Season 4, Turn 26
Days 16 - 30 of the First Moon, 421 AC
General Summary
A New Conquest for the Andals, Continued
House Bracken | Kingdom of the Andals | Jack HandyTHE BLOODY SIEGE OF NEW TIDE (Continued...) The air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smoke of war as Prince Alexander Bracken, shrouded in plate armor, led his army through the bleak and stony landscape of Bloodstone island. The sky, a canvas of ominous clouds, seemed to resonate with the impending clash of steel and the anguished cries of the valiant. The air here was thick, small flurries of wind whipped against their faces from the passing storm above the sea. The castle of New Tide, a bastion of the region, which was guarded by sheer cliffs and razor-sharp rocks, stood as an unyielding fortress. The castle was built by the late Jay Dalt, used as his forward post when it came to protecting the Stepstones. The Dalts had built a monstrous fortress, able to withstand almost any attack. Defenders, loyal to Vargo Mott, the Black Goat of Death, held their ground with unwavering determination. The clash of shields and swords echoed through the narrow pass, a tumultuous symphony reverberating off the unforgiving cliffs. As Alexander's forces surged forward, arrows painted the sky in a deadly cascade. Undeterred, he rode at the forefront, a dark silhouette against the swirling maelstrom of battle. The clash of armies unfolded in a brutal and beautiful dance of death, where the destiny of kingdoms teetered on the edge. The defenders of the castle fought valiantly, repelling wave after wave of Bracken forces. New Tide, seemingly impregnable, withstood the relentless assault. However, in the midst of the chaos, the Brackens managed to advance a massive battering ram, a colossal wooden behemoth with iron-clad ends. Protected by a phalanx of heavily armored soldiers, the battering ram became the focal point of the siege. Despite fierce opposition, the Brackens pressed forward, determined to break the gate that guarded their defiance. Arrows rained down, and the clash of swords echoed as the ram approached the massive gates. In a tumultuous collision, the battering ram struck the gates with thunderous force. Each impact sent shock waves through the defenders, testing the resilience of both gate and resolve. The defenders fought fiercely, but the relentless assault began to take its toll. As the assault continued, Lord David Fossoway, the Red, arrived personally to the front, leading a host of 500 knights. Considered one of the deadliest men in the Realm, the sight of him and his Valyrian blade gave Alexander a short feeling of relief. With each successive strike, the gates groaned under the immense pressure. Splintered wood and shattered iron heralded the imminent breach. The Brackens, fueled by a fierce determination, pressed on, their ranks thinning but their spirits unbroken. Amidst the chaos, Prince Alexander fought his way to the forefront, his dark armor now bearing the scars of the battle. As the battered gates finally succumbed, crashing to the ground, a triumphant roar erupted from the Bracken forces. The Qohorik last line of defense shattered, opening the path for Alexander's victorious advance. In the heart of the fray, Alexander locked blades with a formidable adversary, his sword flashing like a bolt of lightning. Just then he was shoved from the side, and fell in the sand, unable to defend himself. A large Qohorik soldier raised his sword up and began to swing down on Alexander, the fear in Alexander’s eyes could tell a story of itself. But this was not his time, as just as suddenly as he was raising his sword, the Qohorik soldier was cut in two, with his arm and half his chest falling to the ground. Just then, David the Red stepped forward, almost through the mist of blood of his fallen opponent, standing over the Prince, with Orphan Maker in hand, covered in blood and more. With an exchange of looks, David reached down and lifted Alexander to his feet. Fossoway then nodded and turned around, and went back into the fray, hacking and slashing with an anger Alexander had never seen before. The ground beneath them drank in the crimson hues of spilled blood, the very earth thirsting for the vitality of fallen warriors. His dark armor now a canvas of blood, he fought with an otherworldly ferocity, rallying his troops to overcome the last bastions of resistance. Amid the waning light of day, New Tide succumbed to Alexander Bracken's sheer will. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson glow on the conquered landscape, Prince Alexander, bloodied but triumphant, stood at the precipice of the Stepstones. He was told soon after that Vargo Mott was not at the castle, but was instead 500 yards north, where his ship had run aground because of the storm. Reports that several ships had begun to arrive to reinforce the Qohorik Warlord’s position meant that this victory would be short lived, at least for now In a moment pregnant with victory, he addressed his battered but victorious troops with a passion that echoed through the ravaged mountains… "Brave warriors of Bracken! Today, we have shattered the gates that those before us could not! We faced arrows as rain, and swords as thunder, yet we emerged unbroken. The Qohorik will soon be forced to turn East, back to their queer City, defeated and broken!" His voice, a powerful clarion, soared above the remnants of battle, echoing through the stormy clouds. "We are not mere conquerors; we are architects of destiny! This land, now won by blood and sacrifice, shall bear witness to our triumph for generations to come! Today, we stand as the living testament that no fortress, no matter how bloody, can defy the indomitable spirit of those who fight for what is just and right! Onward, my warriors, for the victory we've earned is etched in the very stone beneath our feet!" The echoes of clashing steel and the distant cries of the defeated faded into a haunting silence, replaced by the resonating cheers of a victorious army, echoing Alexander's words across the conquered battlefield as the invaders descended upon the castle. As Prince Alexander, Harlen Uller, David Fossoway and their men breached the formidable walls of New Tide, the air thick with anticipation and the tang of desperation, they were met not only with the echoes of their own footsteps but also with the haunting silence of a fortress that had seen many horrors.
As Prince Alexander, Harlan Uller, David Fossoway and their men breached the formidable walls of New Tide, the air thick with anticipation and the tang of desperation, they were met not only with the echoes of their own footsteps but also with the haunting silence of a fortress that had seen many horrors. They carefully marched down the corridors, noticing the once grand and opulent walls were now stripped of gold and silver. Once a statement of his love for the Queen, Jay Dalt's New Tide was the desecration of a once-proud legacy before them, as the Qohorik forces had ravaged the grand architecture of New Tide, stripping it of its riches. In the Great Hall, among the wreckage stood a marble sentinel, a statue of Queen Visenya Targaryen, her majestic form frozen in time, yet bearing the scars of conflict. Her arms, once raised in regal defiance, lay shattered at her feet, a grim testament to the brutality of war and betrayal. As Alexander and his men pressed on through the labyrinthine halls of the fortress, their senses assaulted by the odd of decay and despair, they stumbled upon a chamber of horrors that defied imagination. In the depths of the dungeons, where darkness reigned supreme and the cries of the oppressed echoed off damp stone walls, they discovered a grim reality that shook them to their very core. As they ventured deeper into the heart of the stronghold, their torchlight flickering against the ancient stone walls, they discovered a scene that struck fear into the hearts of even the most battle-hardened warriors. As Alexander turned to his companions, Lord Uller and Fossoway, he noticed the grim reality by their faces. "Smell that?" Harlan Uller whispered aloud. In a gruff voice, David the Red, said something that Alexander never forgot… "The stench of slave blood within this Hall," David responded, Orphan Maker's reflection from the torch light showing his face. Hundreds of them, mostly women and children, huddled in the shadows, their faces etched with the pain of countless indignities. These were the forgotten souls of New Tide, victims of Vargo Mott's insatiable greed and sinister machinations. For too long, they had languished in the depths of despair, their lives mere commodities to be bought and sold in the cruel marketplace of human suffering. But as he stood amidst the ruins of New Tide, a chilling realization dawned upon him. The shadows of the past were long and unforgiving, and the sins of those who had come before cast a dark pall over the future. In the heart of every fortress, there lay secrets buried deep beneath the surface, waiting to be unearthed by those brave enough to seek the truth. The thought that Dalt was also dealing in human lives, as well as his well advertised poppy trade, was something he dared not speak about publicly, as it was best to not talk ill of the damned, he remembered. House Targaryen | Kingdom of the Andals | Steffi the Redhead
We wouldn't believe that either. Jay only dealt with the finest opium. He wanted to make people happy. By the way, I would like to get that statue. If you could transport it to Greenstone, I would pay 100 gold for it.
Dothraki Seas, Continued
Free City of Lorath | SentryBanyani was nearing his wits end as his command slowly deteriorated around him. Most of the militia were happy to stand guard of the Limaosy Valley when no one was passing through. Being paid to camp up in the mountains was an ideal job for the poor coastal fishermen. Even when a few wealthy Norvoshi families began to cross for temporary safety in Lorath, his men maintained discipline. His struggles began when the temperature started to drop. The subsistence fishermen realized that the window was closing to pull in one more haul before the weather pushed the fish south. Threatening to doc pay meant little to the men that relied on salted fish to make it through the winter. Banyani technically had the authority to court martial deserters but he believed that would only increase the desertion rates. Of the 6 full companies that arrived they now only combined to make up 2. It seemed like the men couldn't have left them at a worse time. A few days after the desertions began a large column of refugees had arrived at the Limaosy Pass. Banyani tried to take control of the situation with what resources he had. He split his forces into thirds appointing the most competent officers available to him to lead the three groups. He would continue to guard the pass and control the flow of people across the border. The last thing Lorath needed was an unattended mass of starving people roaming the countryside. He appointed the heavy set Vogario to take command of Limaosy. The evacuated township could temporarily house the refugees and give the senate time to place them. Lastly he gave the seasoned sellsword Jaqesso command of his best troops to move south of the border. There they would keep order amongst the refugees and keep watch for approaching Dothraki riders. He hoped that relief would arrive soon but word from Lorath told of the city facing a similar refugee crisis. Banyani hoped for the best but with winter approaching he wondered how much the Republic could spare for the new arrivals.
Fleet of Pentos Dispute, Continued
House Swann | Kingdom of the Andals | PatMagroynWithin Mopatis Manse, inside a grand reception room now styled Horro’s Hall, Ellyria leered down upon the seven conspirators below with disdain. Having enough of their pleas, she turned her gaze toward her guardsmen. “Execute them.” Three magistrates who owned wharves on Pentos’ docks had conspired to bribe several guard captains. With hopes to ultimately gain their support for a coup. Thankfully, one of those captains still held loyalty to the family that ruled this city. This was just one of many conspiracies currently swirling about. The other still afoot was her half-brother Daemion’s. Several spice merchants in the Western Bazaar having reputedly aligned with him to open the city’s west gates when Gul Dukat or the Myrish approached. She still bided her time to see if there was more at play there. But within its city walls, Pentos surely bled like a stuck pig. With her father’s absence from the public eye, uncertainty permeated the court. It seemed almost yesterday that the Senate cheered when Horro’s connections to the Dothraki and alliance with the Black Goat yielded fruit, and signaled a turn in the war. But after the death of Consul Haratis (better known as ‘The Colossus’), their sweet words just as soon soured. The fall of the Barricades and near destruction of the unfortunately named Ellyrian Guard had several magisters boldly call for surrender almost immediately after. Not that ‘the Trio’ had made any indication they desired talks. The City Guard and legions of sellsword companies were all that currently kept order in Pentos and its precariously held townships. Most notable of which being Commander Alysse and the Windblown. Who currently led the war effort now in Haratis’ stead. Though he had done so much during this war, her father had exhausted nearly every resource he had in his deep pockets. Every coin, favor, debt, and promise at the family’s disposal was used in this war. And most were coming to their end. She inherited a quagmire of epic proportions, with blades pointed at her from outside and within. She had planned to join her children, but affairs as they stood now would not allow her. Great moves were to be made in these coming times. She called to the remaining Consul, Navio Narratys, nearby to address this ever growing unease around them.
Who Will Lead Lys Next?, Continued
Free City of Lys | CoenquistatoreIs Lys (still) a State? A paradox of a question, really; maybe something only the most recluse among the scholars and Maesters would ever care to reflect upon. Who would deny her power? Her pirate fleets, her mariner army and all the gold you can dream of. She is a city jealous of her borders, and no one would miss the thousand outposts, nor the signs and flags that define them. Yet, her institutions have always been somewhat "special"... Moredo Rogare enjoys calling them "transparent, like the glass you're holding right now! You can see through it, like it wasn't there, but the liquid it holds is the one that really gives the right color to the picture. And I am the delicious dornish red you're about to savour tonight, only to regret it tomorrow." The fact is that nothing defines them: no founding stone, no ancient charter, nor precise tradition. Only the idea that the Magisters command. And they do command! Yesterday as a cohesive Council, led by a First Magister, who dictated what to do. Today, well, as single, independent hungry and angry magistrates each commanding the resources of Lys for their own personal goals. And there's no law which can really prevent it, as they all ARE Lys. Someone would call it anarchy, but it's more of a pantocracy: they ALL rule, provided they don't thwart each others' plans. If you ever wondered how a Bank managed to hold so much sway over a State such as Lys, the answer is both odd and simple: it's because the Rogares are the only certain and stable thing in Lys. Its pillar, that never bends nor breaks, nor changes. And Moredo, Lotho and the three bastard siblings know it well: "in the end, near the end, they will once again appeal to us, as it's always been". Thus, rather than trying to contain the spill, the Rogare have set themselves to ride the waves.
Report Date
19 Feb 2024
Related Characters
Comments