Well, that's actually pretty interesting. Should throw quite the loop depending on how the player interprets the Zealous and Ambitious trait.
Good luck in the army!
Good luck in the army!
Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR
- Thread starter Aidun
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Ronnel Arryn has traits and an RP'd background that make for a content lord paramount loyal to his liege. I mean, he has a beautiful wife who loves him, a big family, and all his nobles have a high opinion of him (in terms of in game stats)...what more could a nobleman ask for?
Now what happens with the next generation of Arryns...that might all change.
I'm waiting for everyone to inevitably betray the Targ ruler.
None of them can surely be happy with foreigners forcing them to follow their rule or be killed, who also happen to be incestuous.
Poor Tyrells, only one of them left.
None of them can surely be happy with foreigners forcing them to follow their rule or be killed, who also happen to be incestuous.
Poor Tyrells, only one of them left.
I dunno, it seems to me that most of the nobility seemed content enough with the Targaryen rulers, and most of the smallfolk viewed the Valyrians as more akin to Gods than men, so they were mostly fine with staying down the way they were. Really, the only challenges that came to Targaryen rule came from the Faith over their incestuous marriages, which Jaehaerys I was able to talk them out of, along with their power to lead armies, themselves in the Dance of Dragons and from the Blackfyres, who were really just Targaryens with a ridiculous family name.
Really, if Aerys II had remained sane, Targaryen rule might've been able to continue on until the end of Rhaegar's rule, assuming the rest of the realm would've been more in favor of peacefully resolving the whole eloping thing between Rhaegar and Lyanna.
Only just managed to catch up on this fantastic AAR, looking forward to whatever might come next. The Reach seems to be cursed somehow. I remember the Tyrells dropping out like flies in my own game too, quite brutally and in quick succession. I smell a conspiracy. All of the more obvious and evident plot twists and dilemmas aside, one thing really stood out to me in this entire story;
Saron, Lord of the Ring? It seems the Reach was only one vowel away from having a dark lord inhabitant
Saron, Lord of the Ring? It seems the Reach was only one vowel away from having a dark lord inhabitant
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Chapter 3 - Harren III
15 - 22 AL
15 - 22 AL
Harren leaned over the railing, looking out at the roiling waves. He wasn't interested in the terribly boring minutiae of ruling that Theon was spouting behind him. He was Castellan - let him deal with it. As usual, the only important things would come up at the end. Perhaps it was Theon's way of trying to get him more interested, but it never worked. Harren stared out towards the docks at his fleet. After another few minutes, Harren turned around and walked back into the room.
Lord Theon cleared his throat and continued. "In addition, I have a letter from your brother Nute -" "Nute can write?" Theon jerked, surprised. "Y-yes, lord. He could read and write since his fifth nameday." Harren cocked his head. "Oh. Huh." He waved. "Please, continue." Theon licked his lips before doing so. "As I was saying, your brother Nute has sent you a letter. He respectfully requests the lordship of Saltcliffe due to blood relation." I looked at my Castellan. "And he sends a letter asking me this instead of coming in person?" Theon nodded. "It seems so, my lord." Harren pursed his lips in thought. "I don't suppose I have enough pull to reject him?" Theon shook his head. "Not enough to do it safely, I'm afraid." Harren shrugged. "Well, that's unfortunate. I suppose it will make him a more acceptable candidate for the Kingsmoot at least." Harren leaned back and closed his eyes, musing. After a moment, Harren opened his eyes. "Lord Theon, assemble the fleet." "To what purpose, lord?" "Justice. Vengeance." Boredom. "Take your pick. We sail for Oldtown when it's assembled." Theon nodded slowly. "I understand, my lord. I will send out the ravens immediately."
____________________________________
Harren stood on the prow of the Iron Storm, dimly aware of the flag of truce flying above him. He looked out at the towering walls and gardens of Highgarden, and felt Falia come up behind him.
He turned to her. "Your old home is pretentiously grand."
Falia snorted. "You're one to speak. Didn't you Ironborn build Harrenhall?"
He nodded. "Yes. My namesake built Harrenhall. And look where that got him - not even an unmarked grave." He looked back at Highgarden. "A waste of money."
Falia touched his arm and pointed. "There. That's Owen - in the green and gold livery."
It was Harren's turn to snort. "You're going to have to be more specific. Everyone there is wearing green and gold livery."
Falia thinned her lips. "You know who I mean."
Harren shook his head. "I don't, actually. The last time I saw Owen was years ago, and I never spent more than a few months in the same place as him."
The Iron Storm groaned as the ship came up to the dock, and Harren turned around. "Well then, wife, let's go meet your brother."
Falia smirked. "Yes, let us, husband."
Owen wore a faint scowl, anger in his eyes as he gazed upon the Harren. "Your reaving has not had the same success as it once had, hm?"
Harren snorted. "If I'd wanted to reave, I'd have started at the Shields. It would have been interesting to see you try to break the Iron Fleet. No, I'm not here to reave. Just simple vengeance."
"And what, pray tell, has my Castellan or his kin ever done to deserve such bloody reprisal?" Owen answers, his gaze still firm upon his good-brother.
"Them? Nothing, but I'm sure there's some reason I could drum up if I cared to. My issue was with a Maester that fled justice."
There was a brief pause before Owen continued, "And so you expect me to believe that you would send an army to hunt down but one man, and harm no other?"
"Yes. Especially since I'm leaving with my host for the Summer Isles. Now, I'm here to deliver my wife and daughter to spend some time in their family home. Falia is also here to... see to Sawane. You're not going to do anything about this because, frankly, not only is there not much you can do, nothing has happened and nothing was going to happen."
Harren took a breath before continuing. "Oh, and convey our respects to your wife." Harren glanced at Falia with not a drop of sarcasm or contempt in his voice. "We know how you feel."
Owen narrowed his eyes upon his twin, then scowled at Harren, "And what makes you think you are in any position to impose such demands?"
"The fact that you aren't in any position to impose any demands either, given the circumstances."
Let's have some fun with this. Harren sighed, a tad dramatically, and continued speaking. "What do you want, Owen? Just get it out."
"Peace for the Reach," Owen replied with nary a blink, "You will withdraw from Oldtown. I shall see about this... Maester Sawane, and should he be guilty, I shall see that justice is served."
Harren smirked mentally. "Easily done, and already finished." Harren shrugged. "If that's all..."
"That is all," Owen replied, giving a firm, emphatic nod.
Harren turned and lightly kisses Falia. "I'll be back in a year. Just some advance warning."
Owen stared frostily at the two. "I shall see to it that your wife, my dear sister, is at home one again in Highgarden."
Harren inclined his head respectfully, smiling in reality as he did so. "My thanks, brother."
___________________________________
22 AL
Harren waved magnanimously as Aegon entered the command tent. "Welcome, Your Grace, to my humble abode. I wasn't expecting to be in Dorne after five years abroad but, well, life is full of surprises."
King Aegon stopped short, his face one of surprise and caution, as if the Conqueror hadn't expected such a welcome. He nodded as an answer to the courtesy, saying: ''Yes.. Your return has been long awaited, Lord Greyjoy.''
Harren braced himself mentally and waved at a servant, who moved to pour wine. "No doubt, no doubt. As you can see, Sunspear is completely surrounded."
Harren's words were followed by silence - Harren thought it a bit obtuse, really. The Conqueror made his point at Harrenhall. After a moment of intense staring, Aegon Targaryen finally opened his mouth and spoke with a wholly different tone: ''Yes - it is good that you are here. With more men here behind the Dornishmen lines, they'll ease the defenses of the Prince's Pass and Boneway.''
The King took the wine from the servant but didn't make a move to drink it. ''Assuming you mean to stay? No doubt your men are weary of fighting and long for home after four years away.''
Harren smiled. "True, true. Unfortunately, my men need a morale booster. The Summer Islanders were hardier than expected."
The King nodded twice and smelled the wine, proceeding to take a sip. ''What do you have in mind, Lord Greyjoy?''
Harren cocked his head like an avian. "What do I have in mind for what, King Aegon?"
King Aegon held his cup in both hands. "You said your men needed a 'morale booster.' I presume that's why you're here at Sunspear? The Dornish are known for their women and wine, and a city has plenty of both."
He smiled before continuing. "Of course, I hear you prefer the women of the Summer Isles. When we take the city, you and your men may have their share of the latter."
Harren rolled his eyes and sighed disgustedly. "Bed one hunchback and EVERYONE judges." Harren shook his head before continuing. "Regardless, I accept your gracious offer."
Harren abruptly switched topic. "So tell me. What's happened in the kingdom in the last four years?"
''Take no offence, Lord Harren'', King Aegon said, clearly amused that he had managed to anger Harren. ''I am but an observant man who is married to his two sisters.''
''But back to business'', the King stated with a more official tone in his voice. ''I am more interested in the future of my kingdom than its past.''
The King looked meaningfully at Harren before continuing: ''As always, people need to move forward. Your presence here, being first of my vassals to invade Dorne brings a whole different light to how I view certain things. Do you understand what I am saying?''
Harren snorted mentally before continuing. "I presume you mean that issue five years ago that happened right before I left? I have no doubt you asked Owen about it later. Did he not tell you?"
''There are two sides to every coin. I haven't seen the other one for a reason we both know well. Nor do I need to.''
The King drank once more and then set the cup aside. ''No irreparable damage was done. If your men help me turn the tide of this war, you and those affiliated with you shall not be judged for past actions.''
''After all, it would seem odd and unjust if I happened to imprison you and your fellow raiders right after you fought beside me. But don't mistake what I say, Lord Greyjoy - I do have all the justification I need for doing so.''
Harren sipped from his wine and muttered absentmindedly. "Hm. Guess he didn't." Then he shook his head and looked back at Aegon, thinking that he must be rather insecure if he threatened one of his weaker vassals. "Very well. You should know that Dorne's army is nowhere near here - my scouts have ridden out far enough to provide two weeks' notice, and the guards on Sunspear's gates make me think the army isn't inside."
''Yes, I know the city is mostly empty. Or did you forget I arrived here riding a dragon?'' A smile climbed the King's lips for a short moment. ''I suggest we continue this conversation inside Sunspear. I do not complain about your decision to place siege on a city that has close to no defenders, but my men are weary of a long journey asea and could use rest with roofs above their heads.''
Harren nodded. "As you wish."
''Good'', the King said and got up on his feet. Looking Harren in the eyes, he offered the Harren his hand.
Harren accepted it and shook.
Aegon Targaryen grabbed Harren Greyjoy by the wrist in the way warriors do, but his grip was uncomfortably hard. Though no words pass from the Conqueror's lips, his eyes are determined to remind the Lord of Iron Islands of one thing; that there's something even stronger than men called Ironborn.
Harren considered winking.
____________________________
Harren stood among his generals, looking around at the endless dunes of the desert before turning back to them. "How goes the fight?" "Rather poorly, my lord. It seems the desert heat does not favor Balerion, and the Dornish are surrounding the King's forces. The nearest reinforcements beside ourselves are days away. We will have to move quickly if we are to save the King." Harren raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Ignore the King when he is in peril? Why would we ever do that?" Harren shrugged, feeling the armor on his skin. He'd forgone his plate mail in this heat, and he didn't plan to lead from the front besides. "Get ready. We'll move in two forces to break open the Dornish forces. I'll lead the right flank and pin the Dornish. You move to rescue King Aegon."
Harren noted that the fight was indeed going poorly for King Aegon as Harren crested the dune. The King's men were surrounded at their landing and barely holding on. They were almost completely surrounded.
Harren snorted. "He should've left this task to us. Less men would have died." Mustering his voice, Harren bellowed. "WHAT ARE OUR WORDS?" His army responded in kind. "WE DO NOT SOW." Harren took a breath. "WELL BUGGER THAT! PLOUGH THE DORNISH! CHARGE!"
The dunes behind the Dornish lines suddenly bristled with men as twenty thousand Ironborn crested the dunes and charged into their lines from behind. After realizing their predicament, the Dornish started trying to extricate themselves, running right up against Harren's troops. While his immediate opponent was more comfortable with the terrain, and probably a better commander as well, Harren acquitted himself honorably, using the dunes and the shore to force the Dornish to engage across a small line. A few thousand Dornishmen managed to wriggle out over the course of the next few hours, but it was too little too late. The main bulk of the Dornish force had been crushed, and with it Dorne's only hope of resistance.
Catching his breath, Harren bellowed for probably the hundredth time that day. "HAIL KING AEGON!" The cry was taken up and echoed by his men, continuing like a ripple. Harren stood up straight and waved with his sword in the direction of the Black Dread.
The day was won, and the Battle of Ghost Hill turned out to be well named.
__________________________________
Aidun, you need to give better credit. The Ironborn totally saved your bacon. Why you did a preemptive landing against superior numbers I'll never understand.
Harren is a credit to his people. Also, a pretty likable fellow as far as Ironborn are concerned.
The Dornish Ulcer
Always the hard task.
Aegon and his sisters always received the glory. How could they not-they were unnaturally beautiful, fierce warriors, the last dragon riders, and descendants of the god-like Valyrians.
Meanwhile, it was Orys who was always left to complete the hard tasks. He was left with the thankless task of defeating the last Storm King in the rain. Then he was given the dreadful task of “Hand of the King”. He had to repair the relations between the squabbling nobility, draft countless edicts, overseeing all of Aegon’s fanciful building projects. But he did his task without complaint. He did it because he loved his brother and sisters and he believed in the dream of a united Westeros, however crazy it may seem.
And now he marched his army through the Boneway, the most treacherous region in Dorne, because it was his duty. His 20,000 strong force had bene reduced to half its strength due to the treachery of the Dornish men. He left with 500 hundred eager knights, 5,000 men-at-arms who were hungry for combat and ready to show the mighty Orys what they could do in battle, and countless peasant levies who were excited to venture beyond the boundaries of their village. But many of them were dead now or dying from poison. Every corner was filled with booby traps, poison arrows, and falling boulders. Every time they rested, another ten men disappeared. If only they could escape from this hellhole and link up with the Reachmen army marching through the Prince’s Pass. Their efforts were probably all for naught anyway, since the Reachmen had probably already reached Hellholt by now and Aegon had sent him a raven that the dragons were about to assault Sunspear. It seemed that Aegon would receive the glory again and Orys would be stuck with the hard business…
“My Lord, I’ve received a messenger. It seems like there’s trouble in the rear,” Lord Tarth said as he rode close to Orys.
“Go and take care of it,” Orys muttered. There was trouble every day in the rear, but it could not be ignored.
A few hours passed and the army continued to march. He had heard nothing from Lord Tarth, which troubled him slightly. But his marshal was a dependable fellow and he was certain he would catch up with the rest of the army by the time they set up camp for the night.
Suddenly, he heard a large rumbling noise. It could only mean one thing…
“Boulders!” Orys yelled. “Take cover!”
It was a futile order, for there was nowhere to take cover in the caverns of the Boneway. But they had to try. They usually made it through these attacks in one piece. The Dornishmen were too cowardly to launch an all-out assault…
But this time the boulders would not stop coming- it was a full-on avalanche. It seemed they had ventured into the wrong part of the Boneway. Orys could hear hundreds of screams and the sound of crushed bones and armor. He crouched down as low as he could and tried to protect his head with his shield as best he could. His horse was not so lucky, as he heard the pathetic whinnying of the poor creature. Luckily horses were replaceable, but it was hard to replace men.
The avalanche stopped. Orys stood up and put down his shield.
“Is everyone alright?” he yelled.
“Aye!” he heard thousands of men reply.
“The pathetic Dornishmen think they can defeat the might of the Stormlands with rocks!” he yelled to his men.
The Stormlanders laughed. It was necessary to boost their morale with such frivolous exercises as that. That was one thing his father taught him.
The army began to crawl out of the rocks. It seems like a few men had been unlucky, but the vast majority of the army had survived. If they could quickly reorganize, perhaps they would not fall too far behind the new schedule.
Just then, he heard screams. The cacophony grew louder and louder as the noise echoed across the canyon. Before they could react, thousands of Dornishmen were upon them.
Orys reacted quickly and unsheathed his greatsword. He may be getting old in years, but he was still one of the best fighters in the world. He mowed down dozens of lightly armored Dornishmen. It seemed like they were aiming especially for him. Where was Tarth when you needed him…he was probably dead…
“Come at me, you cowards!” he screamed. “You are too weak to take me! Come on!”
Suddenly, he felt a jolt of pain in his right heel. Orys crumpled to the ground and tried to stand up. But he was feeling weaker and weaker.
“Posion! You cowards!” he whimpered.
Just then, a dozen Dornishmen surrounded him. He was too weak to even lift his head, but he could practically feel their sneers.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the might of the Stormlands and Hand of the Dragonking,” one of them said in a thick Dornish accent.
“Fight me, you women,” he whispered.
“Perhaps you are right, maybe we are cowards,” the man replied. “But only a fool fights dragons openly. And only a stupid fool thinks he can beat Orys Baratheon in combat. You call us women, but we do not take that as an insult. We are the blood of Nymeria and our women are worth ten of you northerners in combat.”
So this is how it ends, Orys thought to himself. I am sorry Aegon that I could not complete my duty. I am sorry, my son, for not being able to see you grow into a man. And I am sorry Argella, for being away so long…
“Take his right hand,” his enemy announced to his fellow Dornishmen. “Show the dragon-king what has become of the kingdom’s Hand.”
His cronies laughed.
“But give him a quick death. He does not deserve to suffer through the pain of the poison. That is no way for such a great man to die.”
Before Orys could even react, one of the Dornish warriors stuck a spear through his heart. It was quick and painless and Orys did not even feel a thing. Then, they took his right hand.
Orys Baratheon, the Warrior of the Stormlands, First Hand of the King, Blood of the Dragon, and best friend to a king, was gone. But the Baraetheons lived on.
Storm’s End was in mourning when the castle received the news two weeks later. Argella Baratheon fell to tears for two days. Little Aegon was too young to understand, but he would remember that day for the rest of his life.
Soon, little Aegon would become squire for his namesake. Argella would rule the Stormlands for the time being, as she always had. But the memory of Orys lingered over the Stormlands. He was a foreigner and a conqueror, but he was beloved and respected by his people.
HOUSE BARATHEON
21 AL
Always the hard task.
Aegon and his sisters always received the glory. How could they not-they were unnaturally beautiful, fierce warriors, the last dragon riders, and descendants of the god-like Valyrians.
Meanwhile, it was Orys who was always left to complete the hard tasks. He was left with the thankless task of defeating the last Storm King in the rain. Then he was given the dreadful task of “Hand of the King”. He had to repair the relations between the squabbling nobility, draft countless edicts, overseeing all of Aegon’s fanciful building projects. But he did his task without complaint. He did it because he loved his brother and sisters and he believed in the dream of a united Westeros, however crazy it may seem.
And now he marched his army through the Boneway, the most treacherous region in Dorne, because it was his duty. His 20,000 strong force had bene reduced to half its strength due to the treachery of the Dornish men. He left with 500 hundred eager knights, 5,000 men-at-arms who were hungry for combat and ready to show the mighty Orys what they could do in battle, and countless peasant levies who were excited to venture beyond the boundaries of their village. But many of them were dead now or dying from poison. Every corner was filled with booby traps, poison arrows, and falling boulders. Every time they rested, another ten men disappeared. If only they could escape from this hellhole and link up with the Reachmen army marching through the Prince’s Pass. Their efforts were probably all for naught anyway, since the Reachmen had probably already reached Hellholt by now and Aegon had sent him a raven that the dragons were about to assault Sunspear. It seemed that Aegon would receive the glory again and Orys would be stuck with the hard business…
“My Lord, I’ve received a messenger. It seems like there’s trouble in the rear,” Lord Tarth said as he rode close to Orys.
“Go and take care of it,” Orys muttered. There was trouble every day in the rear, but it could not be ignored.
A few hours passed and the army continued to march. He had heard nothing from Lord Tarth, which troubled him slightly. But his marshal was a dependable fellow and he was certain he would catch up with the rest of the army by the time they set up camp for the night.
Suddenly, he heard a large rumbling noise. It could only mean one thing…
“Boulders!” Orys yelled. “Take cover!”
It was a futile order, for there was nowhere to take cover in the caverns of the Boneway. But they had to try. They usually made it through these attacks in one piece. The Dornishmen were too cowardly to launch an all-out assault…
But this time the boulders would not stop coming- it was a full-on avalanche. It seemed they had ventured into the wrong part of the Boneway. Orys could hear hundreds of screams and the sound of crushed bones and armor. He crouched down as low as he could and tried to protect his head with his shield as best he could. His horse was not so lucky, as he heard the pathetic whinnying of the poor creature. Luckily horses were replaceable, but it was hard to replace men.
The avalanche stopped. Orys stood up and put down his shield.
“Is everyone alright?” he yelled.
“Aye!” he heard thousands of men reply.
“The pathetic Dornishmen think they can defeat the might of the Stormlands with rocks!” he yelled to his men.
The Stormlanders laughed. It was necessary to boost their morale with such frivolous exercises as that. That was one thing his father taught him.
The army began to crawl out of the rocks. It seems like a few men had been unlucky, but the vast majority of the army had survived. If they could quickly reorganize, perhaps they would not fall too far behind the new schedule.
Just then, he heard screams. The cacophony grew louder and louder as the noise echoed across the canyon. Before they could react, thousands of Dornishmen were upon them.
Orys reacted quickly and unsheathed his greatsword. He may be getting old in years, but he was still one of the best fighters in the world. He mowed down dozens of lightly armored Dornishmen. It seemed like they were aiming especially for him. Where was Tarth when you needed him…he was probably dead…
“Come at me, you cowards!” he screamed. “You are too weak to take me! Come on!”
Suddenly, he felt a jolt of pain in his right heel. Orys crumpled to the ground and tried to stand up. But he was feeling weaker and weaker.
“Posion! You cowards!” he whimpered.
Just then, a dozen Dornishmen surrounded him. He was too weak to even lift his head, but he could practically feel their sneers.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the might of the Stormlands and Hand of the Dragonking,” one of them said in a thick Dornish accent.
“Fight me, you women,” he whispered.
“Perhaps you are right, maybe we are cowards,” the man replied. “But only a fool fights dragons openly. And only a stupid fool thinks he can beat Orys Baratheon in combat. You call us women, but we do not take that as an insult. We are the blood of Nymeria and our women are worth ten of you northerners in combat.”
So this is how it ends, Orys thought to himself. I am sorry Aegon that I could not complete my duty. I am sorry, my son, for not being able to see you grow into a man. And I am sorry Argella, for being away so long…
“Take his right hand,” his enemy announced to his fellow Dornishmen. “Show the dragon-king what has become of the kingdom’s Hand.”
His cronies laughed.
“But give him a quick death. He does not deserve to suffer through the pain of the poison. That is no way for such a great man to die.”
Before Orys could even react, one of the Dornish warriors stuck a spear through his heart. It was quick and painless and Orys did not even feel a thing. Then, they took his right hand.
Orys Baratheon, the Warrior of the Stormlands, First Hand of the King, Blood of the Dragon, and best friend to a king, was gone. But the Baraetheons lived on.
Storm’s End was in mourning when the castle received the news two weeks later. Argella Baratheon fell to tears for two days. Little Aegon was too young to understand, but he would remember that day for the rest of his life.
Soon, little Aegon would become squire for his namesake. Argella would rule the Stormlands for the time being, as she always had. But the memory of Orys lingered over the Stormlands. He was a foreigner and a conqueror, but he was beloved and respected by his people.
So that leaves only four of the original nine rulers still alive, after only twenty years. The game of Thrones is a hungry beast
The third session is done and we now have material all the way to 31 AL. Also, I now officially bid welcome to Saxon125 who's joined our ranks. Saxon is the author of The Pendragon Chronicles and he also recently started a new AAR called The Italian Boot. He is our new Tyrell player.