Winterfell Syndication Tue, 06 Nov 2007 05:50:10 -0600 webmistress@dndresources.com (Forums) IP.Blog 60 Fantasy Literature
I myself, couldn’t be happier at their coming. I’ve got an old score to settle with Sir Ganton Swayne, the man who threw me off my horse and killed my squire. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Aluine Kestaln, ex-knight and volunteer in Lord Beregrin’s army… the losing side. I lost my knighthood when I chose to side with Beregrin instead of Tristifar. I owed Beregrin a debt for a certain lady who kept my bed warm whilst I stayed at his keep, a debt I would’ve gladly walked away from had I known the war would turn this rotten for him. His first mistake was being arrogant enough to even try to take Peacemantle, the strongest keep in the valleys. Now six score of us are holed up here in Welstadt, a eight-hundred year old latrine built by pagans when Athneg the Grull still ruled with a bone-crushing fist. Every one of us here are lacking in food, sleep, and arrows. We’ve got nothing left to do but to wait for them to come for us. We’re as fortified as we’re like to get, and most of the men are ready to break and run south. I’ve toyed with the thought myself, but it wouldn’t do me any good. I’d sooner die here than make my living by toiling in the mud pits to make a rich lord richer.

It’s dusk now. Tristifar’s army approaches at sunrise, and we’re not near ready enough. The west wall only has twenty men running it, and we haven’t fortified the portcullis enough to withstand a battering ram. The commander and I talk strategy over a cup of ale, so far the only conclusion we can come up with is surrender, at least all the men can live then, but they’d live in slavery. So we decided to take the siege as much as we can, knowing full well the outcome. After the meeting, the commander and I tap all of the barrels of ale we have left and throw one last party for the men. Many of them have dealt with death throughout the war, and have come to accept their own coming death. What good is sending men to die for their lord if you don’t give ‘em a chance to live as much as possible before their time comes? I won’t be joining them, I’ve already had too much ale, and I’m feeling tired. After having my way with Katriana, the commander’s wine wench, I retire for the night, drunk, depressed, and waiting for my own end.

It’s dawn now. The rising sun casts its first light on the ground, causing the frozen dew to shimmer brightly. I am awoken by a blaring trumpet and a screaming soldier. Tristifar’s army is right outside our gates, and the siege has just begun. I don my armor, strap my sword on and borrow a crossbow from the armory. I station myself on the west wall, where I’m most needed, and begin barking orders to get the men where they should be. At this point all we can do is shower them with arrows and take blows from their ballistas. All talking ceases, and for the longest time there is a strange silence. The sky darkens with the signs of a coming storm. The silence is broken all at once as thunder roars in the distance and the first arrow is fired by one of our own. The enemy returns with arrows of their own. The arrows fly in from all directions, killing some instantly and wounding several others. The ones that didn’t find a target are collected as they land in the court yard to be reused later. Already, men are being carried away from the walls, bleeding and screaming. This battle will be over before nightfall, and we all know it. The men’s morale drops more and more with each incoming arrow, and for every enemy that’s killed, two take his place. And just when we think the worst is already happening, we see it, a twelve foot oak tree, carved nicely into a battering ram heading straight for our portcullis.

The walls shook as the trunk slammed into the gate. All of us on the west wall were fighting for a solid foothold. Several men were called to the center of the keep to stand their ground when the gate would finally break. I fired a few more rounds with my crossbow and began to head that way myself, when suddenly the enemy broke off their attack. They dropped the log and walked away, laughing at us and mocking us. They were called off by Tristifar on purpose. The men were stupified, so many of them were prepared to die at that instant, the shock just left them standing at the gate gazing at their retreating enemy. I knew what was going on. Tristifar is a cruel man by nature, he wants to prolong the breach for as long as possible so there won’t be any struggle when he does come in. More than likely, they’ll slaughter us all, rape our women, and kill our children, just like the old ways. We stand our guard several hours after that, just to make sure they don’t come in the night. A storm begins to stir above us. By nightfall, it’s raining, and there’s a strong gust. It seemed to grow colder with every passing hour… unbecoming for this time of the year. By morning, the men and I watched in wonder as the rain from the night before had turned to morning snow within hours. Some of the men called it an omen, that we were cursed and other such nonsense. I myself wondered at how the weather made such a drastic change. I made my way up to the west wall to have a look at the enemy encampment. It appeared none of the Tristifar’s men had even stirred from their tents. I couldn’t see anyone on guard, and the horses were still tied down resting in the snow.

I decide to meet with commander to discuss what we shoud do in light of what’s happening. The trouble was, we didn’t know what was happening. The commander and I went back and forth about what should be done. He believed that we should wait it out and use the weather to our advantage, while I argued that we should hit them while they sleep in their tents. The argument ended with me barging out of the door cursing and grumbling while the commander yells behind me. I strap on a sword, don a chain shirt, and grab a spear from a nearby man-at-arms. Some of the men look at me strangely, others with pity on their faces. Some of them followed right behind me, arming up as they walked along. I ordered the gate to be opened, the men and I rode out into the field ready to paint the white snow red. We made a full charge, battle cries and all right into their camp, and not a soul stirred. There was no trumpets blaring, no one riding out to meet us, and no arrows flying at us at all. We dismounted to have a look around. I throw open a flap on one of the tents and lead in with my sword. The soldier wrapped in furs laying on the ground doesn’t even move. I slowly move the fur away from his face to see the horrified look on his face. His lifeless eyes continue to stare at me long after I leave the tent. They were dead, every single one of them. After checking all of the tents, the men and I rush back to Weldstadt to tell Beregrin that all of his enemies have died in a single night for no apparent reason. In the bottom of my gut, I get the feeling that the same thing may happen to us too. For now all I can think about is getting drunk and celebrating another war survived….

(More soon.)]]> Wed, 02 Aug 2006 16:16:08 -0500 Boffer Weapon Fighting




I'm in the second picture, with the blue tunic and the tower shield.]]> Fri, 28 Jul 2006 13:57:12 -0500 Fantasy Literature Tue, 11 Jul 2006 21:43:19 -0500 Boffer Weapon Fighting




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The Realm of Nicolshire
House Stark of Winterfell]]> Mon, 29 May 2006 22:15:36 -0500 A Song of Ice and Fire Mon, 29 May 2006 22:08:14 -0500