Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Sept 6, 2019 3:01:39 GMT
Hey guys! So for those of you who are new, I heavily recommend jumping onto the introduction page and reading the works of WildlingKing as this chapter is a continuation from where his story stopped. It took me about two days (on and off) to read through the whole thing and I'm a slow reader, so it shouldn't take long for those who are catching up to get involved! With that also being said, I'll also get around to making a short recap for the chapters. but I'll be slow with this just because I have 5 assessment pieces I should've been doing this last week which are due across the next three weeks which I'd ought to get cracking onto. Anyway, without further ado let me introduce you guys to the first part! This part goes to Asger, a clansmen of the Ice Rivers who fought for Fleshbearer in the war against Raymun Redbeard and Magnar Krygorn. Fleshbearer has proclaimed himself King of the Free Folk and God of the Thenns, more in mockery but also in complete seriousness as well. It was hinted that there was a meeting being formed by the prisoner wildlings in his army to talk of the fate of Fleshbearer, which was to be shown in Asger's next part. On top of that, there is a second part! It goes to Raymun Redbeard's brother - Germun, who was sent on a vital mission to the Frozen Shores to gain the support of the Free Folk there for Raymun. When meeting a fisher named Ha'akh, they were recommended to go and see Clan Greymyst. Hope you guys enjoy
Asger A dozen Nightrunners, Thenns and Hornfoots had gathered in a small pavilion on the edge of Fleshbearer’s camp. Asger felt sweat beginning to build on his brow as he glanced around him at these wildling prisoners. It was the first time he had felt truly uncomfortable since the Ice River Men had annihilated both the armies of Raymun and Krygorn; it was the first time he had been surrounded by more Free Folk that were not of the Ice River Clans than were. Alex Deepstone, the Thenn that Asger had opted to save, stood by Asger’s side as they found their place among the meeting. Asger recognised a few other influential faces around the tent; Raymun’s closest advisor: Rumak, was among them. At the centre of the group stood a hardened woman with a heavenly body, her red hair tied back out of her face, and her blue eyes holding a begrudging look within them. She was a Nightrunner, no doubt, and when she cleared her throat, the murmurs of the tent fell silent. “Brothers, sisters, I thank you all for taking the risk to meet with me tonight. I look around me and I see fellow Nightrunners, Hornfoots…” her gaze fell short on Asger, halting her words momentarily before flickering to Deepstone “and Thenns. Weeks ago we were all at each other’s throats, and now we stand together as slaves to Fleshbearer. He killed Harron Crowsbane, and he killed Magnar Krygorn. Like it or not, we all share a common enemy,” the woman proclaimed, and some murmurs across the tent shared their voice in agreement. “Fleshbearer humiliates our existence by imprisoning us!” a Hornfoot cried from across the room. “There’s nothing we can do but obey,” a lone Thenn sullenly expressed. “He is our King now,” a Nightrunner mumbled in front of Asger. “Is he?” the woman challenged as her voice rose up. “Fleshbearer isn’t half the man that Raymun Redbeard is, be him alive or dead, we can still serve him by putting an end to this piece of shit,” the girl said with an infuriated tone, and received some supporting cheers, but just as many doubts. “If that isn’t enough to persuade some of you, then think on this. We are Free Folk, and that means we have a choice. You can choose to remain one of Fleshbearer’s lackeys…” The girl turned her gaze on Asger now, “or you can choose to stand against him. Rise up with me, and let us take back our freedom!” she cried, and she gained a few more hushed cheers. Her limelight was cast aside shortly after as Rumak limped to her side. “And how do you suppose we manage this grand feat, Ariyana Caswell?” Rumak grunted with a grievous tone. “We are a mere dozen in this room, give or take. Perhaps we can rally more of our brethren, but Fleshbearer’s army makes for two thousand alone with all his clans, and then the rest of our fold that have submitted to him,” Rumak remarked with a cynical tone, gaining a cold glare from a fellow Nightrunner girl by Ariyana’s side. “A coward,” a Nightrunner woman sparked up, and Ariyana Caswell shot a glare at her. “Quiet, Arienne,” she muttered, but the woman shook her head. “The legendary Rumak, belittled to nothing more than a cannibal’s cripple. You going to run back and suck Fleshbearer’s cock after we’re done here? Or should I just kill you now?” she goaded with a malice tone. Rumak’s eyes squinted with rage, and it took three men to hold him back. “Enough!” Deepstone’s voice shouted by Asger’s side, making the squabble come to a rest momentarily. Alex pushed past the few Free Folk ahead of them, dragging Asger with him into the limelight. “Can’t you see this is what they want? Fleshbearer wants chaos amongst us, he doesn’t give a shit about us or raiding the south. Just earlier the Barbarian was turning my fellow commanders against each other, and were it not for Asger here, I’d be dead along with Lord Delen,” Alex stated with a somber tone, and the few Thenns in the room lowered their gazes in mourning. Ariyana Caswell flicked her gaze onto Asger, and it felt like the entire pavilion did as well. “You’re quite bold to be here, Ice River man. I assume that means you wish to see Fleshbearer cut down, or you are a spy.” Murmurs spread across the group, and Asger felt the entire meeting bearing their gaze down on him. Alex Deepstone shook his head. “Asger saved my life, he’s a good man. He wants to see Fleshbearer overthrown like the rest of us,” Alex stated in assurance, but Ariyana paid his comment little mind. “Does this Thenn speak for you, Ice River man?” “I speak for myself,” Asger muttered hesitantly, gazing at Caswell and then Rumak. “I’m not proud of what Fleshbearer has done; he’s rotten to the core, but as Rumak says he outnumbers you two hundred men to one.” Arienne raised an eyebrow as she stared at Asger. “Outnumbers us,” she stated with emphasis, to which Asger slowly nodded in correction. “Us,” he echoed, and Ariyana turned her eyes off him. “Aye it’s true, Fleshbearer would destroy us in a head-on fight. Our only chance is to cut the head off this army, and to do that we need to get close to Fleshbearer,” Ariyana stated, and murmurs amongst the crowd suggested an agreement. “How do you think that’ll happen?” A Hornfoot in the meeting queried with a cynical tone, to which Ariyana glanced at Asger. “There are two people in this tent that have a close link with Fleshbearer,” Ariyana claimed, shifting her gaze now from Asger to Rumak. “You want me kill Fleshbearer when he interrogates me, is that it?” Rumak queried in an almost amused tone, to which Ariyana shook her head. “No, my dear Rumak. I want you to continuing doing as you are doing, while Asger here shall be relaying the information from the war council back to us. Once I’m assured that Asger is on our side, we will move to the second phase of our plan,” Ariyana stated, and Rumak raised an eyebrow. “Being?” he grunted with an impatient tone, to which Ariyana smirked. “Taking his head.” - Asger felt uncertainty as he awoke the next morning, rubbing his eyes of sleep and stetching his arms. Around his neck hung a simple necklace with shards of a walrus’ tusk looped through the leather, and a silver ring with a blue stone hanging as a pendant. A sad sigh fell over him as he fingered the ring. The necklace had been crafted for him by his daughter when he had gifted her the ring from his raid south of the Wall. My sweet Ragna. The memory of her was bitter sweet, leaving his heart to ache while also inducing a fiery rage that resembled deep within him. He did his best to shake the thought from his mind, slipping on a leather tunic and crawling out of his tent. It wasn’t long before Asger’s eyes met with those of Armun the Barbarian’s. The robust chieftain approached him with heavy steps, and for a moment Asger thought the man would charge right through him. “The war council is being called, come on,” he grunted, and Asger raised an eyebrow as he accompanied the man to Fleshbearer’s pavilion. “What’s this about?” Asger queried, to which the Barbarian shrugged. “He mentioned something about Raymun Redbeard, my bets are it’s on that,” he stated, to which Asger furrowed his brow. “He’s found him?” Asger questioned, but Armun shook his head. “Not yet, but his scouts in the Frozen Shores have described a man with hair that is ‘kissed by fire’ trying to rally men for Raymun Redbeard.” “You think Raymun Redbeard is in the Frozen Shores?” Asger queried with a perplexed expression, but Armun’s response was not as Asger had expected; the Barbarian stopped him and took a tight grip of Asger’s forearm. “Raymun Redbeard is dead. If we believe otherwise then the Hornfoots and Nightrunners will rally against us. Don’t think I didn’t see you walking off with Deepstone last night.” Asger’s eyes widened in shock as he stared into Armun’s eyes, and the Barbarian’s gaze turned suspicious. “I wasn’t going to question it, but I know that look, Asger. What were you and Deepstone talking about?” Armun asked with a tone that was more commanding than inquiring. Asger desperately clung onto the Barbarian’s gaze. If he told them about the meeting now he would perhaps get away with it scathe free, but Deepstone trusted him, and they all had a common enemy: Fleshbearer. [Tell Armun about the meeting] [Tell Armun a lie]
Germun Eira Eld. She was unlike any woman Germun had ever known, and he had shared the company of many women. In their youth, Raymun had always been the esteemed warrior of their Nightrunner clan, and Germun had been the mischievous womaniser that had slept with many of the warrior’s wives and daughters. How I survived so long has me tossed, Germun thought with amusement, running his fingers over Eira’s breast. His thoughts digressed. Eira was a brave woman, but unlike the bred warrior women of the Nightrunners, she was calm and patient; choosing words over the sword in every situation she could use them. And how well she fights with them, Germun thought lustfully as he pressed his lips against her body. There was no denying that this mission had been designed for Eira, even if Raymun had personally put Germun at the head of it. I’m only here for my looks, Germun thought smugly, and while he was indeed a handsome man far beyond the charms of his older brother, there was no denying the colour of his hair and eyes were the true reason he was here. “Cover me with furs, my Prince,” Eira moaned softly with a seductive tone, and Germun served to please; climbing atop of her and pulling the pelts over their heads. He proceeded to kiss her, listening closely to her responses as he played with her. Germun’s strength had always been to please others, and perhaps Raymun had highlighted that quality of his too broadly when picking him for this mission, but alas he could not complain. Time with my Eira is time well accommodated, he thought pleasingly, working his lips up to hers. A knock at the door was the only disruption that pulled the two from their harmonious bond, and reluctantly Germun pushed the pelts down the bed. “Who is it?” Germun queried with perhaps a slightly irritable tone, which put a frown on his diplomatic woman. “Chief Vormyr will see you now,” a voice informed them from outside their door, but fortunuately they had demonstrated the grace of allowing them privacy. A sign of respect we’ve yet to see in the Frozen Shits, Germun thought bitterly as he rolled his eyes and threw his legs out of the bed. “Thank you, we’ll be out in a moment,” Eira informed the guard, wrapping the pelt blanket around her body before exiting to the adjacent room. They had arrived to the hall of Clan Greymyst late in the night after choosing to press on from Ha’akh’s home. Vormyr Greymyst had been sceptical to allow them accommodation in his home, but Eira being Eira had worked her charm on the chieftain. Where would I be without her? Germun thought with a smirk as he donned his gear. When Germun was ready he exited the room, meeting eyes with the guard that stood outside their door – he was a tall man with a light brown beard that was braided, and braided hair that was hidden under a leather helm with antlers tied to it. “She won’t be too long,” Germun tried to assure the guard, to which the man held a stern expression, and Germun raised his eyebrows awkwardly. “I’m Germun, by the way,” Germun stated in introduction, extending his hand to the guard, who only glanced at it before raising his gaze to Germun’s. “Walf the Horned,” he grunted in return, to which Germun’s eyes widened as he gazed at the antlers; he nodded and tried to appear interested. “A strong name for a strong man,” Germun proclaimed with words of high-esteem, to which the guard nodded. “My brother is looking for men of your stature, you know,” Germun started, and little to his surprise the man let out a pitiful chuckle. “I serve Chief Vormyr,” he stated with a cold voice, to which Germun nodded with a defeatist attitude. I suppose I’ll have to let Eira do the convincing then, Germun thought to himself, and as if on cue his lady appeared looking more stunning than ever. Her pale skin was hidden under her travelling pelts, but her raven black hair fell beautifully past her shoulders. Her chocolate brown eyes looked into Germun’s with love that even he feared he could not compete with, and a faded ran down her cheek. “We’re ready,” she informed Walf, to which the guard nodded, and without a word led on. The Greymyst Hall was a spacious one-story building constructed around the carcass of a great whale, with driftwood and stone closing the gaps between each large vertebrae. In the Great Hall sat Vormyr Greymyst: a strong man with an athletic build, covered in furs and shells – as common of the Frozen Shore Men. His crewcut hairstyle was jet black, along with his short beard; and his icy blue eyes held a cold glare on them as Walf brought Germun and Eira into his presence. “The Nightrunners, Chieftain,” Walf announced, to which Vormyr nodded, beckoning for Germun and Eira to take a seat at his table. Hesitantly, they did. “Did you sleep well, Prince Germun?” Vormyr’s raspy voice queried carelessly as he picked his teeth with a bone. Germun could not help but smile to his question, and Eira spoke up in his place. “We did, and we thank you for your hospitality,” Eira spoke politely, and Germun reciprocated her gesture. It had been weeks since they had found the comfort of a bed, and they had wasted no time last night. Vormyr raised an eyebrow. “And who are you?” he questioned coldly as his gaze glared on Eira’s physique, making Germun clear his throat awkwardly. “She is Eira Eld, daughter of the legendary warrior: Rogar Eld,” he announced, and Vormyr let out a dry chuckle. “I see you two speak for each other and not for yourselves,” he observed, and Germun awkwardly smiled as he bowed his head. “Apologies, Chieftain. Eira and I are a pair,” Germun explained, and the look on Vormyr’s expression displayed something other than understanding. “The Haunted Forest is far from here, and I assume you are not visiting the Frozen Shores for the sights,” Vormyr stated drly, to which Germun shook his head in affirmation. “We come to spread the word of my brother: Raymun Redbeard, and hopefully rally the Folk of the Frozen Shores to his cause,” Germun stated, and Vormyr let out a sarcastic chuckle as he took a drink from his horned mug of ale. “And what cause might that be?” he asked carelessly. “To join him in raiding the south. To become truly free,” Germun proclaimed, to which Vormyr shook his head with a smirk. “The Free Folk are as free as can be,” he stated, but Eira was unconvinced. “Are we?” she challenged, gaining the eye of the chieftain. “We may claim that so, and yet we are hunted by the crows of the Wall, and unwelcomed anywhere south of it. Raymun sees to change that,” Eira stated, and Vormyr reclined back in his chair. “Rumours say that Raymun Redbeard’s army was crushed by the Ice River clans, as was the army of Thenn’s marching against him. Why should I kneel for a dead king when I have problems of my own?” Vormyr asked with a mocking tone, and Germun felt a lump build in his throat. This was news to him. He glanced momentarily to Eira, but she appeared unswayed by the chieftain’s words. “Raymun does not ask for any man, woman or child to kneel to him. He only asks for you to join him in the fight for glory and freedom,” Eira stated, but Vormyr shook his head. “I have no interest in fighting with your king, girl. My focus remains on what is in front of me, and Wacka the Walrus is the only threat I am concerned of,” Vormyr declared, and Germun felt his chest sink with failure once again. “What if we dealt with this ‘Wacka the Walrus’ for you?” Eira suggested, and Vormyr smirked. “I am fully capable of dealing with the Walrus,” he claimed, to which Germun rolled his eyes with frustration. “Then what? What would convince you to consider an alliance with my brother?” Germun queried with a touch of impatience. Vormyr held his gaze on Eira, and there was something in his eyes which Germun recgonised. Lust. “Give me your woman for a night, Redhair, and I will not only consider an alliance with Raymun Redbeard,” Vormyr stated, “but honour it.” Germun’s eyes widened with an initial shock, quickly followed by a fit of rage that was barely restrained by Eira’s tight grasp of his hand beneath the table. “Please excuse us, Chieftain,” Eira apologised as she quickly ushered Germun out Vormyr’s eardrop. “That whoreson fish fucker!” Germun uttered with a fiery tone, and Eira nodded in agreeance with him as she took his hands. “I don’t like it either, Germun, but Raymun needs Greymyst’s men. He needs Wacka’s men too,” Eira claimed, to which Germun’s eyes widened in horror. “You can’t really be considering this?!” Germun exclaimed with an astound tone, to which Eira took Germun’s face in her hands. “Germun, my love, you are my fire; and the only man I will ever love. I would only do this to benefit Raymun,” she stated, but Germun’s emotions overcame him. “A man who is rumoured to be dead. What about me, Eira? Have you considered how I feel about all this?” Germun blurted emotionally, and a sad look fell on Eira’s brown eyes. “I know, Germun, but I cannot think just about myself when I know Raymun needs us. He is your brother, and he chose you specifically for this mission. I’m not asking you to allow it, I’m asking you to do it for Raymun,” Eira stated with a voice that was weaker than he had ever seen it. Perhaps she was right, this was about more than just himself and Eira – Raymun needed the Frozen Shore; and if the rumours were true, Germun needed them to avenge his brother. I can’t believe I’m even considering this, Germun thought bitterly as he turned his gaze to the whoreson waiting patiently at his table. [Give Vormyr what he wants] [Refuse Vormyr]
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Post by WildlingKing on Sept 6, 2019 20:11:51 GMT
Ah, it is certainly interesting to read about these characters again. I did some re-reading to remind myself where exactly the story was when I left it, and I'm very interested to see where you will take all these threads I've left unfinished I can already say that I enjoy how you write these characters. [Tell Armun a lie] It's a risk for sure, but I'd really like to see Asger siding against Fleshbearer. [Give Vormyr what he wants] If Eira herself wasn't willing to do it I would certainly refuse Vormyr. However, ultimately I think Germun shouldn't forbid her from doing what she thinks is right.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Sept 9, 2019 10:58:59 GMT
So far only one vote so I won't do anything with the votes for the moment, but I have the next part ready, and it's a Rambton part. When Rambton was seen last, he had chosen to run away from the battle when the Ice River clans ambushed Raymun's army and the Thenns. They took refuge in an abandoned village before Jay Snow approached him with an opportunity to get Rambton south of the Wall and into the Seven Kingdoms. They chose to head for the Frozen Shore to enact on this plan.
Rambton
Ha’akh’s village was small, consisting of no more than three huts and an abandoned storehouse lined along a small fishing hole that led out to sea. When Rambton’s party had arrived, Ha’akh had been hesitant to allow them refuge, but with a snowstorm on the horizon he had been convinced by Harmilla Tusk, the wife of Ox. The other two members of the small village were the pair: Nerminy and Elliot. Rambton had hardly got the chance to speak with them, but what little dialogue he had shared was with Elliot – who seemed like a nice enough fellow. All of these folk are oblivious, Rambton also thought though as he exited the storehouse they had been accommodated in.
By the waterhole was Varik and Daritus sinking lines that had been given to them by Elliot, while Jay Snow and Paxtan Codd sat on the porch of Ha’akh’s hut; who seemed to have no issue with the Night’s Watch; be them deserters or sworn brothers, his only rivalry rested with the Nightrunners. Rambton’s eye spotted Nikita on the far side of the village, sitting within the elements; her hawk flying overhead. She was the only Nightrunner among them; but Rambton was hesitant to even call her that, given her dark skin suggested her origins were not of Westeros.
“Hey, One-eyed Crow!” a voice called, and Rambton turned his gaze to meet the bitter eyes of Ox, whose dirty blonde hair had receded far past his scalp. “You’re in my spot,” he growled, to which Rambton’s eye gazed down to his feet and back up again. I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere, Rambton observed as he turned his gaze to the fisherman. “Fuck off,” Rambton muttered, turning his gaze to Paxtan and Jay, where he began to walk as he pushed past the fisherman. Ox quickly caught his wrist.
“The fuck did you say to me, boy?” he grunted, and Rambton lacked the energy to be civil. Suppose I’m a wildling through and through, he reconciled, clenching his fist and throwing it into the man’s jaw. The fisher released his grasp as he clenched his mouth, his bitter eyes turning maleficent as his hands closed to tight fists. “You fucking bastard,” he growled, freeing a dagger from his belt as he trudged towards Rambton. You had to say it.
Rambton unsheathed his longsword in his defence, but before the two could exchange blows another voice was heard in the distance. “What the fuck are you cunts doing?” a deep voice bellowed, and Rambton’s gaze met the hard blue eyes of Ha’akh as he descended from his porch – Jay and Paxtan now following him to the scene. Rambton lifted his blade and pointed it into Ox’s chest.
“Arse here was pissing me off,” Rambton stated, and the look on the giant Ha’akh’s eyes was undoubtedly enraged. “Drop that needle you little shit,” Ha’akh barked, to which Rambton snarled in response. “Fuck you!” he yelled back, poking it further into Ox’s chest. Ha’akh was right upon him. “I’m not in the mood, Crow. Drop your toothpick or I’ll crack your skull in two,” the giant man warned, and Rambton’s glare locked eyes with him for a moment before his eyes scanned around him.
Ox’s cheeks were redder than a newborn’s, and he clutched to his dagger like it was the only source of warmth in this frozen shithole. Behind Ha’akh stood Paxtan, who remained calm while holding the pommel of his sheathed blade, and Jay Snow; who held a wide grin across his face with both his swords in either hand. At the waterhole, Daritus and Varik had dropped their lines and approached the scene cautiously, while Nikita watched the scene from afar. Rambton turned his gaze back onto Ha’akh.
“Try me,” Rambton grunted as he tightened his grip around the hilt of his blade, favouring his odds. Ha’akh snarled his yellow teeth with a malice glare. “Ox, Ha’akh!” a woman shouted from the huts behind, and all the men turned to meet the gaze of Harmilla Tusk – a tall woman with an incredibly slim stature; her hair was a platinum blonde. “The fuck is going on?” Ha’akh turned his gaze to Rambton.
“You’ve outstayed your welcome, Crow,” he muttered. “You all have, so fuck off!” he grunted, turning his back on Rambton and pushing past Paxtan and Jay while sending a glare in Harmilla's direction. The skinny wildling took her place by Ox’s side, who held his fiery gaze on Rambton. “Go back inside, Ox,” she uttered to him, to which the man turned his malice gaze on her before submitting to her authority and nodding. Harmilla turned her attention to Rambton now.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Crow,” she grumbled, to which Rambton rolled his eyes, lowering his sword. “Your husband wanted to fuck with me,” Rambton claimed in his defence, to which Harmilla smirked. “Ox is a weak and useless man. Had I not have stolen him he would be dead,” she stated, to which Rambton smirked. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have,” Rambton muttered, sheathing his blade.
“I don’t intend to babysit him any longer,” she admitted, resting her hand on the head of her axe. “You served Raymun Redbeard, did you not?” she queried, and Rambton scowled at her. He’s not my king. Daritus and Varik took their place at Rambton’s side, with the prior answering her question.
“Aye, we fought for him against the Thenns. Until the Ice River clans ambushed us, that is,” Daritus claimed, and Harmilla snarled. “My children were murdered by the Ice River clans,” she claimed, and Varik seemed to have an empathic expression on his face as he lowered his gaze. “A man passed through here a few days ago, his hair kissed by fire and his eyes as blue as the Bay of Ice. Ha’akh said something about him being a king looking for Free Folk to fight for him,” Harmilla claimed, and Varik’s gaze widened.
“Raymun came through here? Where is he now?” he asked with a hasty tone, and Harmilla let out a sigh. “Ha’akh recommended him to Clan Greymyst. I imagine he’d be there,” Harmilla stated, “after Ha’akh told us that evening I said to my husband that we should join Raymun and avenge our children, but he is too much of a coward to face war,” she claimed, to which Rambton smirked. “Aye,” he agreed, and for a moment Rambton’s eyes connected with Harmilla’s – but only for a second.
“If it truly is Raymun Redbeard then we should go find him,” Daritus claimed, to which Jay Snow stood in. “The fuck, Daritus? What about our plan?” Jay uttered with disbelief, and a frown came over Daritus’ face before he shook his head. “Sorry, Jay, but if I’m going south, it’s going to be by Redbeard’s side,” Daritus stated firmly, and Rambton watched the bitterness build in Jay’s eyes. Harmilla nodded.
“We’ll leave for Clan Greymyst in the morning then. I should be able to convince Nerminy to come with us, and Elliot will surely follow,” she stated, then turning her gaze to Rambton, and a smirk touched her lips. “What about you, One-eyed crow?” she asked with a tone that almost sounded promiscuous, but before Rambton even had a chance to answer, Jay pushed past her to Rambton’s side.
“Rambton and I already have plans,” Jay claimed, hushing his tone as he turned to Rambton, “You wanted to get out of this frozen shithole alive, right?” Rambton gazed at the former brother of the Watch for a moment, a heavy feeling weight bearing down on him. Ever since he had got himself stuck at the Wall he wanted to escape, and one day head south again. I had once been bold enough to dream of someday becoming a knight, Rambton thought with dark amusement, then turning his gaze to Harmilla. He wanted to go south, but if he past the Wall and was found by the Watch or Northmen, they would take his head. If he passed south with the wildlings, the Watch or Northmen would take his head. It left little room for living, and perhaps he owed himself a woman and some life before facing that risk.
[Stay with Jay] [Go with Harmilla]
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Post by WildlingKing on Sept 10, 2019 10:09:26 GMT
Ah, this is one of those choices where both options seem about equally interesting, and I mainly just hope whichever I choose is the one you're personally more interested to discover [Go with Harmilla] Anyway, I think the prospect of Rambton attempting to find a stable life for himself beyond the Wall could make for a pretty interesting character motivation for him going forward.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Sept 16, 2019 11:47:54 GMT
Well given my vast audience I won't touch the votings until another votes (to which I hope another does). That still leaves me with a handful of parts I'm able to write before choices have to be made. One such part is that of Phoenix Hwarden, a thrall of the Ironborn who is the right hand of King Dagon Greyjoy. His first part was written by WildlingKing long ago, and the consensus was made that Phoenix would sail to the Frozen Shore with Asshkaan (a red priest) to support Raymun Redbeard and cause chaos in the North; supporting Dagon's efforts. This part takes place a few weeks down the track, when Phoenix and Asshkaan have arrived at the Frozen Shores. It's a short part, but it has a reasonably important choice regarding where we want to lead Phoenix's storyline. Hope you enjoy
Phoenix There was a bite to the air as Phoenix arose from his cabin with a tired look in his eye. The sky was bright but with cloud, and the young Ironborn had to cover his eyes as they adjusted to the light. When they did, they uncovered a barren icy wasteland at the bow of their vessel, stretching for hundreds of miles with no signs of civilisation except for a large fishing village along the coast. Phoenix let out a heavy yawn and approached the starboard side of the ship, where the red priest, Asshkaan, resided with a brooding look on his bearded face. “Sleep well, slave?” Asshkaan queried dryly, not shifting his gaze from the village. They had travelled from Bear Island to the Frozen Shore in one night. Winds had been good, Phoenix thought gracefully before he furrowed his eyebrows with a short temper. “I’m no slave, old man. You’d do best to mind your tongue,” Phoenix warned him, to which the red priest smirked. “Aye, not a slave, a thrall. I fail to see the difference,” Asshkaan stated nonchalantly, and Phoenix’s glare hardened on the man in red robes. “I’m Dagon’s right hand!” Phoenix growled, and Asshkaan nodded. “And no more Ironborn than I. You are a slave to your king as I am a slave to my god, and we both have our mission, Lord Hwarden,” Asshkaan reminded him, as if to defuse the situation. Phoenix only rolled his eyes. “How do you propose we find this Raymun Redbeard anyhow?” Phoenix muttered with a bitter tone, resting himself against the balustrades as he gazed over the village ahead. It looked abandoned. “We go and ask,” Asshkaan claimed laconically, to which Phoenix smugly remarked: “and if they don’t know?” Phoenix queried, to which Asshkaan sighed. “Then we keep searching,” he responded with a quiet yet determined tone. - “If you’re not crows, and not southerners, then who the fuck are you?” The chieftain grunted, and Phoenix let out a small smile. “My lord, we are Ironborn; of the Iron Islands. King Dagon Greyjoy sent us here to help Raymun Redbeard attack the North,” Phoenix explained, and the chieftain’s eyes narrowed down on him; but Phoenix did not crumple under his gaze. “I’m no lord, boy, there are no lords in the North. The true North. Only southerners have lords and kings, and Raymun Redbeard is no king. Not sure he’s much of anything anymore,” the chieftain proclaimed, and the hall of Frozen Shore Men erupted with laughter. Phoenix glanced momentarily to Asshkaan, who held a solemn expression on his bearded face, his tone silent this entire discussion. Phoenix let out a sigh. “Just point us in the direction of the next village and we’ll be on our way,” Phoenix muttered, to which the chieftain raised an eyebrow at him. “Who the fuck do you think you are to give me orders, cunt?” he grumbled, and the hall fell silent. The chieftain’s brother stood forward. “We are Free Folk, we do not kneel for southerners or free men alike,” the hunched man stated, and the men in the hall cheered, to which Asshkaan shook his head. “We are all servants to the Lord of Light, Chieftain Wacka, whether we choose it or not. King Raymun is the Lord’s chosen, and you would do best to serve him,” Asshkaan proclaimed, and Phoenix’s eyes immediately widened. What the fuck is this fool doing? Phoenix thought with ire as he grasped the red priest’s forearm. Whatever level of anger Phoenix had for Asshkaan was heavily outweighed by the outraged expression across the chieftain’s face. “Did you fucking hear that, Packa? The chieftain grunted to his hunched brother with a tone seething with ire, and Phoenix cleared his throat awkwardly. “My friend here is a delirious fool, and we don’t come to offend. We only wish to attack those south of the Wall with men brave enough to cross it,” Phoenix stated, and Asshkaan crossed him a glare. Packa stood forward. “Raymun Redbeard is dead. Fleshbearer of the Ice River clans now claims himself King of the Free Folk,” Packa announced, and Phoenix watched the bloodthirsty grin of Wacka shift from the red priest to him. “I intend to kill that piece of shit once I’m finished with the Greymyst’s,” he proclaimed, then turning his gaze to the men in the hall. “And perhaps after all these false kings and lords are dead, I will take the Frozen Shore Men south to kill some real lordlings,” he shouted, and the room roared in support. Asshkaan freed his arm from Phoenix’s grip. “Let’s go,” Asshkaan advised, “we must search for Raymun,” he stated, to which Phoenix shook his head in opposition. “Didn’t you hear what they said? Your god’s promised servant is dead,” Phoenix argued, to which Asshkaan only shook his head. “Until my Lord communicates to me otherwise, Raymun Redbeard lives. Now come,” he beckoned, exiting the hall. Phoenix shook his head with frustration. I chose to follow a fanatic when I could’ve fought by my King’s side, Phoenix thought foolishly, but as he thought of Dagon and his trust for Asshkaan, he recomposed himself. We would do better to find this Fleshbearer, Phoenix thought with a strategic mind, then turning his gaze to Wacka. The man stared at him with a malicious intent, but perhaps there was a potential alliance in the making. Phoenix knew Asshkaan would search for his promised king no matter the cost, but the Ironborn would follow Phoenix. Perhaps I should just stick with the fanatic, Phoenix thought, knowing it would be Dagon’s advice. Still, Dagon needed fighters in the north, not dream chasers. [Go to Fleshbearer] [Fight for Wacka] [Keep searching for Raymun]
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Post by WildlingKing on Sept 17, 2019 22:05:52 GMT
Hmm, I had to think on this one for a while, and honestly I'm still not 100% sure which option to take. All of them have the potential to be interesting. However...
[Keep searching for Raymun] I think ultimately sticking with Asshkaan seems like the most intriguing path, as well as having the added benefit of being the option that has Phoenix follow the orders given to him by Dagon.
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Sept 27, 2019 3:45:48 GMT
Ah, sorry for missing the first parts, it's been a real chore to write over the last few weeks with my hand injury, but feeling a lot better now, so I am glad to delve into the voting at last Also, I am really glad to see the story back. It is admittedly a strange feeling, but a very welcome one at the same time, seeing this story back after so long, with a different author on top, but you are doing splendidly. I loved the old Winds Beyond the Wall and I have a feeling I am going to love this one just as well. Also, it's going to be great seeing all these characters back after such a long time. As for my first choice, I agree with Wildling. [Keep searching for Raymun] is going to be my preferred option
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Oct 1, 2019 5:25:31 GMT
Alright, well I have two votes this time! No ties which is fantastic, so Phoenix will continue to search for Raymun. I'm pretty ambivalent about this choice, as I guess it's probably clear I'm starting to ramp up the Frozen Shores storyline from multiple angles, but I'm pretty happy to have the Ironborn sticking to their original mission too. It also means we get to keep with some R'hllor fanatacism, one of my all time favourites I'll still leave the other parts open, if @liquidchicagoted or anyone else would like to vote on them, but for the meanwhile I have the next part ready. It goes to Argus Keding. Argus was originally a recruit at the Wall, however decided to leave the Wall with another fellow recruit (Alistair) to join the Northern effort in rebelling the Ironborn from their shores. Argus and Alistair met another companion along the way, Emilio Rivers, and the three went into Winterfell to sign up for the war effort. Beron Stark directed them to Brandon Icestark, the man in charge of the contracts, and Argus and Alistair met with him the next day after Emilio suddenly disappeared. Brandon Icestark handed them their contracts, offering Argus 25 gold dragons and Alistair 100 silver stags. Alistair was not happy about this sum and made a fuss over this. The winning choice for this part was for Argus to find a comprimise, and so he will. Enjoy
Argus “Sorry boy, but you are not worth five gold dragons.” Argus looked across to Alistair, whose eyes were welling up with rage as his hands clenched to fists. Argus gripped Alistair’s forearm before he made the situation any worse. We don’t want to cross swords with the North, Argus thought warily. “My Lord, forgive Alistair’s temper, we have found ourselves on an interesting path,” Argus stated ambiguously, purposely omitting their choice to leave the Wall. No need to give him any wrong ideas, Argus thought tactically. “Is there anything more that can be spared for him? We are putting our lives on the line for the North,” Argus stated, but Alistair shook his head as he ripped his arm free of Argus’ grip. “Spare me nothing! I’m no pauper. I am a man, the same as everyone else in your fucking employ, and I deserve a man’s wage. Just because I don’t have a fancy name or knightly title doesn’t mean I have no worth!” Alistair argued, and Brandon Icestark shot him a warningly glare. “If the offer isn’t good enough for you, ‘Bloodsword’, then I’m afraid we have no need for you,” Brandon grunted, and Argus let out a sigh as he thought of a simple compromise. “I will take twenty-five gold dragons,” Argus stated, gaining the attention of both men. “Give the other twenty-five to Alistair. We come as a pair or not at all,” Argus declared, and Alistair’s eyes widened before a small gracious smile touched his lips. Brandon glared at Argus for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Have it your way,” he muttered, making the amendments and pushing their contracts in front of them. “Once you sign these contracts, you are obliged to serve the Stark’s until the Greyjoy threat is over,” Brandon informed them, pushing the ink and quill towards them. Argus nodded and signed the paper, but to his surprise Alistair remained idle. What now? Argus thought with minor frustration, and as he caught Alistair’s eye, the young man flashed an awkward look at him. “I don’t know how to write,” he admitted with embarrassment, and Argus let out a shallow sigh of relief. “Just scribble a mark,” Argus prompted him, passing him the quill. Alistair stared at the paper long and hard before pressing the quill to the paper and squiggling a line. The end product was a child-like drawing of a wonky sword with black ink drops dripping from it. Alistair the Bloodsword, Argus thought with a small smile as he nodded to his friend, then passing the two papers back to Lord Icestark. The man raised an eyebrow but didn’t bother to question it. “The North thanks you for your service,” he uttered in a scripted tone, filing the papers, providing them their gold and dismissing them. The two men nodded and took their leave. Once they were out of the Great Hall, Alistair pulled Argus aside. “I can’t believe you did that,” he mumbled, and Argus raised an eyebrow. “Did what?” Argus queried, to which Alistair shrugged awkwardly. “Splitting your payment with me, saying we were a package,” Alistair stated, and Argus nodded. “And I meant it too,” Argus assured him, “Now you’d better prove your worth all those gold dragons,” Argus stated, and Alistair gulped. “How?” he mumbled shyly, to which Argus chuckled. “Not running from the fight would be a sure start. Stay by my side and we’ll get through all this just fine,” Argus promised him, and Alistair flashed him an assured smile as he nodded. “I will,” he swore, and Argus patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s head back to the tavern,” Argus decided, and Alistair nodded in agreement. As the two made their exit, they couldn’t help but notice a familiar face donned in black standing impatiently in the waiting room. Dennis Stone, Argus recognised as he stared at the ranger, and as their eyes connected the brother approached them. “Keding,” he greeted with a relieved tone as he grasped Argus’ forearm and nodded to Alistair. “Stone,” Argus greeted in return, “What brings you to Winterfell?” they queried, and Dennis’ expression fell sombre. “There was a mutiny at Castle Black. A lot of our own are dead, including Maester Jon, and the traitors are still in the North. I’m here to inform the Stark’s, but I haven’t been able to get a word in with all this horseshit,” Dennis explained with a stressed tone, and both Argus and Alistair fell short for words momentarily, shock overwhelming them. “How did this happen?” Alistair then mumbled in disbelief, to which Dennis shrugged with tired eyes. “Jolly Jack was the only one keeping order in Castle Black, and when he went beyond the Wall it just got restless. Wasn’t long before old feuds started resurfacing,” Dennis muttered, and a frown fell on Argus’ face. “I’m sorry we weren’t there,” he muttered with guilt, thinking his being there could have somehow prevented the events that had happened. Dennis only shook his head. “Be glad you weren’t, Argus,” Dennis stated sincerely, crossing his arms. “I can’t unsee the things I’ve seen. The men I had once called my brothers, the men I had drank with one day and ran off to Mole’s Town with the next; then for those friends to pull their swords on you and kill the weak and powerless amongst us…” Dennis’ voice fell short before he shook his head. “Is there anyone in the Great Hall?” he queried with a stern tone as he changed the subject, and Argus shook his head. “No, we just left there,” he answered, to which Dennis nodded. “I’m going in,” he stated decisively as he grabbed his gear. “I’ve been waiting here long enough, and I’ll be needed back at the Wall soon enough. What about yourselves?” he questioned, and Argus and Alistair looked at each other momentarily before answering. “The Wolfswood. We’ll ride with the Bolton’s to reinforce the Stark army,” Argus stated, and Dennis nodded. “Be careful out there, the both of you. Try and convince Lord Stark to send some men to the Wall, the Seven know we’re lacking in them now.” Argus gave him a nod, and the two parties went their separate ways. - Winter Town had grown busier as the day had gotten on, and had noticed more banners flapping in the wind. Most of the sigils resembled the wolf of House Stark, however there were others which Argus didn’t recognise; such as a grey stone head with fiery eyes on a light green field. He imagined it was the personalised banner of a hedge knight or sellsword. Another banner he recognised belonged to a sellsword group from Essos he had merely heard of, their sigil a shattered sword on a white backing. The Second Sons, Argus noted, but he admitted he was surprised to spot an Essosi sellsword company in the North. Looks like this war is attracting eyes of all sorts.The banner of most importance suddenly caught Argus’ attention, and a shiver ran down his spine as he recognised it. The flayed man of House Bolton. “That’s them,” Argus stated, prodding Alistair’s attention to the Bolton flag. The man gulped and nodded. “Aye,” he nodded, looking at Argus shyly. “Are we sure about this?” he asked, to which Argus let out a sigh. “We’re locked into this now, Alistair. Let’s go.” They were met by malice glares as they walked through the Bolton camp. Before long they were directed to the leader of House Bolton – Lord Matthew Bolton. He was a handsome man on his late thirties, with short black hair a stubble coating his face; a scar ran down his eye. By his side was his second son; Jory Bolton, who was a spitting image of his father, only with a cleanly shaven face and slightly longer hair that was hidden under a black sallet. “So, you’re to march with us to the Wolfswood then,” he stated as he ran his finger along the edge of his bastard sword, the hilt of the blade resembling a flayed man; with his extended arms serving as a cross guard. Argus nodded, to which the man reciprocated his gesture. “So be it. We leave for the Wolfswood at dawn. You will ride in my vanguard,” Matthew stated, and Argus nodded graciously, but he knew there was a moderate problem with that plan. “My Lord, Alistair here does not have a horse,” Argus stated, and Matthew glanced at Alistair with hard eyes; making the Bloodsword flinch his gaze away. “Then he’ll walk,” the Lord Bolton decided, and Argus was about to open his mouth in argument, but Alistair quickly shook his head with a panicked expression. It dawned on Argus that Alistair likely didn’t know how to ride a horse, but he still didn’t want to leave him like this. “So be it,” Argus sighed, and the lord nodded with shrouded attention. Argus and Alistair took their leave, returning to their accommodation in Winter Town for their final night at the home of the Stark’s. To both of their demises, the pretty foreign girl was nowhere to be seen, and so the two purchased an ale of their own and found a quiet table. No words were shared as they sipped at their drinks, their thoughts had become very attentive to the realisation that they would be marching to war tomorrow. And perhaps to our deaths, Argus thought grimly, but tried his best to shake that thought from his head. Thinking pessimistically would not save him now. Their peace was interrupted by a vaguely familiar face that approached them. It was the acclaimed one-man army sellsword who had received a thousand gold dragons for his contract. The Volantene was an aged man, perhaps in his early forties, with weathered skin marking his hard face and eyes that were like green gems. His silver-gold hair was tied back into a half-pony tail, and his matching beard was unkempt; he wore armour that looked to be hundreds of years old. “Spare me a seat?” he asked with a polite tone, his accent foreign, and neither Argus nor Alistair retained the courage to refuse him. As the Volantene took a seat, he let out a heavy sigh and poured himself a cup of ale from the jug on their table; flipping a gold dragon in Alistair’s direction for the trouble; raising the boy’s eyes in shock. “I am Marcyn of Izulepsia,” he introduced, and Argus nodded in acknowledgement. “We were behind you in line for receiving our contracts,” Argus explained, and the Volantene gave an understanding nod. “Then you children are also heading to the Wolfswood,” he stated, to which Alistair furrowed his eyebrows. “We’re not children,” he retorted with a bitter tone, and Argus could tell his companion was growing irritable. He’s afraid, and so was Argus, but he did a better job of hiding it. Marcyn smiled. “Children to war,” Marcyn elaborated with emphasis, and Alistair rolled his eyes. “I can tell you boys are green to battle; and while you may be able to swing a sword better than he, I wager neither of you have actually seen war, nor killed a man for that matter,” Marcyn stated, and neither of the two spoke up in argument. The Volantene nodded. “I recall my first battle, back across the Narrow Sea in Braavos; fighting the Pentoshi. I had heard of the wars during my time in Volantis, and I saw it as an opportunity to prove myself. I had never seen so much death…” Marcyn uttered as his eyes seemed to drift into oblivion. “War never changes, but the men fighting war do.” Argus raised an eyebrow to this as he examined the Volantene. “How many wars have you fought in?” he queried, to which the sellsword shrugged. “Too many to count,” he muttered, but Argus could sense there was more to his story. “Tomorrow we march for war, I would advise you green boys rest,” he stated, arising from his chair and leaving with his mug. Argus turned his attention to Alistair, but his companion kept his gaze averted, quietly egressing and retreating upstairs. Argus let out a sigh, downing the rest of his cup. Best I find some sleep then, Argus thought finally as he pushed the cup away from himself. As he went to stand, he observed a familiar face entering the tavern; whose eyes met Argus’ underneath his curly red hair. “Argus!” he greeted with a tone that seemed to resemble relief, and he grasped Argus’ arm as he approached. “Emilio, where in Seven hells have you been?” Argus muttered with a frustrated tone, and an embarrassed look fell over the young man. “Well I may have chased after a woman in Winterfell,” he admitted, but Argus kept a hard glare on the boy. “Is that right? A woman approached Alistair and I last night asking about you; we told her you were marching to war with us, but she seems to have trouble believing this. Care to explain?” Argus queried with an interrogative tone, and the young man gulped awkwardly as he shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered with a tone that seemed genuine, and Argus let out a sigh. “So are you marching with us tomorrow or not?” Argus questioned with an impatient tone, and Emilio gave him a firm nod. “Of course, Argus. I want to do my part for the North,” he answered, and Argus was too tired to argue, just giving him a tired nod. “Alistair is upstairs, I’ll be heading there directly. You’re welcome to stay with us tonight,” Argus offered, but Emilio simply shook his head. “I have my accommodation sorted, but I will see you tomorrow,” Emilio promised, to which Argus nodded. The red-headed boy took his leave, donning his hood as he fled out the tavern. Watching him leave, Argus felt something itching at him, as if Emilio’s excuse wasn’t enough. Has he even signed his contract? Argus wondered. Perhaps I should follow him, he thought, but then thinking on Marcyn’s words it was perhaps best if he got some rest for tomorrow. [Follow Emilio] [Get some rest]
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Post by WildlingKing on Oct 1, 2019 22:50:03 GMT
[Follow Emilio] Let's find out what this guy is up to. Funnily enough I don't actually remember what the deal with Emilio was XD And of course you might have completely different plans for him anyway.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Oct 6, 2019 11:39:15 GMT
Naturally I will leave the voting open until someone else casts their vote. Kind of sucky no one else has shown any interest yet but oh well, perhaps I need to get to work on the recap instead of writing all these new parts. I just can't help myself As I said, I have new parts ready. The first introduces a new character, while the second goes to Robett. Here's a short recap. Robett was the Lord Commander's steward, and because of that he had to remain at Castle Black when Jolly Jack and his ranging party went beyond the Wall to search for Keran and Rambton Snow. Watching the chaos unfold, Robett passed his concerns over to Maester Jon, who in turn wrote to the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. During this time, Robett overheard Eren Meratus (a Volantene merchant visiting Castle Black) speaking some suspicious words to an owl. He was caught eavesdropping and kept under guard by Eren's slave guards. When the mutiny at Castle Black transpired, Eren Meratus let Robett go, and Robett found Maester Jon and Cruz (his steward) dying in the ravenry. Robett vowed for vengeance after watching Cruz put himself out of his misery. Robett later left Castle Black with Tom, a fellow steward, to head for the Shadow Tower and ask for help. Along the way they encountered Griff, a mutineer who had a hand in killing the maester. Their commotion gained the attention of Commander Dayne, who was on the way to Castle Black, and the commander gave Robett the oppurtinity to get his vengeance by taking Griff's life. Robett did so, but did not find his thirst quenched. He and Tom were later escorted to the Shadow Tower, where they chose to stay over returning to Castle Black. A bit of a long-winded recap, but that sums it up pretty well. Anyway, hope you enjoy
The Exile A sword of kings, descended to the hands of little more than a bastard. The exile looked upon the magnificent sword with envious eyes; he had admired the men that wielded the blade, but knew he himself would never be worthy enough to carry such a burden. He had wielded it once, and one time was enough. Valyrian steel. A rare sight in Westeros, and a dying breed of mankind. The exile turned his gaze onto his wife, a resemblance of tainted Valyrian beauty; her hair was a dyed magenta, and her eyes a vibrant blue. She took her place by his side as her gaze followed his back to the Valyrian blade. “You were right to bring it with us,” she stated with a firm tone, but the exile paid her meaningless words little mind. She was his wife, but she was not the woman he had loved. That woman had been taken from him, stolen by the bastard of a brother that had stolen his father too. “If my brother had taken it, he would have made his already made his claim; and what a misery that would have been,” she spoke poetically, to which the exile shook his head bitterly. “I do not wish to hear your words, woman,” the exile grumbled, and he received a cold glare from his Valyrian beauty. “You’re not half the man my father was,” she hissed with spite, and the exile turned to her with a fiery look in his purple eyes. He lifted his hand in warning, and the girl flinched in response. She had learned not to overstep her place, even if she was right. The exile dropped his fist, holding his dominating glare over her before returning his gaze back to the sword. “I’m not your father, his corpse rots with his eldest sons and all the rest who fell following him. I saved you, I saved all of your miserable lives,” he grunted, and the girl lifted her wet blue eyes to him with a darkness in her glare. “Not all of us,” she corrected him before lowering her gaze, and the exile’s lip curled as he averted his gaze from her. “My brother may be a fool, but he has the sight. If Jacaerys and Danaerys are here…” her voice trailed, to which the exile nodded. “I’ll find them,” he grunted, taking a final glance of the fine Valyrian steel before sheathing it and passing it to his wife. “Put it where you found it,” he ordered with a grumbling tone, and she nodded as she took hold of her father’s sword. As she fled the tent, the exile let out a groan of relief; and took a seat on his bed. The weather was cold, colder than he had ever felt, and he had experienced harsh winters in King’s Landing. The Northmen are another breed, he thought to himself as he ran his hands through his hair. His time across the Narrow Sea had made him accustomed to the Essosi climate, and once their business was done here he would return back to Essos where it was safest. Had it not been for his wife, he would not have agreed to have accompanied the Second Sons to Westeros, and even still it was a risk. There are eyes everywhere, he thought with paranoia, but he knew is heavy precaution was well sanctioned. “Captain,” a voice called from outside of the tent, making the exile snarl to the disturbance. “What?” he grunted with a hostile tone, and the voice outside the tent spoke their words carefully. “The Captain-General is calling for his officers.” The exile grumbled a curse under his breath before giving the messenger his acknowledgement. He donned his gear, strapping his sword to his belt. He looked a moment at his shield, observing his personal banner before exiting his tent. He followed the messenger to the tent of Brus Crowl: the Captain-General. Upon entering, the exile recognised two men. The first of the two was Brus, their commander and a whore-mongering fool. He was a strong man, robust in his build with long black hair and a clean shaven face; his eyes were a brown so dark they were almost black. Beside him was his second-in-command: Vogero of Volantis. The captain was a priest of R’hllor, and made it known by the red robes he donned, but unlike his fellow fanatics he was quite formidable in his stature. Vogero had frizzly black hair and a bushy beard with brown eyes. “Bittersteel,” Brus greeted as his third-in-command entered, and the exile nodded back to the man in short gesture. “You wanted me?” the exile muttered, and the captain-general nodded. “Beron Stark has provided us with our contract. We will be joining my brother’s army at Saltspear. We will leave by dawn,” he announced, to which the exile rolled his eyes. “You needed me to come all this way just for that?” he grunted, to which Brus smirked. “There is more, naturally,” Brus claimed, turning his gaze to his second-in-command, “Vogero has seen something more in the flames,” Brus stated, and the exile muttered something incoherent. “The last thing he saw in the flames brought us here, don’t tell me his flames forgot something back in Essos,” the exile grumbled, and Vogero scowled at him. “I saw a monolith of ice, and atop it a flame which rallied the wild creatures of the forests, frozen rivers and snowy mountains. Bears, wolves, elks and rabbits alike. All cast aside their differences to follow the flame,” Vogero prophesised, and the exile raised an eyebrow as he looked to Brus, who only shook his head. “The Wall,” he clarified bluntly, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t elaborate on the rest. “Vogero thinks it’s important, so once we’re done fucking these Ironborn up the arse, we’ll go pay the Wall a little visit,” Brus stated, to which the exile sighed. “And what of my needs, Crowl?” the exile muttered, and Brus raised an eyebrow. “What of your needs?” he chastised, and the exile glared bitterly at him. “You know full well my reasons for being here aren’t just to kill Ironborn and get paid,” he stated, and Brus smirked. “Of course not, the Bittersteel wishes to live to his name. You’re wanting to rally the North to support your next rebellion,” Brus acknowledged, and the exile crossed his arms. Brus let out a sigh as he leant against his desk. “We are a unit, the three of us, which means my wants are your wants and your ambitions are my own. So as a unit, we will recruit for you, chase visions for Vogero, and fuck all the whores in this frozen shithole before we take our pay and fuck off back to Essos,” Brus claimed, and the exile exchanged glares with Vogero before nodding to their commander. “If that’s all,” the exile muttered, but Brus shook his head. “It isn’t. Beron Stark has many sons, and his youngest, Rodrik, wishes to join us,” Brus announced, to which the exile shrugged his shoulders. “So let him sign your book and be done with it,” the exile muttered, and Brus nodded. “In time; but as request by his father, he wishes for the boy to squire for a knight. I can’t think of a finer example of knighthood than that of Ser Aegor Rivers, can you?” he proclaimed with a sarcastic tone, something which Vogero took pleasure with. Fucking cunt, the exile thought to himself as he reluctantly bit his lip from saying it aloud. “You want me to mentor the boy?” the exile grunted with a cold tone, to which Brus shrugged. “The Second Sons has other knights, men with names that history will forget. The same may be said for the Stark boy, I don’t know and don’t really care. If you don’t think you’re up for it just say the word and I’ll give the boy over to someone else,” Brus muttered as he crossed his arms. The exile let out a sigh. He had enough on his plate to be concerned for without the additional stress of dragging an entitled boy around, but then he knew Brus only suggested it because he believed he would turn down the challenge. Perhaps I should put this fucker in his place, the exile thought bitterly. Perhaps mentoring a Stark boy could gain the Stark’s to support their next rebellion when the time came. [Take Rodrik as your squire] [Don’t take Rodrik as your squire]
Robett The young steward ran his gloved hand down the garron’s muzzle, patting the beast on the cheek with his other hand and receiving a pleased snort. The Weasel let out a sigh. Much had happened in these last two weeks, and it still overwhelmed him. The mutiny at Castle Black, the death and bloodshed. Cruz... Robett thought miserably as the young steward of Maester Jon flashed before his eyes. The Weasel had killed Griff, but it wasn’t enough. Perhaps Tom is right, perhaps nothing will be enough, Robett thought grimly, but quickly his sadness turned to anger. None of this would have happened had the Lord Commander not left them. Of course he had to go searching for Keran - his most favoured ranger. The horse could sense Robett’s anger, and the Weasel felt the strength of the beast rubbing its muzzle against Robett’s face. The boy let out a sigh as he looked at the garron in its dark brown eyes. He almost envied the simplicity of the creature. It would never suffer what I have suffered, Robett thought to himself sternly, but he knew it was no good wishing he could be somewhere else or something else. I am a brother of the Night’s Watch, he thought to himself, but that vow he swore had begun to feel meaningless after these last few weeks. Is there even a Night’s Watch anymore? He tried not to trouble himself with such thoughts. “Tyra is a good girl, isn’t she?” a high-pitched voice questioned from behind him, and Robett’s gaze turned shyly to recognise the blue eyes of the Shadow Tower’s stableboy. Dani Evans, what is he doing here? Robett gulped awkwardly and nodded as the steward approached him, patting the garron’s nose as he smiled, but Robett could tell his expression was weak. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he added awkwardly, to which Robett shook his head. “I haven’t really had much to do since we arrived,” Robett admitted, to which the boy nodded. “Yeah, the place has been kinda quiet since Commander Dayne left, and no one has been particularly keen on overworking you two,” the steward stated, to which Robett shrugged, he wished he had more work to keep his mind off things. He wished to avenge Cruz. “What are you doing here? Last time I saw you was at Castle Black,” Robett stated, and Dani nodded. “Well when Musgood left I didn’t see any need for myself to be at Castle Black, and who was going to stop me from leaving? I requested to get moved to the Shadow Tower, and Jorrel sanctioned it. Good thing too,” Dani stated, but remembered how he had broached their last conversation. “I’m sorry for barking at you while I was at Castle Black, we all good?” the builder asked, extending his hand out. Robett nodded as he awkwardly shook it, and the stableboy let out a girly giggle. “You’d better work on that grip, the men at the Shadow Tower prize themselves on strength,” Dani claimed, and Robett blushed with embarrassment as he pulled his hand away. His eyes suddenly lowered as he thought of Castle Black. “If I were stronger, I could have saved them,” Robett muttered to himself, but loud enough for Dani to hear. The stableboy frowned. “I always used to think the same,” Dani stated, to which Robett raised an eyebrow. “When I learnt my brother had gone missing in a ranging beyond the Wall, I signed up in the hopes that I could become a ranger and find him. When I heard my name being called for the builders, well, you can imagine what was going through my head,” Dani mumbled, and Robett nodded. “Who was your brother?” Robett asked, not knowing what else to say, and for a moment it seemed like Dani wasn’t going to answer. “Jacen Evans,” he finally uttered, the name seeming to get caught in his throat; coming out squeaky as he said it. “Our father died when we were young, and we were separated from the rest of our family. Jacen and I did it hard, but he was my little brother and I knew I had to protect him, and we made a good pair of pickpockets in Oldtown. That all changed with the Sickness,” Dani’s voice drifted, but Robett’s eyes urged him to continue. “I caught the plague, and my little brother knew that if there was any remedy, it would be in the Citadel. He found it, but got himself caught in the process. They shipped him off to the Wall,” Dani stated with a melancholic tone, and Robett felt her sorrows. “I used to be one of the best pickpocket’s in Flea Bottom,” Robett remarked with a weak smirk on his lips. “So good the gold cloaks called me ‘Weasel,’ I was quick,” Robett stated, and he noticed Dani glancing at him in the corner of his eye. “Until I wasn’t quick enough, and the gold cloaks threw me in the Red Keep dungeons. I was there a fortnight before I was offered to take the Black,” Robett uttered with a concluding sigh, to which Dani shrugged. “At least you got it good as a steward, serving directly to the Lord Commander. I get to enjoy shovelling horse shit from dawn till dusk,” Dani retorted with a small giggle, and succeeded in making Robett laugh as he nodded in agreement. “Did you have family? Someone you had to leave behind?” Dani then asked, his tone turned sombre as a frown cloaked his expression. Robett let out a sigh and shook his head. “I never knew my parents; the kids I stole with said my mother was a whore, but we always japed at each other,” Robett said emptily, surprised with his nostalgia for the grim streets of Flea Bottom. At least there was more to do there, Robett thought hopelessly. He was a thief, that was his speciality, and there was nothing of worth to steal at the Wall. Nothing that won’t lose me my head, anyway. “Well I guess you’re a lucky one then,” Dani stated with a half-interested voice, attending to the stables as he left Robett to his thoughts. Did I say something wrong? Robett didn’t have the courage to ask, and as he took one last glance at Tyra before leaving the stables. - The mess hall was quiet this time of day, but he had found company with Tom. The two ate their stew silently, as had been the case for the last few days. Robett had grown sick of Tom’s ramblings, and likely Tom had given up on trying to persuade Robett to a different path. When the Weasel had finished his bowl, he got up silently to leave. “Robett,” Tom’s voice called, and the Weasel reluctantly paused. “I’m leaving the Shadow Tower,” he stated laconically, and Robett raised an eyebrow to this. “You’re going back to Castle Black?” Robett queried with a semi-disinterested voice, but Tom shook his head. “I’m going south, to the Riverlands to train as a septon. Once my training is complete I will return here,” Tom announced, and Robett raised an eyebrow to this. “You’re leaving me?” Robett finally expressed aloud, and Tom rose to his feet and placed a hand on Robett’s shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” he stated, and Robett looked up to him curiously, “you can come with me, train with me at the cottage. If not for the Seven, than at least for yourself to get away from this place. The First Steward has given his sanction for me to go, but I’m sure if we go back to Castle Black and ask he will allow you to come with me,” Tom proclaimed, and Robett wasn’t sure what to think. This had all come out of nowhere, and Tom hadn’t really shown much interest in him these last few days. I haven’t been much better, Robett acknowledged. Regardless, this was an opportunity. An opportunity to get away from this place, to leave all this behind, and perhaps to also get his revenge on those who killed Cruz and Maester Jon too. Robett tried to shake the thought from his mind. He had left Castle Black for a reason, and perhaps things would get better at the Shadow Tower. Besides, when Lord Commander Musgood would return, he would still need Robett. If he ever comes back, Robett thought hopelessly. [Go with Tom] [Stay at the Shadow Tower]
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Post by WildlingKing on Oct 8, 2019 18:19:55 GMT
[Take Rodrik as your squire] Ah, Bittersteel enters the story. Back when I was writing this story my knowledge of the canon was much more scant than it is today, so I'm sure I would've never even had the idea to include him had I continued writing It's great though, I'm eager to see how you'll portray him. As for the choice, I choose this option simply cause it seems more interesting. [Stay at the Shadow Tower] This is tough, because I could see either option being interesting, but ultimately I think there could still be interesting threads for Robett to follow in Shadow Tower, maybe with Dani for example.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Oct 21, 2019 8:40:42 GMT
Alrighty, I have the next part ready. It follows the story of Cregard Stark, a character I submitted long ago who was once named Trystan Oldstark, who is the First Steward of the Night's Watch. Cregard was stationed at Eastwatch with the mission of intervening with Essosi trade vessels travelling north of the Wall. When news of the mutiny at Castle Black reached Eastwatch, Cregard made his way there with his steward: Broken Hill. Upon arriving at Castle Black, Cregard meets with First Builder Jorrel and Edric Dayne - the commander of the Shadow Tower. It is decided that an acting Lord Commander is needed to maintain order in Jack Musgood's absence, and Cregard announces it will be an open election and that he himself will not be named as a candidate. When the election comes, Broken will ask who he should vote for. The vote decided that Cregard should tell Broken to make his own choice, and Cregard would vote for Edric Dayne instead of Jorrel. This part takes place in the election.
Cregard
The First Steward let out a sigh as he looked to the voting table at the head of the mess hall, Jorgan and Croll were counting the chips cast into the two bowls. Left for Jorrel, right for Dayne. Broken sat beside Cregard with an anxious expression, his leg jiggling under the table with an impatient anticipation. Much of the mess hall was the same, save for the presence of the flamboyant Volantene: Eren Meratus, who held a wide grin as he observed their order’s rituals. Cregard turned his attention to Broken, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Who did you end up choosing?” Cregard investigated, and the boy shrugged. “Jorrel. We can trust him, right?” Broken asked, and Cregard gave the boy a slow nod, but admittedly it was difficult to know who of their brothers they could now trust after what had transpired. I only hope I made the right choice, Cregard thought sombrely as he glanced back at Jorgan and Croll. Eventually they completed their counts and called for silence in the hall, and the brothers hushed as they awaited the announcement of their new Lord Commander. Acting, Cregard thought with emphasis. Until they found out what had happened to Jolly Jack, nothing could be certain. Croll cleared his throat.
“We haven’t had an election this close in decades,” Croll uttered as he seemed to recount the tokens, but Jorgan laid out the facts straight. “Dayne has it by fourteen chips,” he announced, and immediately half the room erupted in cheer. Brothers up-turned their cups and bashed the tables, clapped their hands and whistled. Those supportive of Jorrel held sullen expressions, but such was the case with every choosing. There’s always two sides, Cregard acknowledged as he brought his hands together, and encouraged Broken to do the same.
Edric Dayne arose from his chair with a cocky grin as he climbed the officer’s podium at the head of the mess hall. He was a younger man than he and Jorrel; who was in his mid-thirties, while Cregard was another ten years on top of Jorrel. Edric was on his late twenties, in his prime and thoroughly aware of it. His handsome features were wasted at the Wall, with confident purple eyes and short silver hair, his strong jaw was widened with a grin.
“Thank you, brothers,” he stated in appreciation, taking a seat in Jack’s chair as the men in black fell silent. “I call on my officers to join me,” he requested boldly, and Cregard glanced across to Jorrel, who held a stern glare on Edric Dayne for a long moment before shifting from his chair. Cregard followed in suit, accompanying the First Builder to take the new Lord Commander’s side in their seats. Cregard exchanged glances with Edric, the latter flashing him a brash smirk before turning his glance back to the brothers before them.
“We did not only lose our Lord Commander beyond the Wall, but our First Ranger as well. So as acting commander, I wish to strengthen my office until we understand what has happened to Musgood and Rivers,” Bloodstar stated, evoking murmurs amongst the crowd. Jorrel shot him a dirty glare, and Cregard was admittedly surprised by this. It was a bold move, especially given his unfirm foundations in his new seat.
“Mikhail,” Edric called, and one of his rangers from the Shadow Tower stood forward. He was a large man in both stature and size, with long black hair and a small moustache. “I couldn’t imagine a finer ranger than myself being capable of such a position. You will be my First Ranger,” Bloodstar announced, and the rangers of the Shadow Tower banged their cups in cheers. “You will take two dozen brothers, you will pass through the Wall and you will find Musgood and his men. Dead or alive,” Edric stated, and more brothers cheered to this, but Jorrel shook his head.
“Do you not understand what happened last time we sent all our fighting men away? We can’t be losing more rangers beyond the Wall now,” Jorrel argued, and silence choked the mess hall as Edric turned his attention to the First Builder with a raised eyebrow. “Are you opposing my authority, builder?” Edric challenged him, and the two men locked glares for a long moment before the First Builder dropped his glance and reluctantly shook his head. The acting Lord Commander smirked. Like beating a hound into submission, Cregard thought as he frowned.
“Fret not, I won’t be exhausting any of Castle Black’s men or resources. Mikhail will be taking only the most experienced men of the Watch with him, the rangers of the Shadow Tower,” Bloodstar claimed, and he received a cheer from his men, but he quickly lifted his hand to calm them. “We have much to do and little time to waste. We need men to replace the brothers we lost in the mutiny, and we need justice for those who were betrayed here,” Dayne announced, and the room murmured in agreement. Edric turned his attention to Cregard, who had remained silent in this duration.
“Lord Stark, I’m assigning you with this task. Send ravens to each of the seven kingdoms, ride to Winterfell if you must, and recruit Castle Black a new maester. Jorgan and Croll will be setting back for King’s Landing as of tomorrow,” Bloodstar stated, and Jorgan furrowed his eyebrows. “We just fucking got back,” he grunted, but as Edric sent him a challenging glare, Croll nodded in response. “We’ll be gone by dawn, Lord Commander,” Croll stated, and Dayne nodded. “Good.”
“What of me, Lord Commander?” Jorrel grumbled with a bitter tone, and Edric turned his glance to his glance to the First Builder with a growing smirk on his lips. “I’m sure the latrine pits could do with some maintenance,” Edric suggested with a chuckle, and laughter erupted from his rangers, but Cregard could see the First Builder’s face boiling. Cregard cleared his throat, grabbing Dayne’s attention. “If there is any validity to this potential King Beyond the Wall, perhaps it would be virtuous for the builders to start prepping the Wall’s defences. I can’t imagine the scythe has been maintained in some time,” Cregard suggested, and Edric glared at Cregard for a moment before giving a reluctant nod.
“So be it,” he muttered, arising from the Lord Commander’s chair. “You all have your duties, get on with it,” he ordered, and turned to exit the mess hall. Cregard let out a relieved sigh, turning his glance to Jorrel, who unclenched his fists and glared at Cregard. “You voted for that cocksucker?” he remarked with disbelief in his words, but arose before Cregard could give him an answer.
The mess hall began to empty like an upturned flask, brothers in black testing the construction of the old building as the pressed themselves through the small main entrance. Cregard rested his head back with heavy eyes as he collected his thoughts. Bloodstar had pinned a lot of responsibilities on him, on top of everything else his duties required of him. And my mission at Eastwatch, Cregard thought with overwhelming thought as he rubbed his eyes. One step at a time, he reminded himself. They were common words, but words which resonated strongly within him. They had taught him how to walk again after his foot had been crushed when he was young.
When the First Steward lifted his gaze, the hall was empty; or at least he had thought it was. Cregard’s gaze met with the Volantene merchant, Eren Meratus. His long black hair was tied back, and his extravagant colours made him known amongst the Night’s Watch. “Lord Stark,” he greeted, “quite the process.” Cregard let out a sigh as he grabbed his cane, helping himself out of his chair and nodding. “Choosing a new Lord Commander is no simple task,” Cregard acknowledged, descending the steps from the officer’s table. Eren Meratus crossed his arms and nodded.
“We spoke yesterday of a business arrangement, do you recall?” Eren reminded him, and Cregard nodded. It felt like that conversation was so long ago with everything that had happened. “Of course,” Cregard nodded with an empty voice as he hobbled past the Volantene. “Would you like to follow me to my office?” Cregard suggested, and Eren gave him a cold shrug. “If you insist, Lord Stark.”
The two exited the mess hall and descended the frosty steps to the courtyard, Cregard could tell the Volantene was impatient with his slow pace. He will just have to cope, Cregard remarked with patience. The Night’s Watch was an order that answered to only itself, not even a king has rightful jurisdiction to the goings of the brothers in black. Or so we thought, Cregard acknowledged, remarking on the visit from King Jahaerys I as something which proved the Wall’s allegiance to the crown.
Eventually the two came to the Maester’s quarters beneath the rookery. As Cregard had spent the last few weeks at Eastwatch, his office and equipment still resided there. Until such stages he would return, the Maester’s quarters would do for his current situation. Until I find Castle Black a new maester, that is, Cregard thought grimly.
Upon entering, Cregard felt a cold sensation run down his spine. The presence of death was thick in this room, and the smell was the most evident signifier of that. Cregard flushed it out of his mind and took a seat at the old Maester Jon’s desk, and Eren took a seat opposed to him.
“You realise the Night’s Watch has little to offer,” Cregard stated nonchalantly, gazing upon the countless scrolls that littered the old maester’s desk. The Volantene nodded. “And I have much to offer,” Eren chimed with a soothing voice that reeked of deceit. Cregard had heard it that kind of tone from his mother at a young age, and he had learnt it well. Half the reason he had taken the Black was to evade her schemes. “So you say,” Cregard mumbled as he lifted his gaze to the Volantene.
“As I said to your Jolly Jack, I have wine from the Arbor and fine steel for your armoury. Yet after this recent… incurrence, I’d say what you value most are more men,” Eren claimed, and Cregard raised an eyebrow. The Volantene explained. “I have many favours, Lord Stark. Men who are indebted to me with no way to repay me except with servitude. For a price, I could hand them over to you,” Eren Meratus suggested with a manipulative tone, and Cregard shook his head.
“Slavery isn’t permitted in Westeros, Lord Meratus, and there are no exceptions at the Wall,” Cregard stated firmly, to which Eren rolled his eyes. “I said nothing of slaves,” he hissed, crossing his arms and averting his gaze. “But what difference should it make to you, hm? The glorious ‘Night’s Watch,’ a haven for murders, thieves and cripples,” the Volantene muttered, glaring at Cregard’s cane before recomposing himself with a smile. “But I lose myself. What I mean to say is you take men who have already lost their freedom into your order, what difference does it make?” Eren proposed, and Cregard let out a sigh. The Volantene had a point.
“None, I suppose,” the Lord Steward reconciled as he locked his hands, “but again, my word stands. We will get more recruits with time” Cregard stated with assertion, and the Volantene merchant smirked. “Will you?” Eren challenged, and Cregard raised an eyebrow. “Everyone south of the Neck is plagued with the Great Spring Sickness, the Northmen are too preoccupied with the Ironborn to help you, and I doubt any prisoners of Dorne will be coming this far north anytime soon,” Eren stated with a mischievous tone, but regardless Cregard shook his head with refusal.
“Hear my offer first, Lord Stark,” he implored, and the First Steward let out a sigh as he nodded. “Say I relinquish these men from their collars, I will hand them over to you for one gold dragon a head, as many as you like,” Eren proposed, but Cregard had lost interest, grasping his cane. “I believe you have outstayed your welcome, Lord Meratus,” Cregard stated firmly, and the Volantene widened his eyes with an expression that resembled shock horror.
“Fine!” he grumbled, “The wine, the steel, you can have it on my good word. On the proviso you accept my earlier offer, otherwise the deal is off!” he hissed, and Cregard glanced long and hard at the Volantene. The merchant almost seemed desperate, and Cregard had no idea of is ulterior motive. If he has one, Cregard thought to himself with doubt. The offer was tempting, not for greed but for pure necessity. Many brothers had died that night at Castle Black, and many had deserted. They were weakened, and more steel would not protect them from a wildling invasion if there were no men to wield it. But could they really take slaves? Did it really matter?
[Accept Eren’s offer] [Refuse Eren’s offer]
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Post by WildlingKing on Oct 22, 2019 12:24:48 GMT
[Accept Eren’s offer] Hmm, as hazardous and depressing as the Wall can be, ultimately I think these slaves would be better off there rather than under the ownership of a master as unpredictable as Eren Meratus. I'm really interested to see where you'll take all this intrigue in Castle Black!
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Oct 27, 2019 2:42:49 GMT
So, it seems I have missed a lot of votings. Man, I like the pace, it's my fault for being so busy these days. You can bet I read every part, though, even when I'm at university and really not able to vote. I'll try to do so in a timely manner for future parts though ^^ Also, to be clear, am I still allowed to vote for the older parts? If so, I'll make a longer vote post for all the choices I have missed For this part, I will go with [Accept Eren’s offer]. It's not just what Wildling said, about the Wall at least being marginally better than being owned by Eren (whom I have yet to trust, even if I do find him intriguing), but I also see this as Cregard's duty as a Westerosi. They are supposed to be against slavery, after all, so the opportunity to free some of these people from their chains, for a rather reasonable price on top, I think he should take it. That being said, now I gotta wonder if this is all part of some larger plan, because it seems like Eren is really selling them for a cheap price here...
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Oct 27, 2019 11:35:26 GMT
So, it seems I have missed a lot of votings. Man, I like the pace, it's my fault for being so busy these days. You can bet I read every part, though, even when I'm at university and really not able to vote. I'll try to do so in a timely manner for future parts though ^^ Also, to be clear, am I still allowed to vote for the older parts? If so, I'll make a longer vote post for all the choices I have missed For this part, I will go with [Accept Eren’s offer]. It's not just what Wildling said, about the Wall at least being marginally better than being owned by Eren (whom I have yet to trust, even if I do find him intriguing), but I also see this as Cregard's duty as a Westerosi. They are supposed to be against slavery, after all, so the opportunity to free some of these people from their chains, for a rather reasonable price on top, I think he should take it. That being said, now I gotta wonder if this is all part of some larger plan, because it seems like Eren is really selling them for a cheap price here... Hey! Of course, all the votings are still open until you're ready to vote on them, no rush there Admittedly I'm writing a little more than uni would permit, and with my final exams this week I'd say I really should be prioritising some time to that study too XD who knew writing is such a good procrastinating method?
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Nov 6, 2019 13:08:00 GMT
Alrighty, time to close the voting. Cregard will choose to accept Eren's offer. This choice is certainly moralistic more so than anything else, and will definitely test Cregard's values over the Night's Watch's necessities; which in turn will have an interesting outlook from those remaining within the Night's Watch. Anyway, more on that later on! For now, I have the next part ready, and with exams all over I hope to be producing parts a little more readily This next part goes to Federico Reed, a ranger who was tracking down traitors in the Umber lands with another brother: Gareth Oaketh. The two split company when granted some men by Lord Osric Umber to search for deserters, and Federico's group (Darron, Noel and Morsh) found four traitors within Skull Tavern; one beind Devyn, the 'mastermind' behind the Castle Black mutiny. This led to a skirmish which got Noel killed, Darron injured and Morsh chasing after the remaining deserter while Devyn was knocked unconscious. The original choice was for Federico to kill Devyn there and then, buuuuuuut as I have read a little more into his character I think it would be unfair to do him his injustice just yet; so I have changed the vote to Federico leaving Devyn and chasing after Morsh. This part takes off right from the bat.
Federico The black brother took a final glance at Devyn before biting his lip and averting his gaze. He wanted to kill that fucker, more than anyone else; but as he looked at the lifeless body of Noel, he knew he couldn’t leave the hands of another young boy’s life to the fate of the gods. Perhaps Devyn also had intel on some of the other deserters. Federico turned his gaze to Darron. “Be careful, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Federico swore, and the old man nodded. The watchmen turned his back on them and egressed the tavern, mounting his horse and quickly following the mud trail that Morsh’s horse had left in pursuit of the final deserter. The chase took them out of the forest and towards the Grey Cliffs. The vast open lands stretched for miles in every direction, with the Bay of Seals to Federico’s left, and Karhold miles to his right. Directly ahead, he spotted two figures dancing amongst the boulders that climbed the cliffs. Federico dug his heels into his steed’s ribs, sending the beast into a rushed gallop as he raced to Morsh’s aid. The boy may have been quick and certainly more talented than his fellow deceased companion, but he lacked experience that came with duelling. One mistake and the deserter would open his belly just as the other had plunged his sword through Noel’s heart. Honourless bastards, Federico grimaced as he drew closer to the scene. The deserter had been disarmed, and Morsh chased after him as the man made a run for it. Don’t, Federico wanted to scream, but they were too far for his voice to reach. When he arrived, Federico lept off his horse and unsheathed his blade, following their trail into the large maze of rocks and boulders. He had lost sight of them, but heard their grunts in the distance. “Morsh!” Federico shouted, and the adolescent groaned in response as the deserter let out a thunderous roar. Federico followed their voices, and once he found them he realised the gravity of the situation. The traitor had disarmed the boy and taken his blade, taking him a hostage as Federico advanced. “No closer, ranger!” he barked in warning, pressing the blade to the boy’s throat. Federico gulped as he hesitantly came to a halt. “Drop the sword, it doesn’t have to be this way,” Federico advised him with pleading words, and the deserter flashed a bloody grin as he shook his head. “This is the only way, boy. It’s life or death now, and better him than me,” the traitor muttered, and Federico tightly clenched the hilt of his blade. “You kill him, and I swear I’ll make you wish you were only losing your head,” Federico threatened as he took a step forward, glaring at the traitor maliciously. The deserter only smirked in response. “You’re no different to me, brother. Only difference is I’m making my own choices now, a freedom you’ll never know,” he taunted, pressing the blade deeper into Morsh’s flesh. “A freedom that won’t last,” Federico shouted with assurance, and the traitor nodded. “Nothing good ever does. Take another step and this brat’s whore mother will come to understand that better than anyone else,” he warned, and Federico scowled. “Let him go you coward! Fight me!” he pleaded, and the traitor chuckled madly. “I’m avoiding my death sentence, Reed. Fuck off and I'll let the boy go,” he bargained, leaving Federico paralysed. He couldn’t comply with a traitor, it would lose him his head, but he couldn’t let this boy die. Reluctantly, he tossed down his sword. “Just let him go, please!” Federico yelled, and the traitor smirked. “Young lordling, you mustn’t have heard me the first time. I’m the boss of my own-” he started, but his words fell short as an arrow lodged itself through his throat, releasing Morsh from his weakening grasp as he collapsed to his knees. Federico grasped his blade and rushed forward, pulling the boy into his protection as he prepared to ward off their new opponent. The adrenalin began to dissipate as Federico identified the white sun on the archer’s surcoat. Karstark men, Federico thought with relief, and before long they were surrounded by them. “Drop the weapon,” a powerful voice barked, but Federico held his ground. “My name is Federico Reed, I am a ranger from the Night’s Watch tasked with tracking down this traitor,” Federico explained, but the figurehead of their rescue group didn’t look amused. “Drop the blade, son. I won’t ask again,” he growled, and Federico reluctantly followed the man’s orders. Morsh fell to his knees and Federico followed suit. “You vouch for him, boy?” the man asked, and Morsh nodded. “He is who he says he is, my Lord,” Morsh confirmed, and the man nodded, pulling them both to their feet. “I’m Kregan Karstark, lord of these lands. We received a raven from Cregard Stark at the Wall claiming there were traitors in my lands, and this is the first I’ve seen of it,” Kregan stated admittedly with a harsh tone, but Federico nodded all the same. “Thanks for your help with that one,” Federico expressed with gratitude, and Morsh repeated it. Lord Karstark nodded. “Any friend of Cregard’s is a friend of mine,” Kregan stated, and Federico looked at the deserter’s dead body. “We’d best return to the inn, we have a prisoner there that we need to return to the Last Hearth,” Federico explained, and Kregan nodded. “Osric is taking heads, eh?” he spoke with some amusement, “Well I don’t have many men at my disposal, the bulk of my forces are with my sons at the Wolfswood, but I’ll leave you with three men to escort you back to Umber lands,” Kregan offered, and Federico nodded. “Thank you, Lord Karstark.” - Federico and Morsh looked over the lifeless corpses of the innkeeper and the old solder. Darron had stab wound in his chest, and the innkeeper’s eyes had been gauged out. Fucking monster, I should have killed him when I had the chance, Federico thought with regret, and Morsh’s expression mimicked Federico’s thoughts. “We have to find him,” the boy seethed, and Federico agreed, but not like this. They were undermanned and depleted. If two grown men couldn’t hold back that little shit, then they would need more help before they went after him. “We should return to the Last Hearth first,” Federico decided, and the boy looked like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the strength to. This morning he had been an arrogant brat towards the old man and his weak friend. Now both of them were dead, and the boy’s eyes were welling with tears. He wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulder and let him weep into his black furs. They had lost so much over so little time, and Federico feared the worst was still to come. When Morsh had finished mourning for the dead, they carried the bodies outside and dug them a grave, while leaving the deserters for crow feed. They mounted their horses and began their long ride back for the Last Hearth, exchanging few words over the duration of their journey. When they returned, they were met by the familiar eyes of Lord Osric Umber, Gareth Oaketh, and another brother in black. Dennis Stone, he must be on the way back to Castle Black from Winterfell, Federico reconciled. “Morsh, where are the others?” Osric questioned as the two dismounted their steeds in the courtyard. The boy only shook his head as he desperately tried to contain his tears before his liege. Dennis and Gareth approached Federico, the former placing his hand on Federico’s shoulder. “You alright, brother?” Dennis asked with a gentle voice, but his concern was heavy. Federico could barely muster an answer. “I was given three men, and I would’ve came back with none were it not for the Karstark’s,” Federico stated, and Gareth raised an eyebrow. “What in the seven hells happened?” Federico shook his head. “We found Devyn, and three others. We killed two of them there but one that I knocked out took off and Morsh chased after him. I could’ve killed Devyn but I didn’t… I thought Darron could handle him…” Federico spoke his muddled thoughts aloud, and Dennis frowned while Gareth scowled. “That little shit,” he muttered as he crossed his arms. “When are we going after him?” Gareth muttered with impatience, but before Federico could even comprehend an answer, Dennis jabbed Oaketh in the shoulder. “We have our orders, Gareth. The Lord Commander has called all the rangers back to Castle Black,” Dennis reminded him, and Federico furrowed his brow. “Musgood is back?” he queried, but Dennis shook his head. “An election was held to name an acting Lord Commander until he returns. Edric Dayne got the job, and he wants us back at Castle Black for reassignment,” Dennis explained, and Gareth rolled his eyes. “Dayne wasn’t there when all hell went loose, it’s our duty to hunt these fucker’s down,” Gareth claimed, but Dennis shrugged. “I’ve heard the Bloodstar isn’t the most forgiving types, and he may just be hunting us down if we don’t follow his command,” Dennis stated with concern, to which Gareth’s lip quivered with frustration. Before much more could be said, Lord Osric approached their group with Morsh by his side. “The boy explained what happened. Darron was a close friend of mine, and this Devyn has made things personal. I’m taking what’s left of my forces to find this little twat, and I will tear his limbs from their sockets until he begs me for death,” Osric announced with a malicious tone. “I expect you will be joining us for this retribution?” Osric questioned, and Dennis began to speak but Gareth silenced him and looked to Federico. He was leaving the choice for him. He had been given one chance to kill this fucker already, and his negligence to do so and lost lives. If he let this bastard live any longer than gods knew how many more lives Devyn would claim. Yet Dennis made a fair point, they were brothers of the Night’s Watch and they had been given a direct command from their Lord Commander to return to the Wall. To not do so could be seen as treachery. [Return to Castle Black] [Join Osric in finding Devyn]
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Post by WildlingKing on Nov 8, 2019 22:39:52 GMT
Firstly, sorry for taking longer than usually to give my vote. I noticed when you first posted the part but didn't have time to read then, and I didn't remember until now.
[Join Osric in finding Devyn] I feel like we got Castle Black and the Wall in general well covered in terms of PoVs, and hunting down Devyn feels like an opportunity for a more unique storyline for Federico.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Nov 10, 2019 5:30:14 GMT
Alrighty, well as usual I'll leave the voting up for the off-chance that anyone else may cast their votes. I do have the next part ready, it's the last Night's Watch perspective before we jump back into some wildling PoV's, which means we go to Edric Mormont. The Wild Bear, as is his alias, was last seen going beyond the Wall with Lord Commander Musgood, First Ranger Rivers and a small handful of rangers with the sole mission to find Keran and Rambton Snow. Upon their travels, they learned from some wildlings that Keran had been killed by Harron Crowsbane, and Rambton had broken his vows to join the Freefolk. There was much controversy as of where to go from here, but it was decided that they would still continue to search for Rambton, and they made camp at the Fist of the First Men. Here, Edric spotted two bodies walking along the edge of the Haunted Forest and ran to inform Jolly Jack, who rushed the camp to go and discover who they were. Ser Jaremy was angered by Jack's lack of reserve or caution and urged Edric to not follow the Lord Commander to his death, but the vote decided that Edric would accompany Musgood and the others to find these two persons.
I have to admit I've been struggling with this one for quite a while, and I was partly hesistant to revive this project for the sole reason of Edric's mysterious observation in his last part. I had no idea who they could be and even with access to all the characters now, I still have no clue, and alas I've gone with my own new ideas. If you remember what your plans were here, Wildling, I'd love to know simply for curiosity sake! Alas here is the freshest part.
Edric
“You’re absolutely sure?” Jolly Jack repeated in question with a tone that hardly resembled the title bestowed to him. Edric nodded, glancing at the tall trees that bordered to the Fist of the First Men. “Certain, Lord Commander. I saw two,” Edric confirmed, to which the Lord Commander sighed, glancing around hopelessly. “Well I have no idea where in the Seven hells these two may be now, Mormont,” Musgood grumbled, and Edric felt humility as his expression turned bitter.
“I know what I saw,” he argued, but the First Ranger shook his head. “There’s no tracks, by man nor animal alike, and we’ve been searching for hours. We could all use some rest, you may have imagined it,” George suggested, and Khort agreed with a bitter look in his deep brown eyes. “Probably spotted two squirrels fucking and shat yourself, just another reason why we shouldn’t have let a boy come with us, Jack,” Khort grunted, and Edric felt his temper boiling with anger.
“We can’t give up!” Victor shouted with a tone growing with frustration. “It’s our duty to find Rambton, dead or alive; he is our brother,” the optimistic ranger emphasised, but Khort only snorted in response to this. “You’re not calling the shots, boy,” he grumbled, and the Lord Commander cut in. “No, I am,” he stated sternly as he glared at his fellow ranger. “We do one final sweep of the area, and we meet back here before sunset, gods forbid we’ve left Wulfric and Ser Jaremy in the unknown for too long now,” Musgood claimed, and Victor expressed a look of relief as he nodded.
“Very well,” George sighed, unsheathing his axe. “Edric and Victor will cover the east again, Khort you will stay with the Lord Commander,” George stated, and Musgood frowned with concern. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone, Rivers. This kind of separation is what got us into this mess in the first place,” Jack stated, and George nodded in agreement, but his eyes spoke otherwise.
“I’m the most experienced of us here, I’ll be fine,” he assured him, and the Lord Commander held an uncertain look on his eye for a long moment before giving him a nod. “Blast your horns if you find anything. Anything at all,” Musgood ordered, and the brothers nodded before going their separate ways.
Edric and Victor mounted their horses, strolling off to the east once again. Edric let out a heavy sigh as he glanced at the same trees he had been looking at for the last few hours. What if I had imagined it? Edric thought to himself with doubt, but he quickly shook the idea from his head. There could be no room for doubt when they were so far beyond the Wall. He had to trust in his instincts, and he had to trust in his brothers. Victor seemed to pick up on this with some innate sense.
“Khort can be a bit of a condescending prick, but he’s one of us. Don’t pay his japes any mind,” he advised, and Edric nodded as he rolled his eyes. “No shortage of cunts at the Wall,” Edric stated with a nonchalant tone, and Victor expressed a small smile as he nodded in agreement. “Still, there are good men that man the Wall too. Ser Jaremy and the Lord Commander are examples of that, and Keran was too,” Victor added with a touch of sadness in his voice. Edric nodded in agreement.
“I didn’t know Keran well, but he seemed like a good man,” Edric stated, and Victor nodded. “Aye, he was. We recruited at the same time, he was a good friend, and I hoped we could find him alive. I can’t give up hope on finding Rambton as well, I know Keran wouldn’t have,” Victor claimed, and Edric sighed. “Rambton isn’t like you or Keran though, and he joined the wildlings,” Edric stated, and Victor nodded.
“To survive,” Victor emphasised, then looking to Edric, “and a man on the inside of the wildling king’s army would give us the information we’ve been looking for anyway. I don’t see any losses,” Victor stated, and Edric sighed. How about our lives? He thought sarcastically, and remarked that was likely a response Rambton would give.
“What brought you to the Wall, anyway?” Edric queried, to which Victor remained silent for a moment before choosing his words. “I killed two men that were trying to steal my sister,” Victor stated, and Edric raised an eyebrow. “That got you sent to the Wall?” Edric queried, and Victor shrugged. “They were Stark men. We were Stark men. My family has served the Stark’s for generations, and our battalion was camped by my father’s farm. My sister served us bread and mead, but when I eyed two of my fellow soldiers trying their luck on her, I grew suspicious. Later that night I found them trying to take her, and I lost it. The captain found me with a bloody sword over their two bodies, and Lord Stark banished me to the Wall, but I knew that at least my family was safe,” Victor stated, and Edric’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“You didn’t try to fight for your justice? You were wrongly punished!” Edric remarked with an astounded tone, but Victor only sighed. “Justice only works if you have a name worth supporting,” the ranger commented, shrugging his shoulders. “Besides, the Wall isn’t all that bad. As I said earlier, there are good men here,” Victor stated. “What about you? What brought you to the Night’s Watch?” he queried, and Edric frowned. The topic was a sore spot for him.
“I was my father’s second son, nothing was ever expected of me, and he only focused on my older brother; William. My brother and I got along well, and he was taken away too soon by fucking wildlings who sailed to our island. Suddenly it was up to me to fill his shoes, marry his to-be-wife and become my father’s heir. It was my responsibility, but I was too much of a coward to face it. I fled to the Shadow Tower, and from there rode to Castle Black and volunteered,” Edric explained briefly with an emotional tone that bordered between sadness, shame and anger, and words could not express the guilt he felt. Victor sent him a small smile.
“Your past haunts you now, but it won’t forever. Let’s focus on finding Rambton Snow alive and work our way from there, one step at a time,” Victor suggested, and Edric nodded. The two rode for another half a mile before Edric began to wince with discomfort. He had resisted his urge to take a leak hours ago at the Fist, but he felt if he didn’t stop soon then he would soon wet his breaches. “Take my reins will you? I need to find a tree to piss on,” Edric muttered, and Victor nodded.
Edric dismounted and headed into the forest, glancing up at the towering oaks that blotched out the clouded sky. Contempt with privacy, Edric unleashed his golden glory onto the stump of a soldier pine with an undying relief. It felt like he had been waiting for this opportunity for years. Edric secured himself once the well had ran dry and began to head back to the horses, but a cracking branch in the distance brought him to a halt. He unslung his weir wood recurve bow from his shoulder, kneeling in the snow as he listened carefully. It astounded him how lifeless the Haunted Forest was. Not a single bird could be heard chirping from the trees, nor any animal be heard scurrying in the snow. There was only silence, and the light breeze of wind that rustled the leaves; until he heard it again, this time closer.
“That you, Victor?” Edric whispered with a cautious tone, but received no response. Quietly, he nocked an arrow to Silent Sister and scanned his surroundings. Nothing, he thought as he scouted patiently. Nothing but trees and the wind. Eventually succumbing to his tiredness causing his paranoia, he lowered his gaze and loosened his tension on the drawstring.
“Drop that bow, crow,” Edric heard from a woman’s voice behind him, and he instinctually re-nocked the arrow and drew the bowstring to the woman ambushing him. His eyes met with a wildling woman and two other brothers in black, along with Victor at their mercy with a dagger pressed to his throat. “Unless you want to us to spray this crow’s blood into the snow,” the woman warned, and Edric glared hardly at her and then at the two brothers at her side. He recognised them. Jullon and Rickard Flint, they were builders, and builders weren’t supposed to be beyond the Wall.
“What are you doing out here?” Edric muttered with confusion, but Jullon shook his head and pressed the blade harder against Victor’s throat. “Just listen to what she says, Mormont. Victor doesn’t need to die,” Rickard barked with a bitter tone, and Edric immediately knew something was wrong. They’re deserters, he realised, and a thick lump built in his throat. “Final warning, crow,” the wildling woman among them stated, and Edric looked to his bow before glancing at Victor. His brother gulped but gave him an affirming look.
[Shoot Jullon] [Drop the bow]
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Post by WildlingKing on Nov 11, 2019 23:58:56 GMT
Ahaha, if I recall correctly I meant for those two figures that Edric saw to be Rambton and Jay That said, I quite like the direction you've taken Rambton's story instead, so I don't mind this change at all. [Drop the bow] Edric has been pretty reckless in the past, but perhaps this could be his chance to prove that he has learnt from his mistakes.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Nov 14, 2019 0:38:24 GMT
Alright, well it's been a while since the first part was released so I'd say no more votes are going to be made. Asger will tell Armun a lie, and Germun will give Vormyr what he wants. Both very important decisions with potentially detrimental consequences down the track. I needed to close this vote because I have the next Asger part ready, albeit short and initially planned to be posted alongside with Rumak's part. Only issue is I'm a bit stuck on what to write for Rumak at the moment, so I'll pair him up with Maya's next part, so I apologise that this post will be short. Alas, the last time we saw Asger he was invited to come along to the secret meeting for Fleshbearer's demise. Ariyanna Caswell was at the head of this meeting, and tested his loyalty to the cause. She instructed him to get close to Fleshbearer and report any intel back to her. The next day, Asger's chief: Armun the Barbarian, noted that he had seen Asger walking off with Alex Deepstone (to the meeting), and wanted to know what that was about. The choice was made to tell a lie.
Asger
Armun’s cold green eyes stared hard and long into Asger’s. What do I tell him? Asger thought with an increasing pulse; he knew he could not tell him the truth. “Deepstone wanted to thank me for sparing his life, he wanted to give me a gift of sorts,” Asger blurted with a wavering tone of confidence. He felt like Armun saw right through his lie. “What gift?” the chieftain grumbled, and Asger gulped awkwardly.
“It’s back in my tent, do you want me to get it?” Asger queried, to which Armun rolled his eyes. “This is boring the hell out of me; don’t be around Deepstone or the other Thenn’s and we’ll be fine,” Armun muttered in settlement, “Now come on, Fleshbearer isn’t known for his patience,” he grunted, and without another word Asger followed his chief to Fleshbearer’s war pavilion.
Within the tent stood many of the powerful chieftains of the numerous Ice River clans. Brogg the Brother, Varakul the Cold, the Savage; and of course, Fleshbearer. Their ‘king’ flashed them a malevolent grin as they entered, lifting his arms with announcement. “If it isn’t the Barbarian and his dutiful squire!” he greeted with malicious intent, flashing them a smirk as his one eye glared deep into Asger’s. “Bow before me,” he commanded, and Asger’s movement hesitated as he looked to Armun.
The Barbarian held a firm glare on Fleshbearer before reluctantly obliging to his request, dropping to his knee. Asger followed suit, watching the other clansmen. Days ago they would have received laughter and japes for such an action, and yet now many of the chieftains avoided eye contact. They’re afraid, Asger realised, and he wasn’t sure if that was a sight to behold or shy away from. Only the Savage and Fleshbearer showed amusement, and eventually the former of the two called for them to rise and join them at their war table.
“We’ve called you all here to discuss our next moves,” the Savage announced, and Fleshbearer nodded with a bloody grin. “Aye, our reign of tyranny and bloodshed has only just begun. It’s time we fuck and feed on some more corpses. I say we feed on the Frozen Shore Men,” he stated, and many of the chieftains gave shy nods without any complaint. Varakul the Cold spoke up.
“My hunters have claimed to have seen a man with hair kissed by fire at the Frozen Shores; they say he’s trying to pull together an army.” Brogg the Brother nodded to this. “I’ve heard the same, is it Raymun?” Brogg queried, and Asger immediately noticed a boiling temper begin to erupt on Fleshbearer’s face. “RAYMUN-FUCKING-REDBEARD IS NOTHING. I AM KING,” he roared, and Brogg shuddered with a bowing of his head.
“We have tortured more information out of Raymun’s closest advisor, and he believes that Redbeard is with his family in a village called Night Hill. Whoever this man is in the Frozen Shores, I can say confidently that he is not Raymun Redbeard,” the Savage advised, and Fleshbearer nodded as he began to calm down. “Whether it’s fucking him or not, I’ll take that ginger’s head and eat out his eyes!” Fleshbearer announced, and received cheers from the men around the table. He then turned his gaze to Armun.
“Barbarian,” he grumbled, unsheathing his dagger and planting it in the table. Armun glared at Fleshbearer in anticipation for what followed. “I suspect the Thenn’s will be eager to learn what has happened to their Magnar. You will take Krygorn’s head to the Vale and lay it at his bitch daughter’s feet,” he declared, and Armun held his glare without intimidation. Such an order was a death sentence, and Fleshbearer knew it.
“Savage, I want you and your hunters to track down this village and bring me Raymun and his wife. I’ll fuck her corpse in front of him,” he ordered with a grin, and the Savage nodded obediently. “I will collect my men and leave by dawn,” he stated, and Fleshbearer nodded, turning his gaze back to Armun. “As will you, Barbarian,” he grumbled, and Armun gave him a firm nod. Then, suddenly, Fleshbearer turned his gaze onto Asger.
“Squire,” he greeted with a pleasantly thirsty tone. “You have been uncomfortably quiet, don’t you have something to say?” Fleshbearer inquired, and Armun turned his gaze onto Asger. All eyes were on him, and he gulped with a loss of words. “You are the king, I would not speak without being spoken to,” Asger uttered like a chained hound, and Fleshbearer grinned. “You’ve trained an obedient mutt, Barbarian,” Fleshbearer commended, and Armun lifted his gaze off Asger.
“Well, squire, I have a proposition for you. You may go with your master to the Vale, or,” he smirked, “You can squire for a true king,” Fleshbearer announced, licking his lips, “What will it be?” he asked with an impatient tone, and Asger felt a cold sweat pour down his skin. He looked to Armun, but the Barbarian did not shift his attention from Fleshbearer. He was loyal to Armun over Fleshbearer, and if he followed him to the Vale then perhaps he could save him from an early death. He knew what Armun would want though, to remain and command his men as he had wanted Asger to do with their village. Yet to remain would mean to lose his freedom, it would get him close to Fleshbearer, but was that truly a great idea?
[Go with Armun] [Serve Fleshbearer]
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Post by WildlingKing on Nov 14, 2019 12:29:21 GMT
[Serve Fleshbearer] This is probably the best chance there will ever be to get within Fleshbearer's inner circle, and from there Asger can be more useful for the rebellion rising against Fleshbearer.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Nov 15, 2019 1:29:13 GMT
Alright, well Rumak's part came along faster than I expected, and turned out a little longer than I anticipated so I'll be posting it as a lone part. Given my abundance of voters I'll be closing Asger's vote now as I doubt the result will change and it impacts this next part a little. So Asger will serve Fleshbearer, thus cementing his role in undermining Fleshbearer. I admit I had wanted to get Asger out of this given how interesting his backstory is, and I was initially going to make the last vote as him either going with Armun or the Savage, but as this plotline has grown on me I'm really glad this vote came out as it did. Anyway, here's an update on Rumak.
Rumak was the closest advisor of Raymun Redbeard, and fought alongside him in the battle against the Thenn's and Ice River clans. Unfortunately for Rumak, he was captured by Fleshbearer's forces. He refused to kneel for Fleshbearer, and was forced to by Fleshbearer's aid, and then later approached by Ariyana Caswell and Arienne (Nightrunners) who offered an invitation to a secret meeting proposing the idea of Fleshbearer's demise. It was chosen that Rumak would attend this meeting, and we saw him there in Asger's part before last. This part takes place a couple of days after.
Rumak
“Rumak, Rumak,” Fleshbearer’s voice toned as the beast circled him, scenting him for any weakness. The only weakness that Rumak held was in stature; his leg was slowly recovering since the battle, but he was far from his prime state. I haven’t been close for years, Rumak thought with nostalgia, but shook his thoughts to the present. “You’ve been a pain in my fucking arse lately, you know that?” Fleshbearer muttered, snatching his horn of ale from Rumak’s coarse hands.
“Is that so?” Rumak grunted carelessly, raising the creature’s eyebrow as the corner of his lip lifted. “Leave your manners outside, hm?” Fleshbearer smirked, “Good, so did I,” he muttered, and without a second warning he thrust his fist into Rumak’s gut, sending the brute to his knees gasping for air. His leg screamed with agony on impact. “My King,” Rumak muttered in correction, leaving a fat grin spread across Fleshbearer’s face. “Better,” he commended, before giving Rumak the boot.
“As I was saying, you’ve been causing some shit. Some Nightrunners and Hornfoots aren’t being as obedient as I’d like, all because you wouldn’t bend the fucking knee to me,” Fleshbearer grumbled, and Rumak could hear something more in his voice that anger. Fear? Rumak lifted himself to his feet, despite the sheer pain it caused him. “Nor will I. The Free Folk don’t kneel, and there’s only one king I serve,” Rumak stated firmly, turning Fleshbearer’s expression bitter as he through his horn of ale to the ground and clenched his hands around Rumak’s throat.
“Raymun Gingercunt, right? The Savage left with his men this morning to track your legendary king down, he’ll bring me his head,” Fleshbearer informed him with a malicious tone, and Rumak’s brow widened. So the Savage took the bait, Rumak thought with relief, but he did not show that now. “I am your king now, I’m king of all the fucking Free Folk, and it’s time you show that to your fucking tribes,” Fleshbearer grunted as he released Rumak from his grip.
“Show them how?” Rumak muttered, and as if on cue, in entered one of Fleshbearer’s lackeys. Rumak recognised the brute of a man; it was the Thenn that had defected to Raymun’s army. Now he was a general in Fleshbearer’s army. Large fucker, Rumak thought as he glared at the giant Thenn. He stood a head taller than Rumak, with a broad chest and broader shoulders that were coated with dirty pelts and bronze. His face was unattractive to say the least; his fat cheeks were half covered with a light blonde beard, and the dark bags under his eyes were almost as black as they were. His head was closely shaved.
“King,” the Thenn grunted with a thick accent, and Fleshbearer grinned. “Barryn,” he smirked as he placed his hands on his hips. “Got my traitors?” he queried with anticipation, and Barryn nodded. “Sygerrik,” he grumbled in the Old Tongue, and Fleshbearer flashed a bloodthirsty grin. “Good,” he uttered with glee, grabbing Rumak by his beard and dragging him outside. “Let’s go see.”
A crowd had gathered outside Fleshbearer’s pavilion, consisting of all the clans enforced into his army. Ice River clans, Nightrunners, Hornfoots and Thenns; the latter of which looked the most concerned. In the centre of the crowd were three, two of which Rumak recognised from the meeting the other night. Dammit. “So who are these fucking cunts then?” Fleshbearer roared, and the Ice River clans roared with him. Barryn grabbed his great axe and circled the three.
“Sven Baldon,” Barryn announced the man on the left, then hovering behind the woman in the middle. “Brilga,” he grumbled with a clear resentment, and then hovering over the last of the three. “Raugan Varalaf,” he grunted, and the old man lowered his head with regret. Fleshbearer grinned with commendation. “You have done well, Barryn,” he stated as he approached the woman in the middle, standing her on her feet. The Thenn woman spat in his face, making the creature smirk.
“You should consider yourself lucky, girl. You get to fuck a king tonight,” he grinned, and Rumak noticed the Thenns among the crowd lift with ire, barely being able to hold themselves back. “Only problem is you’re still breathing, easy fix,” he stated, and without hesitation he plunged his dagger into Brilga’s throat, slicing it open and spraying her blood over his face with a wild chuckle booming from his chest. Some in the crowd screamed with horror.
Rumak turned his gaze to Barryn, who lifted his great axe and planted it in Sven’s skull, smashing the remnants of his head under his boot. The old man of the three looked to Rumak in horror before lifting his hands in submission. “Please, your Grace!” he cried with terror, and Barryn halted a moment as he looked to Fleshbearer, who tossed Brilga’s warm corpse into the dirt. “I was one of Krygorn’s closest advisors, I know many of his followers that would still be loyal to him. Please, let me live and I will show you who,” Raugan pleaded, and some Thenns from the crowd yelled with disgust. “Traitor!” one cried, and Fleshbearer turned his gaze to the crowd with a smirk before looking back to Raugan.
“Your people hate you, Varalaf. What could you possibly have to live for?” Fleshbearer inquired maliciously, and the old man gulped. “My children, your Grace,” he mumbled with a lowered gaze. “I wish to see them again,” he added with a stuttering voice as he choked on his tears. Fleshbearer knelt to his level with a small smile that almost seemed genuine. “You will,” he swore to him, “When I have finished fucking the Frozen Shores, I will march my army up to the Vale and fuck the Thenns too. Your mother, your wife, your daughters, I’ll fuck their corpses into the dirt,” Fleshbearer stated, “and your sons? I’ll use their flesh as a bed to fuck them on!” he roared, and Raugan grimaced with horror. “And as I am a merciful king, I’ll even let you watch!” he added with a booming laughter that was joined by his fellow clansmen.
“Take him away, Barryn!” he commanded as he picked Brilga’s corpse up from the ground and slung her over his shoulder. The Thenn commander nodded and dragged Raugan away. Fleshbearer retreated back to his pavilion before stopping to look at Rumak, and then back at the crowd. “I hope you were watching closely, Rumak, because as commander of the Nightrunners and Hornfoots you will be rooting at the traitors among your people,” Fleshbearer revealed to him, and Rumak felt his heart sink into his chest as Fleshbearer pushed past him and into his tent.
Rumak turned his gaze to the crowd. Some of the Thenns came to retrieve what remained of Sven’s body, others broke down into tears. Among them, Rumak spotted Ariyana Caswell, who beckoned to him to follow after her. Rumak cleared his throat, processing everything that had just happened, before following on.
-
“You say the Savage has left with his men?” Ariyana queried, and Rumak nodded. “Aye, to Night Hill to search for Raymun,” Rumak stated, and the girl smirked. “Sending them to an abandoned village, good,” she commended, but Rumak did not smile, too much had happened to allow him that. “With the Savage out of the picture, our window to strike is growing near. Soon Fleshbearer’s reign of tyranny will end,” Ariyana swore, but those around her seemed to show little faith.
“How many more of us must die before we give that creature what he deserves?” a girl asked, a Thenn, Rumak recognised. “I merely managed to avoid Barryn and his loyalists, that could’ve been me earlier today,” she exclaimed, and Ariyana nodded. “Saeeda, if we strike too soon, we risk endangering all of our people by failing. We must be patient. I will let you know when the time is right,” Ariyana stated, and Arienne let out a sigh.
“I trust you, Ariyana, but I agree with Saeeda. Every minute we wait, another one of our brothers or sisters in arms are killed. If we are to strike, it must be soon!” she urged, and Ariyana placed a hand on her shoulder. “It will be sister, I promise,” Ariyana swore, but Rumak shook his head.
“There’s another problem,” Rumak grumbled, and the three girls looked at him with concern. “Fleshbearer made me the commander of the Nightrunners and Hornfoots in his army. He’s expecting me to present him with traitors like Barryn did,” Rumak announced, and Arienne’s gaze widened, not with shock but with opportunity. “This could be perfect, Ariyana,” Arienne stated, but Ariyana shook her head. “It’s too soon,” Ariyana argued, but Arienne rolled her eyes with frustration.
“I can’t sit around here doing this any longer. Let’s round up the traitors of our people who chose to serve Fleshbearer, create a trap and finish this once and for all!” Arienne exclaimed, but Ariyana only shook her head. “Fleshbearer is ruling by fear, and with tensions so high, if we strike now we risk our potential allies shying away from our resilience out of fear of consequence. We have to be patient, we need to rally confidence,” Ariyana stated firmly, and Saeeda let out a sigh.
“So what is your plan?” she muttered, and Ariyana lowered her head. “Rumak needs traitors, and Fleshbearer needs to be convinced,” Ariyana stated, making Rumak raise an eyebrow. “What are you saying?” Rumak queried cautiously, and the girl frowned. “Asger came by earlier, he’s got himself close with Fleshbearer. If he leaves a hint suggesting I am working alone to overthrow Fleshbearer, then it might just buy us more time,” Ariyana claimed, and Arienne’s eyes immediately widened.
“What? No!” she whispered in retaliation, and Rumak realised what she meant. “You want to give yourself in?” Rumak asked, and Ariyana sighed. “What I want is irrelevant, Rumak. What we all want is Fleshbearer dead, and the more meetings we have like this will only gain more suspicion. Asger told me that the Barbarian noticed he and Deepstone disappeared to our meeting,” Ariyana informed them, but Arienne shook her head.
“Fuck Asger, we don’t even know if we can trust him! He’s one of them, Ariyana,” she hissed, and Ariyana shot her a fiery glare. “The Ice River clans don’t all agree with Fleshbearer, Arienne. Asger claims that Fleshbearer’s inner circle are afraid, that it’s only the Savage and him calling the shots while the rest obey. The Savage is gone, and Asger says that the Barbarian has been sent off to the Vale,” Ariyana stated, and Saeeda lifted an eyebrow.
“To do what?” she inquired curiously, and Ariyana frowned. “Lay Krygorn’s head at his daughter’s feet.” Saeeda lowered her eyes in mourning. “If you are to do this, Caswell, how do we know when the time is right?” Saeeda then questioned, but Arienne shook her head. “We can’t actually be fucking considering this! Rumak, say something! This is horseshit!” Arienne exclaimed, and Rumak felt a heavy heart in his chest as he looked to Ariyana. Her idea was sound, but risky, and he did not know if Asger could be trusted. Perhaps there was another way, but Ariyana was right in that these meetings would come to undermine them, and Fleshbearer would demand his traitors.
[Agree with Ariyana’s plan] [Agree with Arienne]
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Post by WildlingKing on Nov 15, 2019 22:42:24 GMT
[Agree with Ariyana's plan] Fuck it, I'm ready to see at least an attempt to bring down Fleshbearer.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Nov 18, 2019 11:27:53 GMT
Alright, so as I have been with the other parts, I will leave the votes open in case anymore come through, but I have the next part ready. After this part, there are two to go before I've completed a full rotation of the characters (save for one), so I'll be closing the votes as I come to start writing their parts. Anyway, the next part goes to Maya, here's a recap:
Maya is the adopted daughter of Torgon and Rumak, a girl who miracuously survived being dropped off the Wall as a newborn, and has been raised by the Nightrunners. Maya serves Raymun obediently, but when Torgon was killed when meeting with Harg the Scarface, Maya loses it and goes for her vengeance despite Raymun later winning an alliance between the Hornfoots and Nightrunners after killing Harg. Maya chooses to hunt down Harg's affiliates: Jonk and Dogga, the former who has sided with Raymun and the latter who has joined the Thenn's. Maya sneaks into Raymun's tent to kill Jonk when she discovers that he is already paralysed from drinking wine poisoned with the Tears of Lys (meant for Raymun - left by Skjorn the Scholar). Maya kills him, but is not satisfied, and has a confrontation with Rumak. Maya is later confronted by Alexia who claims she is on a mission to find a man named Ivan Longbeard - an ex crow living in the Frostfangs who has intel on the Wall's defences and numbers. Maya chooses to go with her and Terry Snowflake, they stay at a village ran by an unknown clan that is led by Arvid "Nightbane" Halvor. His son, Dakividih, greets them and asks who this Raymun is. Maya decides to name him as King of the Nightrunners and Hornfoots rather than all of the Freefolk, but Dak is skeptical. Once Arvid returns he says he can take them to meet Ivan, and the vote was decided to go in the morning. So, here's the next morning!
Maya
The sun rose above the Frostfangs, its light glistening on the snow as the group climbed the neglected trail that led to Ivan Longbeard’s hut. Their group was small, consisting of Maya herself, Alexia and Terry Snowflake: her travelling companions, and Arvid Halvor: the leader of the small clan they were visiting. His son, Dakividih, also chose to accompany them, and walked with Alexia ahead of the group. Maya kept the company of Arvid, while Terry brought up the rear.
Arvid was large in stature, with broad shoulders hidden under thick black pelts that matched his short hair, albeit some of his hairs had started to grey. Equipped to his belt was a shortsword made of a sort of black glass, unlike anything Maya had ever seen. She stared at it for a while, and the Nightbane caught her gaze.
“Snowborn, she’s called,” he stated, resting his gloved hand on the wooden hilt of his weapon. Maya rolled her eyes. “Anyone who names their weapon is a cunt,” Maya muttered decisively, and to her surprise she evoked a chuckle from the man which settled to a smirk as she turned her glare on him. “You’re a hard woman,” Arvid admired, to which Maya averted her gaze.
“You don’t know me,” she muttered, and Arvid shrugged. “No, but I’ve known many women like you,” he claimed, making Maya scowl. “You won’t get me into your bed, Nightbane,” she stated firmly, and the man nodded in agreeance with her. “Nor would I want to. I have sons older than you,” he uttered nonchalantly. Maya looked ahead to Dak, who was making Alexia giggle like a little girl.
“And where are all these sons you speak of?” Maya queried with little interest, to which Arvid sighed. “King’s Landing, Dorne, Essos; all of them are finding their glory,” Arvid stated laconically, while Maya’s eyes remained on Dakividih. “And him?” Maya asked as she nodded to Dak. “He chose to remain in the village. He finds his glory in mocking his aging father,” Arvid muttered with a smirk, but Maya didn’t care.
“What about you? Are Terry and Alexia your family?” Arvid inquired, and Maya firmly shook her head. “I have no family,” Maya stated decisively, to which Arvid nodded. “Lone wolf eh? So why do you follow a man that styles himself a king of free men?” the Nightbane queried, but Maya shook her head in argument. “Free men follow Raymun because they choose to. I follow Raymun because I believe in him; he, Rumak and Torgon were always there for me,” Maya blurted, and immediately regretted it, feeling she had revealed too much. Arvid smiled.
“So you do have family then,” he claimed, making Maya groan. “Rumak and Torgon were the ones who found me, they raised me, so if that qualifies then yes,” Maya muttered defensively, to which Arvid nodded. “Tell me about them,” Arvid uttered with request, but Maya had grown frustrated. “Why do you care? What’s my past to you?” Maya hissed with spite, stopping and glaring into the Nightbane’s deep blue eyes. Arvid stopped and lifted his gaze to the sky before turning his eyes back on her.
“When I was a boy, I lost everyone I loved. I lived with anger and remorse, and I bloodied my blade believing that dancing with death was the closest I would ever be to feeling something. It wasn’t until my first child was born that I realised I was wrong. I look at you and I see an older form of myself, someone that is alone and afraid. Someone that is different from everyone else,” Arvid stated, and Maya held her glare on the man for a moment before lowering her gaze. She was being unnecessarily harsh, and with everything that had happened, she just wanted to crawl up and hide. Torgon is dead, I pushed Rumak away, and Raymun marches for war. Maya lifted her eyes to Arvid’s.
“Torgon was like a father to me, he taught me how to hunt and gave me a home, and Rumak taught me how to fight. When Raymun went to negotiate with the Hornfoots, Harg the Scarface killed Torgon. Rumak swore to take vengeance with me, but when I killed Harg’s turncoat lackey he scolded me. I put a knife to his throat and left with Alexia and Terry the next day,” Maya explained, and Arvid frowned.
“I fought Harg the Scarface long ago, it gladdens me that bastard is dead. I’m sorry for your loss, but Torgon is dead because your king did something foolish. Rumak will undoubtedly face the same fate,” Arvid stated prophetically, and Maya immediately unsheathed her dirk to point at the Nightbane, who caught her by the wrist before she could make her mark. “You’re a strong girl, but keep following this Raymun and you’ll end up a dead girl,” he warned her, then releasing her as Terry caught up with them.
“Everything alright?” he asked as he cautiously observed the situation, and Arvid nodded as he glanced at Maya’s blade. “Testing this one’s sword arm,” he fibbed casually, and Terry nodded. “How far is Longbeard’s hut?” he asked with a tired tone, and Arvid turned his gaze ahead to Dak and Alexia. “Not far, another hour and we’ll be there,” he suggested, to which Terry sighed but pressed on. Arvid took a final glance at Maya before following suit, and the miracle girl stood alone in the snow with her thoughts. What if he was right? If it wasn’t for Raymun, Torgon would be alive, and none of this shit between Rumak and I would have happened, she thought, but immediately shook the idea from her head. Raymun was her king, and she would follow him to the end. But to what end?
-
Ivan’s reputation preceded him, as he stroked his long grey beard with tired eyes. He was a strong man, with a large build and broad shoulders that were tightly concealed in a crow’s uniform. His head was bald and his nose was broken, his bushy eyebrows seemed to curtain his eyes, and the grease and dirt reeked from him as if he had not washed for months. Alexia had talked his ears off for the last thirty minutes about Raymun’s cause, but seemingly to no avail, and Maya was growing impatient. Arvid and Terry had stood quietly, while Dak had sat by the fire to warm his bones.
“Is it not enough that we have a common enemy? The crows have mocked us from their great Wall for thousands of years. With your help, Raymun Redbeard will destroy them and give the south to the Free Folk,” Alexia repeated, but Ivan shook his head with boredom. “Do you know how many wildling kings have marched on the Wall, girl? None have ever destroyed the Night’s Watch, and those that have past them have been destroyed by the Northmen. Your king is deluded,” the old man muttered with a grouchy voice, and Maya clenched her fists with anger, but received a warning glare from Arvid.
Frustrated, Maya egressed to the adjacent room. Ivan’s hut was small, consisting of a small living room, a kitchen and his private quarters; and yet he treated the place like a fucking palace. She grasped the edges of his kitchen table and stared deeply at the wood, almost looking right through it. This mission was fucking pointless. She could have been fighting alongside Raymun and Rumak against the Thenn’s, but instead she was here.
Her thoughts drifted to Torgon and Rumak. What if Arvid was right? Was this path going to get them all killed? They had lost Torgon already, and gods knew if Maya would ever see Rumak again. She only hoped they would be over with this mission before the battle begun. I need to kill something, she thought maliciously, and immediately she Arvid’s words came to her mind. That man seemed to plague her thoughts like Raymun did, he had a charisma and wisdom that was much like Redbeard’s, and left her heart feeling conflicted. I am loyal to Raymun, she told herself, but as each day past she felt less and less attached to those words. I should probably get back in there, she thought with a sigh, pushing herself up.
She turned to leave, but heard a small sound behind the closed door of Ivan’s room. Maya glanced at the door sternly, listening patiently with doubt of her own ears, but as she drowned out the surrounding sound she heard it again. It was faint, muffled and yet distinct. Maya approached the door, pushing it open and entering. It was severely darker in here than the previous room, but as her eyes adjusted they were meet with a terrified set of indigo eyes staring right back at her. On Ivan’s bed was a naked girl, no older than fourteen, with her body bruised and her limbs strapped to each corner of the bed. Maya’s eyes widened with horror before the girl’s muffled voice pulled her out of her trance.
Maya immediately unsheathed her dagger and cut the bindings, the girl jumping into her arms for security as tears flowed down her cheeks. Maya ungagged the girl, pushing her dark brown hair out of her face as she checked her for any serious injuries. “Who did this to you?” Maya asked with a hushed demanding tone, but she already knew the answer. The girl didn’t speak, she only sobbed into Maya’s shoulder. “What’s your name?” Maya pressed, holding the girl by her arms as she looked deep into her indigo eyes.
“Cassi,” she mumbled weakly, “Cassi Snow,” she finished, and Maya tightly embraced her. “You’re okay, Cassi. You’re safe now,” Maya promised her, pulling the rug off Ivan’s bed and wrapping the girl in it. Maya stood up, and Cassi immediately clutched onto her. “It’s okay, stay behind me,” Maya ordered her, and the girl nodded timidly.
Maya escorted her out of the room, unsheathing her dagger and guiding Cassi into the living room. She immediately gained the eyes of Arvid and Terry, and shortly after, Alexia, Dak and Longbeard. Ivan barely knew what hit him before he found Maya on top of him, a dagger pressed to his throat. “What the fuck is this?” Maya screamed, pointing to Cassi. “Who is she?!” Maya shouted with a strict tone, but before she could do anything else, Terry and Dak pulled her off of Ivan.
“Let go of me!” Maya demanded, and Terry obeyed her wishes, while Dak was less sure. She elbowed him in the nose to make the message clear, making Arvid scowl. “What the fuck is going on here?” Alexia then yelled, reaching for her arrows. Arvid restrained Alexia and glared at Ivan. “You going to explain? Or shall I?” the Nightbane muttered, and Longbeard shook his head.
“Get these whores out of my fucking keep, Halvor,” he grunted in command, but Alexia shook her head. “We’re not fucking leaving until you come with us or tell us what you know,” she shouted, but Maya didn’t care for that anymore. “You’re fucking done, Ivan,” Maya threatened, and he shot a glare in her direction. Terry grasped her shoulder. “We need him alive, Maya,” he reminded her, but she nudged him off.
“All of you leave here,” Arvid demanded, letting Alexia go. “I’ll settle this,” he muttered, but Maya was reluctant. She turned her gaze back to Cassi, who clutched onto Dakividih for safety, before turning her gaze back to Ivan. I should kill this piece of shit, she thought maliciously.
Choice 1: [Kill Ivan] [Leave]
(Only if you voted [Leave] in Choice 1) Choice 2: [Take Cassi with you] [Leave Cassi with Ivan]
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Post by WildlingKing on Nov 19, 2019 18:50:30 GMT
[Leave] & [Take Cassi with you] Let's have Maya work on her self-restraint. That said, I do hope Arvid at least captures Ivan, cos that old bastard does deserve to be punished.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Nov 21, 2019 1:53:45 GMT
Alright! I have the next part ready, it goes to Skjorn. Skjorn the Scholar was a close advisor to Magnar Krygorn, and the two collaborated to put an end to Raymun Redbeard by purchasing a poison known as the Tears of Lys to assassinate him with. Skjorn left this poison in Raymun's cup as he and Barryn visited him, and this was drank by Jonk instead of Raymun. Krygorn and Skjorn would later march to war against Raymun's Nightrunner and Hornfoot army, securing an alliance with the Ice River clans. Krygorn would split his army up into three components, he leading the main army while Alex Deepstone and Skjorn led the two smaller thirds. The battle would commence and the Ice River clans would arrive to betray the Thenn's and attack everyone. Skjorn and co. would barely escape with their lives, and it would be decided that Skjorn would return to the Vale to inform Princess Sigira and Prince Storg of the fate of Krygorn. Once returning to the Vale, a meeting would be held and this information would be passed onto the council. Here, Skyrnor (Krygorn's nephew) would attempt his claim as Magnar, which would severely anger Sigira. The vote would decide for Skjorn to support Sigira over Skyrnor. This part takes off from there.
Skjorn
The Scholar rested his head before lifting his gaze, all eyes were on him, and looked to Sigira. “Storg is Krygorn’s son and heir. Until he is ready to inherit his father’s seat, I will support Princess Sigira,” Skjorn announced with an assertive tone, and Yrma shot him down with a glare. “The House of Delen shall also support Princess Sigira,” Denyal stated with confidence, and Sigira nodded to him gracefully.
“So be it,” Skyrnor muttered coldly, turning his glance to Yrma before exiting the hall. She followed after him while shooting daggers in Sigira’s direction, and Skjorn was proud to see the princess hold her ground. Once it was only her, Skjorn and Denyal, her composure fell weak and she collapsed into her chair. Skjorn came to her side with a frown, watching as tears welled up in the girl’s eyes.
“Why?” she mumbled weakly, and Skjorn felt his chest crumble; he had been asking himself that very question for days now. He knelt beside her, catching her lowered gaze. “Sigira, you are the Magnar now. I know this is all a lot to take in, but you must show strength if you are to get the Thenn’s to follow you,” Skjorn stated calmly, and Sigira nodded as she wiped her cheeks. “I know,” she muttered as she lifted her head. “I don’t expect my cousin to give up so quickly either,” she added, and Skjorn nodded.
“Leave Skyrnor to me, my Lady,” Skjorn advised, and Sigira looked to him with graceful eyes. “Storg must know what has happened to his father. I can break the news to him if you wish,” Skjorn added with a soft tone, but Sigira shook her head, her eyes welling up again. “I will tell him,” she stated with a wavering tone, to which Skjorn gave her a nod. The two stood up, and Sigira flashed Denyal Delen a small smile of appreciation before making for the exit. Skjorn let out a heavy sigh as he turned to Denyal.
“This will not be easy,” Skjorn admitted as he crossed his arms, and Denyal frowned as he nodded in agreement. “There are many houses which would be ambitious enough to make a claim as Magnar,” Denyal stated, and Skjorn sighed. “Most of them will likely support Skyrnor before daring to make a claim themselves. As long as Storg lives, no one outside of Krygorn’s family circle will dare to make a move for his seat,” Skjorn claimed.
“What would you have me do?” Denyal asked, and Skjorn furrowed his eyebrows with confusion, leading the Delen boy to elaborate. “You’re the only one I trust here. These lords look at me and see a fool, and maybe they’re right, but I can be useful. I have to be,” Denyal explained, and Skjorn gave him a nod. “I understand, Denyal. Try and speak with some of the lords if you can,” Skjorn advised plainly, to which Denyal gave him a dutiful nod and took his leave.
Before long, Skjorn was once again left alone to his thoughts. His eyes fell to his satchel, and he rummaged through it to secure his hands around the remaining vial of poison he carried so close. Tears of Lys, he thought as he looked at the clear liquid with precious eyes. He had almost forgotten all about it with all that had happened. It rightfully belonged to Sigira now, she was the Magnar above all else, and yet Skjorn felt oddly conflicted. He put the vial back into his satchel and shook the thought from his mind. I should go and speak with Skyrnor, he thought sternly, and exited the Magnar’s Hall.
-
Skyrnor looked well beyond his years, being a man on his early twenties, he looked as if he could pass for his late thirties. Skjorn admitted that this impression predominantly arose from greying dreadlocks, but the stern look in his grey eyes also added years to him that Skjorn had recognised in Krygorn. Skyrnor was a hard man, well respected amongst the Thenn’s and was entrusted by Krygorn to defend the Vale while they were at war. Skyrnor was Krygorn’s nephew, and had been taken under the Magnar’s wing when his father had died in a skirmish a decade ago.
“I imagine you haven’t changed your stance on who should be leading then Thenn’s, so what brings you to me, Scholar?” Skyrnor queried with a cold tone, and Skjorn clasped his hands as he sat calmly opposed to him. “You’re aware that Storg is the rightful Magnar of the Thenn’s, aren’t you? His age does not change that, Skyrnor,” Skjorn stated, and Skyrnor eyed the Scholar carefully.
“I’m aware that when the boy is of age, he will be recognised as our rightful leader, but he is not the man to defend us from Fleshbearer or Raymun Redbeard,” Skyrnor claimed, bringing a smile to Skjorn’s lips. “And you are?” Skjorn pressed, and Skyrnor held his firm composure. “I am Krygorn’s blood, Scholar. While Sigira was practicing her archery and knitting, I was training with the sword and learning about combat. Storg may be Krygorn’s direct son, but I was too,” Skyrnor argued in his defence, and Skjorn watched Skyrnor closely for any deceit. He did not see any.
“Skyrnor, this doesn’t have to be a battle for inheritance. I have chosen to support Sigira because it was Krygorn’s wishes when he had her returned to the Vale. I do not wish to see her in command indefinitely, and she does not want that either. This is not about her, and this is not about you, this is about Storg, and she needs your help,” Skjorn stated firmly, “The Vale needs to come together.” Skyrnor glanced long and hard into Skjorn’s eyes, but before he could say anything, there was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” Skyrnor commanded, and behind the door was Yrma; there was a bitter look in her eyes. “Fleshbearer has sent a messenger,” she announced, and both Skjorn and Skyrnor arose from their seats. “Take me to him,” Skyrnor ordered, and the woman nodded. Skyrnor pushed past Skjorn and followed after her, and Skjorn quickly followed after them.
-
The messenger was a stocky man, built with fat and muscle that was coated with thick pelts. His long hair and beard were light brown in colour, and his hard green eyes seemed to over empower those who he looked at. In his hands he carried two small bags, and surrounding him were guardsmen with bronze-tipped spears pointed in his direction. He had gathered quite the crowd.
Skjorn arrived with Skyrnor and Yrma, and before the great beast of a man stood Princess Sigira and Prince Storg. Skjorn’s eyes met with Denyal’s across the court, who stood with a few small lords. The Ice Rivers clansman glanced around at his crowd before opening his mouth. “I am Armun the Barbarian,” he declared with a thick raspy voice, and lifted the two bags in his hands. “I bring you a gift, from King Fleshbearer,” he announced, and tossed the bags at Sigira and Storg’s feet. Skjorn passed Skyrnor to join Sigira’s side, and her trusted friend: Gorgar the Frozen, approached the bags with caution.
He knelt down and opened them, immediately turning his gaze away. “Shield the boy’s eyes,” he insisted to Skjorn, but Storg shook his head defiantly. “Show me,” Sigira demanded with a shaking voice, and reluctantly Gorgar pulled the heads of Magnar Krygorn and Grekorid Delen out of the two bags. This evoked screams of horror amongst the crowd, and Skjorn spotted Denyal collapse to his knees as he glanced upon the decapitated head of his father.
“Father!” Storg screamed, his voice choked up on tears and anger, and Gorgar immediately caught him before he could reach Krygorn’s lifeless head. Skjorn turned his gaze to Sigira, who stood paralysed as her eyes lifelessly stared at her father’s head. “Kill him!” someone from the crowd shouted, which was quickly echoed by others. Skjorn spotted Skyrnor approaching the scene with his double-edged axe. He was going to kill Armun. Skjorn immediately turned his attention to Sigira.
“Princess, is this what you want?” he asked quickly, but she gave him no response. “We could take this man prisoner, get information out of him,” Skjorn suggested, but again, Sigira paid him no mind as she glanced at Krygorn’s lifeless eyes. Maggots had begun to eat his flesh, stripping him of his eyelids and soft skin. Skjorn gulped as he watched Skyrnor reach Armun, the Barbarian being forced to his knees. If Sigira doesn’t do something, Skyrnor will gain more support for his claim, Skjorn thought, then turning his gaze to the princess. Was he wrong to support her? Was this truly the time to have doubts?
[Speak up] [Let Skyrnor execute Armun]
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Post by WildlingKing on Nov 21, 2019 12:50:18 GMT
[Speak up] Noo, let's not have the Barbarian killed so unceremoniously. Who knows, maybe the Thenns could even turn him against Fleshbearer I really liked this part, the Thenn storyline was always among my favorites when writing this story and I'm convinced it's in good hands with you now
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Nov 21, 2019 21:28:14 GMT
[Speak up] Noo, let's not have the Barbarian killed so unceremoniously. Who knows, maybe the Thenns could even turn him against Fleshbearer I really liked this part, the Thenn storyline was always among my favorites when writing this story and I'm convinced it's in good hands with you now Yes! The Thenn’s were always my favourite too, and I hope to the storyline justice Getting to see my old creation Skyrnor after all this time Toi is great, but I’m starting to notice there’s not much variety of names in some of these Thenn parts (Skjorn, Skyrnor, Sigira, etc), starting to have Manderly flashbacks XD
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Nov 22, 2019 1:17:50 GMT
Alright well for the conveniency of the next part, I'll close this one. Skjorn will speak up, and we shall see the result of that now in Lenlie's part, but here's a quick recap. Lenlie was originally the travelling companion of Fleshbearer when they were going to secure an alliance with the Vale of Thenn, but when Fleshbearer was to return to the Ice Rivers, Lenlie requested to stay in the Vale. This severely angered Fleshbearer, but fortunately Princess Sigira rescued her from his torment. From then on Sigira served Sigira, sitting on Krygorn's war council, babysitting Storg and sticking by the princess' side. Anyway, here's her next part. I should also be pushing through a few more parts over these next couple of days as I'm house sitting and have literally nothing else to do xD.
Lenlie
She pushed through the thick crowds with haste, the shouts and cries of the people deafening her ears as she desperately tried to slip past them. Something was wrong, and the looks the Thenns were giving her was unnerving. One nudged her as she past, another sent her a foul glare. She expected the worst.
Arriving at the front of the crowd, the scene unravelled before her. Half-a-dozen Thenns had a man surrounded at spear-point, while another Thenn approached him with a great axe. Then Lenlie’s gaze fell upon Sigira, the princess had collapsed to her knees, and the head of her father was in her lap. Oh gods, Lenlie gasped with thought has her heart crumbled at the sight of it. She spotted Gorgar clutching onto Storg, while Skjorn stood dutifully by Sigira’s side watching this all unfold.
Turning her gaze back to the prisoner, she vaguely recognised him. He wasn’t one of Fleshbearer’s clan, but was a chieftain of another. The Thenn with the axe had now reached him, the prisoner being dropped to his knees and the Thenn lining up his strike. “Skyrnor!” a voice yelled, and the crowd all shifted their gaze to its source: Skjorn the Scholar. The man with the dreadlocks and giant axe momentarily halted, turning his cold gaze to the Scholar.
“I urge you not to be rash with this,” Skjorn implored, invoking murmurs amongst the crowd. Lenlie watched Skyrnor’s face twist with anger. “This monster brings the head of our Magnar to dishonour us, and you urge me to not be rash? Who the fuck do you serve, Scholar?” Skyrnor yelled with a bitter tone, and Skjorn descended down the steps to meet the man eye-to-eye. “I serve our Magnar, and the decision for what happens with this man falls onto him,” Skjorn stated, making Skyrnor shake his head with frustration.
“Look into Sigira’s hands and you will see what is left of our Magnar,” Skyrnor grunted as he tightened his grip on his axe, and Skjorn locked eyes with him. “I’m not talking about Krygorn,” he clarified, and then turned his gaze back to Princess Sigira, who rose to her feet with her father’s head cradled in her arms. She turned to Gorgar, passing Krygorn to him and taking her younger brother into her arms.
“My father…” she mumbled, and shook her head with anger. “My father sent me home with fear of this happening. Storg is our new Magnar by right, and it was in my father’s interests to have me here to support him,” she stated, and the crowd fell silent as they watched her descend the steps with Storg clutching onto her hand. “I want this man dead as much as you Skyrnor, trust me,” she muttered, turning her glare onto the chieftain. “But if Fleshbearer sent him here knowing full well what we would do to him for this, then I have to believe that this man is no friend of Fleshbearer,” Sigira mumbled, and the chieftain lifted his hard green eyes to the princess.
“Smart girl,” he quipped with a smirk, and immediately received a strike to his cheek from Skyrnor. “Leave him!” Sigira ordered, to which another woman from the crowd spoke up. “Aye, leave him. Spare the man who brings the head of our Magnar, spare the slut who served Fleshbearer, but don’t spare your own people,” the woman chastised, and Lenlie glared at the woman as she stepped forward. “Fuck off, Yrma,” Sigira muttered, but the woman only smirked.
“You know what I think? I think that Krygorn sent his precious daughter back to the Vale to protect her from war, or maybe he didn’t? Maybe you just ran home like the little scared bitch you are,” Yrma mocked, leading Skjorn and Gorgar to take to their weapons. “You’re overstepping your place, Yrma,” Gorgar warned her, but the woman rolled her eyes. “Am I? I’m speaking for the Thenns, and I’m not alone when I say that Skyrnor is the Magnar that we need to give us the justice and defence that we need,” she announced, and there were murmurs in the crowd for agreeance. “I say we should put it to a vote,” Yrma suggested, and Lenlie clenched her fists, taking a step into the arena. She immediately gained the eyes of every Thenn in the crowd.
“Ah, Fleshbearer’s bitch emerges at last,” Yrma mocked with spite, and Lenlie shot her a foul glare. “Are you too blind to see that this is what Fleshbearer wants? He wants us to tear each other apart,” Lenlie stated, but Yrma shook her head. “You’re not one of us, bitch, and if we don’t decide on a strong leader then we’ll get fucked by your master soon enough,” she claimed, making Lenlie snarl. Adrenaline streamed through her veins, her temper was through the roof. She stormed towards the woman, unsheathing her daggers.
“You don’t trust me, fine. You want me dead?” she shouted, throwing her blades at Yrma’s feet. “Then fucking kill me, I’ll die knowing I served Sigira and your Thenns without wanting to stab them in the back for power,” Lenlie growled, and Yrma glared at her with bloody intent.
“Enough!” a voice cried, small and fragile, and yet powerful in its own right. All eyes turned to the small boy who held a fiery look in his big grey eyes. He pushed past his sister and approached the chieftain with a cold look in his eyes, but he did not shy away from the Clansmen’s gruff appearance. “Did you kill my father?” Storg asked plainly, and the chieftain looked at Sigira and Skyrnor before looking back to the boy and shaking his head. “No,” he grumbled, which almost appeared to anger Storg more. “Who did?” he shouted, and the man looked into the boy’s eyes long and hard.
“Fleshbearer,” he answered sternly, to which Storg nodded. “I don’t care about you, Barbarian, but I’m sure someone does,” Storg stated, then turning to Skyrnor. “Hurt him until he speaks,” he ordered, and Skyrnor stared at his cousin with eyes that mimicked disbelief. The Barbarian spoke up. “I’ll speak freely, little lord, but I need your word,” he stated, and Storg turned back to the chieftain with a curious eye. “I’ll give you everything about Fleshbearer and his army, but on the provision that you spare my people. What you do with me is your choice after that,” the Barbarian proposed, to which Storg glared at him.
“And I’ve made it,” Storg stated firmly, turning his gaze back to Skyrnor. “Take him away,” he muttered, and his cousin nodded. The guards surrounding him lifted the Barbarian to his feet, and they followed Skyrnor to the Magnar’s Hall. Lenlie looked at the young boy with widened eyes, everyone did. Storg looked to his father with welling eyes before closing them shut. “I want a pyre made for him,” he mumbled, and Sigira nodded. “Gorgar,” she mumbled, and the man nodded, bagging both Krygorn and Grekorid’s heads.
The crowd began to dissipate, and Lenlie met eyes with Yrma’s cold glare once again before she too left. Before long only Lenlie remained with one other. Skjorn studied her with an astute eye before sighing. “What you did was bold,” he stated with an admirable tone, but Lenlie only shook her head. “If we keep doing this, Fleshbearer will do the same to us as he did to them. I stayed with Sigira to avoid that happening to me, I won’t see it happen now,” Lenlie vowed, to which Skjorn nodded. He took a step forward and rubbed his eyes.
“I’m fearful of what is to come. Storg’s safety is paramount, and I believe that all this in-fighting will cut him in two. If this is not resolved soon, I need you to take him and go east, leave the Vale. I will give you the signal if it comes to that,” Skjorn stated, and Lenlie’s eyes widened. “You want me to do this?” she asked weakly, and Skjorn nodded sternly. “You and you alone. No one else can know of this plan, understand? Not even Sigira,” Skjorn stated, to which Lenlie gulped and nodded. Skjorn flashed her a small smile, but she could tell it was forced. He then parted from her, and Lenlie was left with an abundance of thoughts.
No decision.
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Post by WildlingKing on Nov 22, 2019 16:50:07 GMT
Another great part! I especially enjoyed Storg showing that while he may still be young he is definitely his father's son. I am intrigued to see how the situation in the Vale of Thenn will develop, but if indeed we get a Lenlie and Storg roadtrip then I'm totally down for that storyline
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