Season 4, Turn 15
Days 1 - 15 of the Eighth Moon, 420 AC
General Summary
Dothraki Seas
Khal Hazdahn | Eddy**Khal Furo Hazdahn faces young Kraluh as the horde beat their spears** “You would dare challenge me, boy? I watched while your father impregnated your mother. I taught you to fight. You have been speaking disrespectfully of me to the other young men. I will spill your brains on the sand!” “We know what you have done for us, Khal. But the young men stand with me! Too long have we sat idle in the seas. Some have even taken to FARMING!” *the crowd gasps, Kraluh spits on the ground* “By strength and right I claim the mantle of Khal!” **Kraluh leaps forward, thrusting downwards at the Khal with his spear. Furo deftly sweeps the point away with his hand, stabbing up to gut the young warrior. Furo deflects the blade with his dagger and flings it quickly at the Khal, slicing a thin cut into his shoulder as he turns into the blade. With a fierce grin the Khal licks the blood off his shoulder and roars as he leaps into the younger warrior. A flurry of slashes and stabs countered by frantic staff work with the haft of the spear, the pair battle forward and backward amid the circle. Booming their spears on their arm braces, the roaring crowd takes a step inward every minute.** **The Khal notices a dip in the shoulder of the young warrior every time he deflects a stab at his gut, leaving an opening to his heart. He feints, flicks his wrist, and thrusts- into the air. Shocked, he twists away, and suddenly falls to his knees. He leaps to his feet, and falls again. He can’t seem to catch his breath. The crowd has gone silent. He looks around, and then down at the short spear thrust into his stomach. Kraluh kicks his sword into the dust and leans over him - “Your time has come, old man. You wait for openings that will never come. I make openings. The Dothraki will be feared again.” He rips the spear from the Khal’s body and clicks it back into the other half of the shaft he had cunningly constructed to come apart, amid a gout of blood. He turns and bellows to the silent crowd, donning the robe of the Khal, “I AM KHAL KRALUH HAZDAHN! Put down your forks and plows and sharpen your blades! The Dothraki will ride again! Ready your horses and fuck your wives, we ride west!”
Vengeance of House Pryor, Continued
House Stone | Kingdom of the Vale | Jack Handy~ Thomas Costayne sat on a large chair, facing the sea from his vacation home at the Mermaid's Palace. He was always in pain since his duel against the young commander from House Mopatis months ago. But today his pain felt less significant as he read the raven from Ser Godric Stone of the Vale. Tom smiled as he learned of the torture that Wildling Chief Brittlefang had endured at Godric's hands. The thought of his dead boy by that animal's hands still haunts him. He was also pleased to know that his agreement with the Vale had been honored, so gold and supplies, House Costayne would be given a base of operations in the North, Wolf's Den , to help defend the Vale but more importantly to Tom, to kill as many Thenns as possible Brittlefang | Thenns | Mista Sista
Greta Cavebear rode into white harbor, following the conclusion of talks in Winterfell. Behind her was the combined strength of every single able-bodied Wildling from the far north, fueled by the purpose of freeing Brittlefang from captivity. In White Harbor, reinforcements from House Magnar mounted a defense of the city. New southern men from Oldtown joined with the Pryor bastard to assault the Harbor. Despite facing overwhelming odds, Greta’s men beat back the advances multiple times, plugging holes in the battered walls. On the second day of the battle, the besieging forces were in rough shape. In an attempt to spur a decisive action, Godric Stone toured his men, inciting them with a rousing speech. With a seemingly unmatched ferocity, Godric led the renewed charge on the western gate. After scaling the walls, he cleaved through wildlings left and right with his great bastard sword, punching a hole in the lines. After receiving word of the gate’s failing defenses, Greta led her personal guard to face Godric personally. She ordered her elite warriors to engage the assaulters while she came face to face with the man himself. It was clear the bastard took great pleasure in every corpse he left on the field, possessed by a booming laugh that echoed over the chaos. Witnessing the devastation but remaining determined, Greta dismounted and ran into the fray, shield raised. Seeing the large leather-clad woman dismount, Godric rushed towards her, meeting shield with blade. Greta kept her balance, pulling back and swiping with her long sword. She caught Godric’s shoulder guard, forcing him to recoil. Regaining his footing, Godric attacked with unrelenting force, taunting Cavebear all the while. “I BROKE YOUR KING! I TOOK HIS FINGERS, I PULLED HIS TEETH. IN HIS BACK, I CARVED MY NAME WITH A HOT SEARING BLADE. HE CRIED FOR MERCY, AND I SHOWED HIM NONE.” Godric boomed these words as he cleaved into Greta. Each long, swiping blow was blocked by her shield. She studied the man, and realized his wide powerful blows were leaving his sides exposed. As he went for another overhand strike, she ducked right, and shoved her sword deep into Godric’s neck. Pulling out, the terrifying man gurgled on his blood as he fell to his knees. He swung wildly until he collapsed into a pool of red. Godric Stone was dead, and his men routed at the sight. The city was saved today.
Rhymes of the New Gods
Septa Caelia | Shinigami Knight***EVENT OF THE FAITH*** Title: Divine Virtue Intro:
As the cosmic currents intertwine with the realm of men, a riddle resonates through the sacred corridors of belief, challenging the devout to venture beyond the veil of ordinary perception and grasp the essence of faith itself. Only those who navigate the labyrinth of words with sagacity shall unlock the key to this profound mystery. The Riddle:
"In realms of strife where shadows creep,Open event. PM me your answers. Deadline is the official boot time of this round. I’d say you can submit only 1 answer for now. Depending on how the responses are I may up the limit. Maybe it’s an easy one. There is no first come, first served rule. Everyone who guessed right will get a reward. Answer to the riddle revealed only at the end. Of course, people who joined the faith have an advantage over the rest :P. But this advantage is revealed at the end. Peace. Embark on this spiritual odyssey, unravel the enigma, and partake in the sacred dialogue that transcends the boundaries of mere mortals. The divine awaits those with hearts open to the celestial mysteries that bind all creation.
A virtue concealed in secrets deep.
A balm for wounds, both seen and veiled,
By saints revered, by sinners hailed.
Not in power, nor in dread,
This gentle force in tears is bred.
What am I, in essence clear?
A whisper soft, a deafening cheer."
Braavosi Restoration, Continued
Free City of Lorath | SentryQarlon Jaqen had been brainstorming ideas to improve the colony of Braavos. The city didn't have any sustainable growth to its economy. Most colonists worked in temporary jobs like relic hunting in the old city and shipping supplies to feed the colony. Qarlon decided on establishing a Braavosi fishing industry. The countless sunken warships in the Purple Harbor had already attracted marine life to take up residence in their broken remains. Fishing would not only provide jobs but it would also free up merchant ships allowing them to seek more profitable routes.
Bringing the Faith to Savages
House Costayne | Kingdom of the Andals | sandmanTom pulls from his desk the deeds to Wolf's Den Solitude and White Harbor that he purchased from Lord Pryor all those years ago, before all hell broke loose and the Thenns killed him and Tom's son. Long Tom, angered, declared a blood feud but could do nothing because a full blown civil war broke out across Westeros and half of Essos. Many years later, now that peace in the south is near certain, Tom smiles, for he receives word he might have a chance to bring the faith to these savages. The wildlings that kill children, steal daughters, are known to eat human flesh, and many other atrocities their pagan gods allow and even encourage them to commit. No longer will a weakened House Stark need fear the savage wildlings turning on them. A fear House Stark expressed to Tom when Cowl died.
Clash of Kingdoms, Continued
House Bracken | Kingdom of the Andals | Jack Handy~ A personal raven sent from Alexander Bracken to his father, Otho Bracken on the 4th moon, sent from Hasty Hall, Stormlands...
As the ravens fly, I hope this letter finds you well amidst the turmoil of rebellion in the Reach. I pen these words with a heavy heart, burdened by the weight of battles fought and the shadows of fate that linger. The Stormlands, a tempest of conflict and strife, witnessed the clash of our forces against Ser Hasty and the relentless Vaegon Targaryen. At the Battle of Bronzegate, the air was thick with the scent of impending doom. The heavily fortified castle loomed like a sentinel of despair, yet my determination burned brighter than the fiery arrows that rained upon us. In the charge, I barely felt the sting of arrows piercing my flesh, a sensation lost to me, Father, due to the curse of leprosy that courses through my veins. The pain eluded me, as did the glory others sought in the brutality of war. We breached the enemy lines, a tide of steel and fury, and laid siege to the fortress. The following dawn led us to Hasty Hall, where a smaller but no less fierce battle unfolded. Victory, albeit achieved, felt hollow. My soldiers, in their misguided adulation, bestowed upon me the title of the Hero of Hasty Hall. Uncomfortable, I wear the mantle of heroism as a shroud, for I find no glory in the crimson tapestry of spilled blood. Father, in this letter, I seek not congratulations but understanding. War has revealed its cruel visage to me, a visage that unsettles the very core of my being. The pursuit of diplomacy, the tempered art of discourse, now resonates more deeply within my soul. I yearn for your guidance, your wisdom, as I navigate this turbulent course. Though miles apart, let our hearts be bound by the ink that flows from my quill. I beseech you, Father, to lend counsel to your reluctant heir, who bears the weight of a crown that he fears may be stained with the sorrow of premature demise. With filial devotion,House Targaryen | Kingdom of Summerhall | Koen27
*** THE BATTLE OF BARROWBRIDGE *** Vaegon Targaryen had marched his forces through The Kingswood all the way to the Blackwater River. King’s Landing was right there, on the other side of the river. In the distance he could see many civilians and guards had heard of the Targaryen host on the south bank of The Blackwater. Vaegon wondered if they would have welcomed him as the new king. But there was no time for daydreams, as to the east Otho Bracken and his host were on the approach. A confrontation would certainly diminish Vaegon’s chances as his supply route has already been cut off. The news that Hasty Hall had fallen to Alexander enraged Ser Harwin Hasty, as he urged to bring the fight to King Otho so he could make him pay. But Vaegon did not listen to his council. Acting in haste now would be foolish. After contemplating his options he decided to march westward to Barrowbridge. A town sat on the south side of the Blackwater River, possessing the first bridge to the north. If Vaegon could cross this bridge he could outflank Otho and besiege King’s Landing from the north. The town of Barrowbridge would be the perfect location for a castle. One can control traffic across The Blackwater since this is the only bridge in the area. As Vaegon approached the town the countryside around it seemed awfully quiet. The sun had started to set and Vaegon ordered his men to set up camp to give them rest after the long march. They would wait till dawn to enter the town and cross the bridge. In the night Vaegon had a dream, but it was unlike any he had ever had. It seemed and felt more real. Looking down upon a bridge he saw two figures fighting. One wearing the same golden cape as he bearing the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The fight went on for hours, it seemed to Vaegon, as he watched in agony. He felt a dread come over him as the one stuck his sword deep into the other’s chest, coming out of his back tilted slightly upward, so as to not make him fall directly to the ground. Seconds later the sword was retracted and Vaegon could see it clearly. That was Blackfyre dripping with his own blood. As the body dropped to the ground on the bridge he heard the clashing of falling steel on stone. As he looked down he saw there lay his own sword Widow’s Wail, which he had renamed Sunflame before the war began because of its red glowing steel. Vaegon woke from his dream and hasted towards Harwin’s tent. The sun had not yet risen but the horizon was already starting to show light. He woke Ser Harwin quietly and ordered him to gather four of his most skilled horsemen. Once he had returned with them Vaegon unsheathed his sword and with two hands, handed it over to Harwin, who did not quite know what to make of this. “Your grace, what is the meaning of this.” He said as he gazed upon the shining Valyrian steel in his hands. He had never held Valyrian steel, and it felt as light as a feather but strong and powerful. Then Vaegon spoke to him “I will die tomorrow my friend. And I have gathered you here to give you my final command.” Harwin’s eyes were wide open, ready to hear what the king had to say. Harwin was ready to fight, as he has been his entire life. “Take this sword, take it and bring it to my son. I believe he has gone to Pentos, but I cannot be sure of this. Stay off the road and avoid Otho’s men as well as you can. You know these lands like no other. Do not go to Summerhall for it will surely be besieged. Do this for me my friend.” Harwin’s eyes started to water but he did not cry. He grabbed his own sword Haste and handed it over to Vaegon. He nodded swiftly and turned around ordering his men to get to the horses. Once mounted Harwin looked back one more time to say farewell to his king. “I will protect Prince Aegar your grace! I will defend him with my life! You have my word!”. Vaegon looked on as the five riders rode away into the sunrise. “Make Haste my friend!” were Vaegon’s last words to his most trusted general and friend, never to see each other again. Vaegon turned around and reset his mind, ready to end this war. He called his new lieutenant Lord Kellington to send scouts to investigate the town, and after an hour they returned with news that the town had been abandoned. All houses had been emptied. Vaegon entered the town with his army; he found it abandoned just like his scouts had reported. They marched directly towards the bridge, in order to cross the infamous Blackwater river. The very thing that had prevented Vaegon from launching an assault on King’s Landing days earlier. As they marched through the town it stayed awfully quiet. Vaegon was leading the column in the vanguard and as they approached the bridge he could see a person in shining silver armor in the middle of it, holding two banners in either hands. To his right waved the banner of House Bracken, with a red stallion upon a golden escutcheon on brown. And in his right hand he held the banner of House Terrick, Four hawks heads on a field of purple and gold. Vaegon knew it was a trap, and he called his men to go into battle position and cover the flanks, then ordered a slow march forward. Horns sounded from all around them as arrows shot from the houses around them and enemy soldiers poured from the alleyways and doorways. Then Vaegon saw Terrick soldiers marching over the bridge headed towards their position. He still seemed to outnumber the Terrick forces but there was no way of knowing for sure. “Shields Up!” Vaegon shouted as he saw a rain of arrows fall on the column behind him, the soldiers on the outer flanks fighting for their lives. The vanguard now collided with the main bulk of the Terrick forces and Vaegon fought on the front line with his men, boosting their morale. Looking back to get a glimpse of the situation he saw Lord Kellington taking an arrow to the neck and dropping to the ground in the middle of the muddy street. Filled with despair he let out a scream and rushed forward hacking down the Terrick soldiers in front of him. Atop the bridge behind them he saw the banner man bearing the Terrick crest on his armor, it had to be Lord Tristan Terrick, the clever man had played his cards well. But Vaegon did not intend to let him live to see the outcome of this ambush. Vaegon broke through the lines, and charged Lord Terrick who was caught off guard, feeling protected behind his men. Vaegon ran on the bridge and leaped on the man but his first blow was blocked. Vaegon was now facing the northside of the bridge and could see the ongoing battle behind Lord Terrick’s back. Tristan grinned, he was clearly proud that he lured King Vaegon himself into this perfectly executed ambush. Vaegon charged a second time and their swords clashed. A high blow was blocked by Tristan and countered by a strike to Vaegon’s chest, but Vaegon dodged it and turned to strike a blow to Tristan’s leg. He slashed Haste across Tristan’s upper leg making him scream in pain, but he kept on fighting. He hit Vaegon on the shoulder but his armor prevented it from hitting his skin. Vaegon countered with a strike to Tristan’s neck as he stumbled, being out of balance after hitting Vaegon. Tristan’s head came clean off. Bouncing off the edge of the bridge and splashing into the water below. His body slowly collapsed to the floor as blood poured on the bridge. There stood Vaegon victorious, with his golden cape waving behind him. He looked upon his army who had started entering the houses after defeating the Terrick swordsmen, searching for the bowmen who had caused many casualties among Vaegon’s men. Most of the archers surrendered, and those who didn’t were killed on the spot. Fate seemed to finally have turned to his favour. But this victory was short-lived, as in the distance the army of Otho appeared on the horizon from where they came. King Otho had marched through the night and finally caught up. Vaegon took a deep breath, getting ready for battle. He knows it will be his last… Septa Caelia | Shinigami Knight
*Last we heard of Septon Abelard he was sailing atop a galley, his destination unknown* The galleys cut through the churning waves, their prows pointed eastward. The sea journey, though arduous and fraught with peril, was steered by the unwavering hand of faith. Guided by the celestial navigation of the stars, the delegation pressed onward, the mystery of their destination shrouded in the salt-laden sea breeze. The sailors, devout followers of the Seven, found solace in their faith amid the unpredictable expanse of the Narrow Sea. Storms rose and subsided, challenging their resolve, yet the divine purpose whispered in the wind and echoed in the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the hulls. As the galleys closed in on land, the mystery of their quest remained tightly veiled. Seated in the dimly lit chamber, the atmosphere hung heavy with an air of mystery. Septa Rosalind scrutinized the riddle before her, her furrowed brow betraying the depth of her understanding. The flickering candles cast fleeting shadows that seemed to dance in tandem with her contemplative thoughts. "In realms of strife where shadows creep, a virtue concealed in secrets deep," she began, her voice a mere whisper amid the sacred silence. The septa's mind traversed the realms of the riddle, seeking clues hidden within the enigmatic verses. She pondered the lines, searching for the elusive virtue that lay shrouded in the metaphorical shadows. "A balm for wounds, both seen and veiled, by saints revered, by sinners hailed," she murmured, her fingertips gently grazing the parchment. The words painted vivid images of healing and redemption, yet the true nature of the virtue remained elusive, slipping through her grasp like sand. "Not in power, nor in dread, this gentle force in tears is bred," she continued, her gaze fixed on the sacred flame as if seeking answers from the divine. The tension in the sept heightened as the riddle's enigma resisted easy unraveling, each word echoing with the weight of a mystery waiting to be unveiled. "What am I, in essence clear? A whisper soft, a deafening cheer," she concluded, her voice carrying a note of frustration. The puzzle seemed impenetrable, leaving the septa on the precipice of understanding, yet unable to take that final step. Just as a subtle sense of defeat settled upon Rosalind, her eyes drifted across the chamber’s interior, eventually settling upon a delicate depiction of the Mother Above. The intricately carved figurine graced the altar, emanating a serene aura that seemed to embrace the chamber in a divine glow. As the septa pondered the riddle, her thoughts intertwined with the sacred parables she had learned throughout her years of devotion. Among them, an ancient tale emerged—a story of a revered figure who, faced with adversity, chose the path of compassion and forgiveness. The narrative mirrored the essence of the riddle, and in that juncture, the septa felt a profound connection unfold. With newfound clarity, Septa Rosalind's eyes widened, and the tension that had gripped the sept transformed into a surge of understanding. "MERCY!", she realized, was the answer concealed in the riddle's labyrinth of words. The virtue, a beacon in times of darkness, now shone brilliantly in her mind. A serene smile graced the septa's lips as she embraced the revelation. The riddle, once an enigma, had unveiled its secrets, and Septa Rosalind felt a profound sense of connection to the timeless wisdom embedded in the verses. Mercy, the whispered virtue, now echoed loudly within the sacred confines of the sept. ***EVENT OF THE FAITH END*** Thanks to everyone who participated! The riddle proved to be quite challenging, with room for multiple interpretations. However, only one answer is correct, and your diverse ideas were truly impressive. Don't worry if you didn't get it right this time, as more events will be coming soon to challenge your thoughts and faith, hehe. A little reward of 500 gold is in store for everyone who took part. Now, for the grand reveal – the true demolisher of this riddle, drum rolls, please N.W. Rasche, will receive a whopping 4,000 gold! As a bonus, since he is a faithful follower of the One that is Seven, he'll also gain some extra territories. Congratulations!
Death of a King, Continued
House Glover | Kingdom of the North | KnightGlenmore Keep
Rodrik could have stormed the keep the same week he took the Rillgate, but he wanted to give them a chance to surrender. Surely after all that they had seen, they too would understand fighting is pointless. If they would, that would save so many lives. But after weeks of sieging Glenmore Keep nothing could change the mind of the garrison. At the very least he could respect the loyalty, but he could not understand it. How could such a traitor deserve it? And so the army finally rushed the walls and stormed the keep. The battle lasted several hours, and many casualties were suffered on both sides, but ultimately no members of House Ryswell were found. In the coming weeks they would begin to scour the Rills, but eventually they would meet up with Maria and her men who had landed at Blackpool, and learned of Ræva's fate. Her bastard son remaining the only one of her house unaccounted for. Ræva's Rebellion had finally ended, somehow both more bloody and brutal than expected, and simultaneously less than expected. With that, the North was finally united, and could turn it's focus purely to the threat of the East...
Report Date
05 Dec 2023
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