darkness once more.

---

“Fine, you stubborn boy. If you won’t do it for me do it for Ormund. He deserves to know his Father. To learn what it is to be a man. To know love! Get up Landon. I SAID GET UP!”

The world is grey. Dusty and war torn. Bodies lie about you, turning to grey sand the moment they are stricken down. Two armies wage war against one another and you watch from the hill as a man with sword in hand rallies his grey warriors against the others. The hand turns black and smokes, cracked as if it had been set ablaze though he hardly stops as he cuts through the other men. He roars, like a beast. But is soon overwhelmed, men stopping their fighting as a grey giant with hammer in hand walks down the battlefield, a hammer held aloft between both hands. The black handed man attempts to fight him off but a kick to the chest sends him reeling and he falls to the ground. The grey giant rounds his hammer over his head and brings it down with so much force it cracks the black handed warrior. His screams turning ever more beastial escape with black smoke from his mouth, like a dragon’s dying breath. Red begins to leak from the man, turning the field red with blood and the sky black with smoke.

---

All you can hear is sobbing, “Landon… Please… I love you.”

>Please roll 3d6 for Will.

Rolled 5, 2, 2 = 9 (3d6)

>>1952725

Rolled 4, 2, 3 = 9 (3d6)

>>1952725

Rolled 2, 6, 3 = 11 (3d6)

>>1952725

>>1952727
>>1952728
>>1952731
Well shit

>>1952733
There's always destiny points I suppose

>>1952727
>>1952728
>>1952731
And I forgot to put the +3 at the end there for the previous success, because someone mentioned Blood of the Andals which I had totally forgotten about and I had to changed it at the last minute.
So results are:
12,12,14

>>1952737
I am so glad I mentioned that.

Ser Landon Grallner’s Will
DC: 12
Rolls: 12,12,14
>Success, One Degree.
>The poison is slowed… You begin to gain control of yourself again…

You get up of your own volition this time, the world is dark but the sobbing stops. You look about and go for your sword but find nothing there, “Where am I?”

“You are here and you are there. You are lost upon the melody. The song upon your lip you swear you know just so very closely out of reach so much so that it itches,” Cassondra’s voice answers.

“Why..?”

“Am I the one talking to you?” she laughs, the silly thing, “I don’t know love, this is your dream.”

---

You hear the soft sound of bells in the distance, turning your head towards the mountains where two towers sit. Your longsword is in your hands, you are armed with your plate maille and tower shield. You begin to walk towards the towers, and slowly a beast comes into view, chained between them. It is an ungodly sight, some nightmarish brute the size of a castle, clad in bronze armour and stuck in place by iron chains. Its eyes upon, a striking yellow and it bellows rousing itself from sleep. The creature roars and bounds towards you, attempting to rip the the chains from its arms. Your body’s muscle memory kicks in and you assume your defensive stance, standing resolute against the roaring slobbering creature. But just before its first claw reaches you it is torn back, the chains winding towards the towers again. It screeches and hollers at the pale blue crescent moon that comes into view from behind shrouding clouds.

---

They’re closer this time the bells, they ring true but only on the fringes of your ears. Instead all you hear is the roar of a shadowcat as it it slashed across the chest by another. Falling from the white mountain onto the spikes below. Hundreds of them claw their way up the mountain, some skewered by spikes, otherwise bloody and beaten by claw marks, and some still young and frsh as if they had spawned of nothing. Atop the mountain stands a single lone shadowcat, roaring in defiance of its enemies, slashing, biting, kicking, do all it can to stay upon its mountain. You feel a draw to help it, attempting to will yourself towards it but alas find yourself stuck within the sky, calling out for it to watch behind to little avail. Three of the beasts ambush its flank, ripping, tearing flesh from limb. Another comes up in the front ripping its throat out with a single bite, they all begin to gang up upon the poor beast until his cries are no more than a whimper and its body limp and bloody upon the ground. You feel a tear upon your eye and as it falls it dashes the ruins of the shadowcat and from that grows something glorious with warmth and light. A birds screech echoes throughout the mountains and from the remains of the lone shadowcat is birthed a golden griffon that takes to the sky with murderous intent upon its enemies.

---

The bells are louder this time, closer growing still, but it is not those that bring you from waking nightmare. No it is the feeling of metal upon steel. Your repose, your sword unlocking and thrusting itself into another man. You stand upon the field of battle drenched in blood, sweat, piss. The taste of iron is upon your lips. You are certain that the wounds will fester, that death is surely to come, yet you continue fighting on. Men of red. Men of blue. Men of all colors come to challenge you and all are slain, cut down without a single thought otherwise. You begin to feel slower, your head rings from the bells that do not cease their tolling, you look down and squint to find yourself knee deep in water. But yet you continue, pushing forward, killing with little remorse as the water rises to your chest. Your sword strikes a man’s throat and he utters words you cannot hear over the bells as they grow louder and louder. Another man dies to the tip of your shield as it crushes his nose. The water is to your eyes now and for a moment all you hear is silence. Bodies float around you, lifeless, their eyes dead. But their mouths begin to move, whispering into your ears.

“Butcher… Dog… Brute… Turncloak… Traitor… Godless… Butcher. Butcher. Butcher.”

You attempt to cover your ears, but the voices do not stop there, they continue until your sword lashes out in anger silencing the corpse once more. The slaughter is a slow thing, moving towards the endless black abyss. You feel something move against your leg and look down, watching a golden tentacle slither away, as you look about hundreds of the tendrils slip away from sight before you hear a terrible screech and the creature hurls itself your way. Your muscles remember and you take your defensive stance.

“The Warrior guides my hand.”

>Please roll 8d6+3 for Fighting (Long Swords).

Rolled 5, 6, 5, 1, 3, 6, 5, 4 + 3 = 38 (8d6 + 3)

>>1952833

Rolled 4, 3, 4, 6, 1, 6, 6, 3 + 3 = 36 (8d6 + 3)

>>1952833

Rolled 6, 1, 1, 2, 6, 4, 6, 5 + 3 = 34 (8d6 + 3)

>>1952833

>>1952839
30
>>1952842
29
>>1952844
30

>>1952839
>>1952842
>>1952844
30,29,30

>>1952848
>>1952853
How are you guys getting these?

>>1952860
Landon rolls 5d+3B fighting
don't know why we got the Plus 3.

That said we take the 5 best out of 8

Just saying 30 is basically our maximum range and it's going to hurt the fuck out of whoever we fight.
Even Bordain in his hax armor would likely be feeling this.

Ser Landon Grallner’s Attack I
DC:???
Roll:30
>Success?.
>Damage: 5*?=?-???AR=???
>What is dead may never die.

Your sword thrusts into the maw of the beast, but it snaps and tears, rending the thing in two. You are thrown to the ground, your arm a mangled mess of blood and metal. The creature rounds and you pull yourself up.

Ser Landon Grallner’s Attack II
DC:???
Roll:29
>Success..?
>Damage…?
>What is dead may never die.

The fullness of its body weight hits you. Pinning you to the ground with endless tentacles. They tear at your plate, at your clothes, your flesh. But you do not know the pain. You remain resolute.

Ser Landon Grallner’s Attack III
DC: Seven protect me for I am their son…
Roll: I am just.
>Damage: I protect the innocents.
>Health: Those of young and fair heart.
>Result: I AM THE ARM OF THE FAITH IN BATTLE, SHROUDED IN THEIR LIGHT!
>The poison is stilled… Your body is yours again fully… The Light shines upon you...

Your voice does not crack nor waiver, the words of your vows do not end as you sing in defiance to the monster that attempts to bring your world to darkness. No, what is dead shall remain dead, your voice screams, unrelenting and creature screams back in pain as light begins to illuminate the darkness about you.

“I AM THE RIGHTOUS SWORD OF THE FAITH! I FEAR NO EVIL. I FEAR NO DARKNESS! FOR I AM SHROUD IN THEIR LIGHT!!!”

---

“You’re so close love,” her voice whispers.

“I’m going to miss you when you leave…”

“Your voice… Your songs…”

She begins to hum a tune you knew. But it isn’t her voice. You’ve returned to the mountains where the two towers of ivory stand, the bronze clad beast held between them. Though now he is smaller, your own size. Under pale waning moonlight he sits. Cradling a girl in his arms. Humming that tune that sat so close yet so very far upon your lips. He looks at you but turns when the bells begin to play again.

---

“Promise me you won’t forget Landon.”

“Our love… Our family…”

“I promised you one day I would give you a son…”

You stand upon the Rotunda, home, in the Whitestone. Higher than it ever had been before. Seven men stand upon the planks as the wind howls about you. They all turn to face you. Each face a remembered man. A Grafton, a son. A Shett. An unknown boy. Knights. Lords. All those that died by your hand that fateful night in Gulltown. Seven men. Seven glories. Lauded praise and accolades. Yet you find yourself drawn to the eighth plank, noose hung about neck. You watch a pair of eagles fly by, their caws common words.

“We Remember our Loyalties.”

The planks drop.

---

“This isn’t your family.”

You look around, a room of portraits. Your sister. Your brothers. Father, mother, uncle. All. Staring at you from painted canvas.

“I am your family.”

Your brother’s portrait turns to flame. It reminded you of her hair.

“Ormund is your son.”

Your father’s picture alights. Mother’s not soon after.

“We belong together Landon. Don’t leave us.”

Leianna’s picture washes away to watery blue, like her eyes. Cyrol’s turns black like his fate.

“Give in.”

The room quiets, flames and rot fall away and you find yourself staring into a mirror. A portait of yourself in the realest sense.

“No,” you whisper, “You are not her.”

The frame begins to melt, the picture turns from you to some horrible abomination. It begins to screech, “I GAVE HER TO YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL WRETCH! A FINAL PEACE BEFORE I LET YOU DIE!”

You find your sword in your hand again, your armour begins to assemble itself upon your body, as if done by ghostly hand. Your shield finds its place by your side and is lofted into place as your helmet encloses your head.

“It is not my time to die yet you damned witch,” you say, “I am the righteous sword of the Faith. I fear no evil! I fear no darkness! FOR I AM SHROUDED IN. THEIR. LIGHT!!!”

Your sword thrusts into the mirror, shattering it and the creature screams in tongues unknown to you. Its wretched form contorts the flame of its hair turning to embers and soon dust, the blue if its eyes draining away like morning dew from summer sun. You twist your sword, your prayer unrelenting and with endless resolve. The world begins to shatter about you as the mirror did. And you can feel the warmth of the morning sun upon your cheeks again.

Three men at the doorway, warriors. Moon Swallows. Animals. They deserved to die. Your body begins to move again of its own accord, eyes hazy but you see Asher slumped in a corner. If the Seven were good they would not take your dear friend from you now. The Bear Warriors see you stirring, and stare at you with abject horror, as if you were a man dead.

But no, now was not your time.

>Please roll 8d6+3 for Fighting(Long Swords).
Taking all three.

Rolled 2, 3, 4, 3, 1, 6, 1, 5 + 3 = 28 (8d6 + 3)

>>1952969
>this fucking dream sequence
What the fuck just happened.

Rolled 3, 5, 5, 3, 5, 2, 2, 2 + 3 = 30 (8d6 + 3)

>>1952969

Rolled 2, 2, 5, 4, 1, 6, 6, 6 + 3 = 35 (8d6 + 3)

>>1952969

Rolled 3, 4, 1, 4, 2, 8 + 3 = 25 (6d8 + 3)

>>1952969

Rolled 5, 2, 3, 4, 2, 6, 6, 6 + 3 = 37 (8d6 + 3)

>>1952655
>>1952966
>>1952969
Moral of story: always bring the doggo to assassinations, and the power of love and faith can banish voodoo magic.

>>1952976
24
>>1952977
24
>>1952979
30

>>1952981
The other moral is that you should wait with writing long lines of text when you roll because you could be wasting a 37

>>1952988
he rolled the same as you did effectively, a 30

>>1952986
Thank you.

>>1953000
Not a problem boss.

>>1952990
what's the rules on that? How are points deducted?

>>1953065
we have a fighting skill of 5
We have a long swords specialty of 3

5+3= 8

So we roll eight dice and take the top 5 dice for totals. I am assuming the plus 3 is from the seven backing Landon up.

Ser Landon Grallner’s Attack I
DC:9
Roll:24
>Success, Four Degrees.
>Damage: 5*4=20-3AR=17
>Bear Warrior I’s Health: 9-17=-8
>Result: Bear Warrior I dies.

Your sword finds purchase soon enough, a quick few steps to their lax guard and it strikes the first in the throat. You slide it out after a quick twist, his gurgling and sputtering waking the other into action. They both roar and grab the closest weapon to them, though it matters little. The first batters a stool of your shield but a quick repose sends his arm flying and him reeling to the ground. The second attempts to grapple with you but is warded off with a side step.

Ser Landon Grallner’s Attack II
DC:9
Roll:24
>Success, Four Degrees.
>Damage: 5*4=20-3AR=17
>Bear Warrior II’s Health: 9-17=-8
>Result: Bear Warrior II dies.

The savage stumbles to the ground, though your shield does the rest of the work, cracking into his back. His voice cracks with pain, and you are sure you just broke his tailbone. Your sword rounds and swings horizontally, cutting his head from his neck in a single easy motion. The last Warrior has found his mattock and attempts to duel you, but he is no match without that’s witch’s brew. He is clumsy and all brawn, but no measure nor thought. He overextends and you dig your sword into his bare arm, twisting through the muscle as your release and take a step back in your defensive stance. He roars and rips at his own flesh, tasting his blood before charging once more.

Ser Landon Grallner’s Attack III
DC:9
Roll:30
>Success, Four Degrees.
>Damage: 5*4=20-3AR=17
>Bear Warrior III’s Health: 9-17=-8
>Result: Bear Warrior III dies.

But your blade is faster, it finds purchase in his chest and slides from tip to hilt through him with ease. His eyes are crazy and he looks half animal but a quick twist of your blade and pushing the man off your shield ends him there. The cottage is a bloodbath now. And you take in deep rapid breaths. Your vision blurs slightly, the contusion having not healed entirely and you feel incredibly queasy. The bile comes quickly and you find yourself on bended knee vomiting your guts out upon the floor. Poison, it was poison. Not magic… Just the madness brought on by a quickened poison, you keep telling yourself. But attempt to surpress the beginning, of being made a statue of.

You look over at Asher who is still unconscious and crawl towards him. Seven please, not him, not your only true friend. Please spare him….

You roll him on his back and check his breathing, short, shallow, he is close to death. You were no healer, there would not be time to get him to one either. You look about the room, for anything but it was all foreign to you. It is not until you look upon your own bile that you come to the only possible solution. You place him on his side you open his mouth and remove your gauntlet. You stare at your two fingers and pray to Seven you do not kill him.

>Please roll 2d6+3 for Healing.

File: IMG_1404.jpg (557 KB, 2536x3087)

557 KB JPG

>>1953078
Ahhh gravy.

Rolled 5, 4 + 3 = 12 (2d6 + 3)

>>1953087

Rolled 2, 3 + 3 = 8 (2d6 + 3)

>>1953087
>Seven please, not him, not your only true friend. Please spare him….
How tragic.

Rolled 5, 5 + 3 = 13 (2d6 + 3)

>>1953087

Rolled 3, 3 + 3 = 9 (2d6 + 3)

>>1953087
If you take asher dad I swear to christ

Rolled 1, 4 + 3 = 8 (2d6 + 3)

>>1953087

>>1953096
>>1953097
>>1953100
12,8,13

Not to worry friends.

Rolled 1, 6 + 3 = 10 (2d6 + 3)

Ser Landon Grallner’s Healing
DC: 12
Rolls: 12,8,13
>Success, One Degree.

You close your eyes and thrust your fingers into his throat, Asher gags and you hold true, praying on silent lip. You feel the bile before you hear it and loose your fingers from his throat and allow the poison to expel itself from his stomach. He begins to cough and you hold him on his side, patting his back for lack of idea of what to do otherwise. Your mother’s burping of infants being your only frame of reference. He sputters and coughs again and again before his eyes finally open and he pulls himself up to one arm, and spits, wiping away the spittle on his lips.

“By the bloody Old Gods and New…” he mutters and you have no reaction other than to chuckle. The Seven were good. They spared a good man today. They guided you back with their light. The sun begins to crest the horizon and you can feel the true warmth of the morning on your back. You can feel the darkness, the heaviness from the cottage lifting as if it were a dark veil. Hefting Asher up onto your shoulder you exit through the front, and see Wat, Orson, and Cross all with their bows drawn on the witch who inches back from the light of the day as it slowly creeps up the mountain.

“Fucking…” Asher mutters, “Fucking witches.”

“We thought we done lost you milords!” Wat yells, “Dont know who this woman right is but… She looks a witch to me!”

Asher pushes off of you and slumps down against the cottage freeing your arm to draw your sword once more and place it at the nap of the old crone’s neck. She freezes, trying to push back ever so slightly to be outside of the sun’s glare.

“That’s because she is,” you say with a slur in your voice, “Witchcraft is an abomination. It has no place upon my lands nor those so blessed by the Seven’s holy light. For your crimes you shall be punished, witch.”

>What to do with the Witch?
Idea include: Burning her at the stake, disembowelment, public execution, private execution, hanging, beheading, etc. Go crazy.

>>1953149
>public execution
>Burning her at the stake

>>1953157
yep

>>1953149
>Burning her at the stake,

>>1953149
Stoned

>>1953149
>Burning her at the stake
>public execution

Should we gag her?

>>1953149
>public execution,
>>1952353
Supporting this idea..

>>1953176
definitely, and bind her hands strongly

>>1953149
Push her into the sunlight. Publicly execute her after listing her offenses which include, Aiding the enemy, assaulting us, assualting our men, dabbling in the dark arts, and desecrating the land with her blasphemy.


We could burn her but personally I woule personally hang her the burn the corpse.

>>1953176
No but pull out her tounge out with a pair of tongs.

WE should put out her eyes and tongue and remove her hands.

Guys. Just burn her. No need to do all of these detours.

>>1953157
This. Make it a public spectacle.

>>1953250
we should burn down her house though, just as a gesture to the birdfuckers

>>1953250
He's a witch.

>>1953149
Give her to the church and warn them she is dangerous

>>1953268

Yeah let’s do that.

If the faith has a route or guidelines we should do whatever it says. It's IC and sweet sweet faith points

We better call for the witchsmeller just to be sure.

>>1953329
Basically, in this case, fire is acceptable and people saying to take out eyes, hands, tongues, etc. nailed the Faith requisites for a good old-fashioned witch burn.

Sure fire is more of a R'hollor thing. But cleansing holy fire ordained by a man of the Faith? Now that's some good shit.

>>1953331
Just weigh her against a duck.

>>1953343
>>1953331
This isnt needed. She literally threw a curse upon us. Not to mention she is allied with teh Mountain Clan that we are at war with.

>>1953359
Not want to use ways of identifying witches? Me thinks you might be a witch too!

>>1953343
But what if the duck is a witch?

>>1953384
Only if it's made of wood.

>>1953409
A wooden duck animated by witchcraft then.

You people stop it or i will take my duck and go home.

You place your boot on the back of her knee and push her, buckling the leg and causing her to fall to the ground. The elaborate headdress shatters the moment she hits the ground, and her screeching is ungodly as she touches the sunlight. Your men look on in fear but you know it is simply dramatics. A woman who has lived her life in the shadows, playing this part of the witch for these Moon Swallows.

“Bind her tightly, and gag her,” you snap off and Orson and Cross approach to do so. You turn your head to look at Asher who is looking up at the mountain walls.

“I swear they danced last night,” he says on slurred word, “Amongst the paintings and the crags they looked like shadow men born of the Seven Hells themselves. But… Now it all looks to be a trick of the eye.”

The mountain faces were not smooth as you had thought, but carved in such a way to cast shadow that moved. A trick of the eye, nothing more. You spit feeling the taste of pile in the back of your throat again, “Wat help Ser Asher up, Cross when you’re done with the witch bring the flint and steel.”

You re-enter the cottage, giving it another look with pure disdain. It was a ruined thing to be certain, how people could live here was beyond you. You crack what remains of the furniture and begin to pile it up in the center of the house, ripping out the hay that made up the roof and allowing the bannisters to fall. Cross comes to the door but dares not enter further and toss you the flint and steel when requested. The fire comes easy to the old cottage and you leave it to burn.

---

The port town is not quiet this day, it was late into the afternoon before you all arrived home. Asher was escorted to the Whitestone and though you still felt groggy and as if you could vomit at any moment you knew the importance of what you need do. Your men march the witch through the town in fetters and chains, the smallfolk throw shit and piss upon her, spoiled produce, and waste. They yell for blood, for the ousting of witchcraft and demons from their lands. They seek bloody retribution and vengeance. Her people caused their lives to be miserable and wrought with fear of the forests. But no longer would they have to fear those shadows their protector, the Guardian of the Faith that walked this sacred grounds would strike her from existence.

You were lucky to have found a Septon in time. The man was a traveler to be certain, his feet black and uncovered as if the cold did not bother him. He stands before seven braziers of flame, speaking of the old scriptures before them and blessing each with the Seven-pointed star. Your chief gaoler, Winston, stands with a black hood over his head before a tall pole at the center of the town square, fire kindling that had been gathered from the smallfolk placed about it. He holds in his hands a pair of tongs, red with flame. Your men push the woman to the ground on her knees before you, eyes of men, and Gods.

File: 851104e16531f458552670f2b(...).jpg (231 KB, 900x1273)

231 KB JPG

She does not look at you, she weeps, as an old woman who knows her death is near does.

“This woman,” you start, the crowd calming to silence to your voice, “This witch. This… Sorceress. Demon. Monster. Stands accused of crimes beyond measure. Of witchcraft. Of aiding and abetting our enemies. Of being amongst those enemies as a Moon Swallow herself. Of assaulting good men of Whitestone Keep and her domain. Of dabbling in the dark arts. And for discretion of our good and holy land with her very vile presence.”

The crowd roars with booes.

“The punishment for these crimes is death. Not an easy one. Not a quick one. But a death that honors the Seven so that they may once more shine proudly upon these lands. Executioner. You may begin.”

The crowd roars its approval and you step aside, taking a seat amongst a few of your men. Ser Bryen Belmore is there and offers you a skin of water which you happily take as you watch the proceedings. First she loses her tongue, so that it may never speak blasphemy again, ripped from her mouth with the hot tongs and thrown into the fire. Next her feet, so that she may never walk upon these lands again. She is thrown to the ground and held in place by a stock, each foot comes off with a heavy axe, individually before being thrown into the fire, the stumps being cauterized with a hot iron. She screams, it is a foul thing, as it echoes into the valley of the Greatgorge. Next her hands, so that they may never be put to task in the name of darker arts whether old or new. They push her to her stomach, and chop each off with the same axe and throw each into their own fires. And last come her eyes, so that she may watch all other horrors about her, but never know when her true demise will come, so that they may never again lay upon your lands with dark intent, and each again placed into their own brazier. You are surprised to still see her conscious after this, her screams are muffled weeping now but it does not stop the men from pulling her up and tying her to the stake. Winston offers you the torch as the boys spread dry hay and kindling about her. You take it, silent prayer upon lip and throw it. The fire comes quickly. The witch’s death does not.

Justice Soars.

>Gained 10 EXP
>Gained 5 Faith Points
>Whitestone Keep Household and People’s Disposition improved from Amiable to Friendly.

[Intermission]

ALRIGHTY THEN.

So that was the most 'magic' I've ever done with the setting. It was a completely new thing for me. But I am not going to lie I enjoyed the ever living hell out of writing it. There was a lot in there and I wonder if people caught it or not.

Hope you all enjoyed. Glad we could do some witch burning, because that's always fun. Good thread I felt. Lot of rolling but sometimes you just have to play it that way and I think it worked out. Aces to the guy that saved it at the beginning with remembered Blood of the Andals, that could have gone down way worse.

Thank you all for playing as always. I think the plan right now is to run again tomorrow, Wednesday 11 October. At roughly 4-5PM EST. That may change, sorry if it does. We will be jumping ahead a few days.

We'll do the series of rolls for Trevor's efforts in murdering some Moon Swallows. And then move into the Melee in Krayenport which shouldn't be all that long of a thing. There is only two days of activity for it, a welcoming feast for your daily allotment of social interactions and then Melee the next day. The Melee is set up in a teams bracket format, 8 teams of 10. Mostly lower end Knights, some higher. You'll have to see where you end up. Winner is the last man standing.

Cool. Thanks Daddy-o

>>1953460
Thanks for running and hey. You could always boil it down to a fever dream.

>>1953435
A fitting end for those who would profane this world with foul arts.

Thanks for the run Wardad

That was fucking brutal. The entire dream sequence, the ending. God damn Wardad, maybe one of my top three threads you've ever run. I feel like there was so much stuff in there that's going to go right over our heads.

>>1953460


>>1952720
Not sure what the red horse means. Does one of the local lords have a horse banner?


>>1952725
Is this where Robert Killed Rhaegar?

>>1952823
Bronze man in between two tower with a crescent moon. Sounds like another banner but my GoT banner lore is weak.

The animals falling upon the shadowcat until a griffin is born sounds a lot like Earp giving way to us. Was EArp's banner a shadowcat?

>>1952833
Us fearing drowning in the blood water of our foes in our actions.

>>1952966
Wyle is in the arms of the bronze beast banner perhaps?

Those seven men hanging re the seven deaths we regret the most?

>>1952969
Representing Putting Cassandra a head of our family perhaps?

>>1953460
thanks for running padre

also

look at this
Parwyn WAynwood
Role: Warrior
Goal: Skill
Motivation: Hatred
Virtue: Devoted
Vice: Wrathful

He's also indifferent to us.

The Kid is one angry little dude/

>>1953507
Now we're thinking.

Some close, some way off.

I tried to pay proper homage to the prophetic visions of ASoIaF. Landon is just a very interesting character to have them with. Since he can very easily dismiss it as a fever dream and witch's tricks.

So if there's some truth in there? Some sprinklings of the past, present, and future? Well, that is yet to be seen. But Landon may very well never place any faith in it at all.

>>1953582
I am looking forward to what kind of person Cassie is. From what little i have seen she seems like a schemer. She may love Landon but a bit like how Cersei loves her children.

>>1953582
So what was Earp's banner?

Do we know any lords or knights with a red or flaming horse on them?

Or one with two towers and a beast in between them under a crescent moon.

>>1953601
>Do we know any lords or knights with a red or flaming horse on them?

Doesnt Victus from House Malroy have a red horse as his personal coat of arms ?

>>1953507
>Bronze man in between two tower with a crescent moon. Sounds like another banner but my GoT banner lore is weak

The great Jon improsopned after the red wedding

>>1953606
Don't remember honestly, and he'd be a long ways from home to even hear of us.

>>1953607
Que?

>>1953613
Of course. But it could be a vision of the future.

File: HouseEarpCoA.png (83 KB, 618x730)

83 KB PNG

>>1953601
>So what was Earp's banner?

>>1953522
well to be fair we arent the nicest teacher in the world, and hes an angry little fucker to begin with.

hopefully Landons tutelage will grant him patience if not calm.

Also Wardad, excellent thread. purely excellent. you captured what it mist feel like to be a greensinger with perfect confusong clarity

>>1953627
Ok. Any houses have a shadowcat banner?

>>1953634
Oh come on I'm not going to give all the answers.

Besides I've already shown you guys that one.

>>1953606
No, just a red strip, but House Redward did. Doubtful they're still around though.

>>1953643
Wasnt there some old house creation from the Westerland who had a shadowcat as they coat of arms ?

>>1953643
I can't tell but does house Perryn have a shadowcat(s) on it?

>>1953654
Ok on a closer look from the archive it does. Makes much more snes now.

Ok to do list before we leave for the tourney.
Introduce Trevor to Elesharn for squiring
Talk to Byren About the Fossett situation
Get the maids to spruce the place up for the woman folk.
See our dad
Pet the Bennie for he is a good boy

>>1953654
>They’re closer this time the bells, they ring true but only on the fringes of your ears. Instead all you hear is the roar of a shadowcat as it it slashed across the chest by another. Falling from the white mountain onto the spikes below. Hundreds of them claw their way up the mountain, some skewered by spikes, otherwise bloody and beaten by claw marks, and some still young and frsh as if they had spawned of nothing. Atop the mountain stands a single lone shadowcat, roaring in defiance of its enemies, slashing, biting, kicking, do all it can to stay upon its mountain. You feel a draw to help it, attempting to will yourself towards it but alas find yourself stuck within the sky, calling out for it to watch behind to little avail. Three of the beasts ambush its flank, ripping, tearing flesh from limb. Another comes up in the front ripping its throat out with a single bite, they all begin to gang up upon the poor beast until his cries are no more than a whimper and its body limp and bloody upon the ground. You feel a tear upon your eye and as it falls it dashes the ruins of the shadowcat and from that grows something glorious with warmth and light. A birds screech echoes throughout the mountains and from the remains of the lone shadowcat is birthed a golden griffon that takes to the sky with murderous intent upon its enemies.

Pretty sure that Shadowcat that dies and turn into a Griffon which kills the the ones who killed it is Ormund.

>>1953696
Maybe read some of those letters Cassie sent us to see what they actually says. Would probably also help with increasing our reading skill.

>>1953701
Already working on it

See>>1952614


>>1953697
Yeah I figured it out after looking at the perryn banner.

>>1953643
So we can safely bet redward got smooshed by brynden?

>>1953460
I am so glad i remembered that +2. Affects any check. Saved our ass.

>>1953582
I think Landon would view it as divine intervention of some sort, the strength to fight the poison, and thus the visions. I see him as someone who sees the gods in almost everything.

>>1954031
It was just a fever dream. The place was covered in herbs and vile liquid that made us pass out

>>1954058
yes and thats no reason for Landon to not treat it as a religious experience

Has the MC determined who was trying to screw him over since the start of the quest?

>>1954135
Not yet. Best guess is Lord Back but it's unlike Father to make it so blatant and easy so I think most of us are waiting for the actual reveal.

Hey Wardad are you reading House Melrose?

I want to destroy some moon swallows
But first ace a melee for armour money

Man, I missed this thread but I think this was your finest work yet. From beginning to its end, the dream sequence, everything is beautiful. You should do more of this fantasy/witchcraft mix.

>>1954378
better hope we roll well then

Rolled 4, 4, 2 = 10 (3d6)

>>1954721
Here you go.

Cassie vs Obella. Who will win ? Doesnt matter if its a fight or intrigue or being waifu.

>>1954744
Obella.

>>1954744
Fighting? Obella, She's at least a good enough shot to give a master Archer an entertaining match.

Intrigue? Seemingly closer. Still at this point I'd go with Obella. She has more exp.

Waifu? Depends entirely on taste.

>>1954744
obella has way more screen time so its not a fair match

>>1954744
Fighting? Probably Obella. Pretty good with a bow and a knife iirc.

Intrigue? Might be evenly matched but Obella gets the nod for now since she has more screen time and the spy network. We need to see more of Cassie before we can make an opinion. She seems to take after her father though.

Ok what should we spend on next? That 10 exp is something sweet. We have 11 right now, should we spring for a specialization on will or warfare or should we hold it for an ability since we need Agility, another fighting die, more warfare, Probably persuasion too.

>>1954899
How much does warfare cost again? Maybe if we win the melee we get enough exp to buy it in time for the offensive against the moon swallows?

>>1954909
Warfare would be 30 and it takes a few weeks to train up enough to use it.

Warfare (strategy, Command, Tactics) specializations would be cheaper at 10

>>1954920
Right. I'd probably hold it then, although Command sounds like something we could use too. That just has no rush because it's only 10 exp

>>1954927
Our current Warfare is 3 with a command specialty of 1 fyi. We will need that Fighting up to 6 for the waynwood thing if we want to win. Better agility so we don't hit last every time would be good too.

>>1954935
>if we want to win
Honestly a big thing. Do we want the waifu anymore now that our ex-waifu is back in the picture somewhat?

Anyway, with command being so far off I think agility is indeed most prudent.

>>1954940
I mean unless we withdraw we should fight to win. (not like we'll win the joust or archery) We are an ambitious man and simply winning the melee is in itself a big thing.

Hope Father starts the session sooner than later. Super hyped.

>>1954961
>He thinks father will actually run

>>1954965
Poor naive boy

>>1954974
Don't we all still have hope somewhere deep inside?

>>1954965
>>1954974
>>1954984
He's 37 minutes late. Looks like we got left hanging. So in the interim anyone reading Melrose?

>>1955023
I am put there is just something offputting in the writing style.

>>1955028
We all got spoiled. Genie doesnt do "period writing" well. I stopped reading, it really seems forced and that the QM just wanted to write fan fiction rather than run a quest

>>1954935
the war happens before the tourney

>>1955028
too many modern expressions, the big challenge is a rant about army logistics that noone cares about, wooden and monotone characterization that feels similar across characters

>>1955023
>>1954965
>>1954961
>>1954984
>>1954974
>That may change, sorry if it does.
Show some patience.

Also, one thing about the Blood of the Andals quality:
>Whenever you test this ability, you may re-roll a single die.

Would it be too much to ask Warrior to assume that we want to re-roll our lowest die on every Fighting test we make? Because if we want to be playing this character optimally, we should be doing that on every Fighting roll we do.

>>1955124
the thing is we have to take the second dice, and unless we roll super shitty we don't need it more often than not, nor does it make an appreciable difference.

why it gets skipped usually.

>>1955093
how about now?

>>1955358
He's got a job, a significant other and pets. This quest is hardly his top priority so let him take care of important shit first.