Post by The Stranger on Apr 13, 2008 22:45:32 GMT -5
As the sun set on the bloody Dornish dunes of Hellholt, Alexander Irwyn slipped in and out of consciousness as his body fought another battle with the wounds he received from the Legendary Quentin Fowler. He would live much to the chagrin of the entire Dornish nation, the Maester had said at least, but for now Alexander fought his wounds and his past demons in his mind.
His mind recalled his escape from King’s Landing, as Alex and his general’s climbed through the sewers of the ancient city to cross the Blackwater to freedom. The same Blackwater he had crossed a year earlier as his men had stormed the keep at the battle of Fire and Blood.
Alexander remembered the words of the Blackwood ambassador who swore that his wife Dacey would be brutally tortured if he resisted and his response. At the time he had felt that no man could be so cruel but after all he had seen and done he knew that he could never underestimate the wickedness of the human spirit.
He had remembered the body of his dead wife being removed from the tower, still chained where Horas no doubt tortured her to death. The only identifiable feature the bracelet he had given her after their first anniversary that somehow managed to withstand the intense heat. He remembered, visiting the Burrow and seeing his friend’s grieving widow and kissing his children goodbye before going off to war for the third time in as many years.
His Dornish strategy had been executed almost to perfection at least until it was clouded by the fog of war. The Keeps of Wyl and Lemonwood had fallen quickly and allowed the Far Reach to avoid the perilous passes and intense Dornish heat that had slaughtered so many of the other armies.
Alexander had assumed the Dornish would reinforce Sunspear and he had prepared for a long siege and the hopes of a quick end to the war through negotiations. Instead the capital was left abandoned, with the exception of the poison and guerillas that had remained to kill his lords and army.
The tragedy of Sunspear was as much the fault of Tristeza Martell as his own; soldiers weren’t supposed to die of poison, especially not his friend Ser Gilbert, and the violent sight of his sworn sword gagging on his own blood had completely overwhelmed the rational thoughts that had once guided his every move before this war. The thought of the Dornish snake laughing at his dying wife and friend had been more then Alexander could bear and he ordered the city razed. The city had at most two thousand Dornish soldiers still hiding in it but many more then that would die in the fires that humbled the once proud home of the Martells.
Ser Oliver Bulwer might have been right to balk at the tragedy there, but Alexander had no regrets from his decision to burn the city. Traitors and Assassins do not deserve the honor of a soldier’s death, but the murder of the three Dornish women troubled him deeply, while members of the royal court, their only guilt was being siblings of the traitorous Tristeza Martell. He remembered the words of Lord Francis Varner who had celebrated his friend’s rise to power with the words, “finally we have a friend in Dorne.” Alexander wondered what the last conversation the two “friends” had shared just before he died in Horas’s tower.
Alexander remembered the march to Godsgrace, the Dornish keep on the banks of the Greenblood and Vaith Rivers, of all the keeps in Dorne Alexander liked Godsgrace the best, the winding rivers reminded him of the streams in Irwyn that flowed just south of where he was born. The fields and fruit trees that lined the riverbanks were a welcome change from the endless dunes and treacherous mountains that made up the rest of Dorne.
Alexander had known the key to victory was the defeat of the Stonehawk Fowler, but despite all his attempts he could not get the drop on the Legendary Dornish General. The map he kept in his command tent had sightings of him all over Dorne which made Alex believe that his army really could fly like the Hawk of his sigil. When word came from Tytos Blackwater that the Stonehawk, had landed near Hellsholt, Alexander knew that he had to face him.
The Dornish sun played its cruelest trick on his army by beating down the Legendary Aemon Webber and sending him to his tent to recover, even with the illness of the great Webber, Alexander marched his soldiers and the men of the Mander, West and Vale forward to the dunes of Hellholt for one more battle.
Alexander had under estimated the strength of the Dornish army and his heart leaped as 21,000 Dornishmen had marched over the largest Dune to meet his men. The battle was like none Alexander had ever faced, and hoped he would never face again. The crimson blood that bubbled up from the dunes around Hellholt had soaked the sands and covered men, horses and equipment in the blood of over 30,000 men. Almost half of the fighting forces of the Far Reach and Dorne would make their final resting places the bloody sands of Hellholt.
Like the tide, the battle ebbed and flowed and despite the early edge falling in Fowler’s favor, Alexander had commanded his men the best he could. When he had fallen short, Ser Keldon, Lord Tarly, Ser Blackbar, Ser Lydden and Ser Hill had picked up the slack to keep the army together. As the battle raged on for many hours, the discipline of lines vanished and the field turned into the largest melee the kingdom would likely see in a generation.
Eventually Alexander had cut his way to Lord Fowler, and as his throwing axe missed its mark, Alexander locked in single combat with the Dornish legend, not to decide the battle or the war but to decide which man would arrive in hell first.
This new battle fought as the hot Dornish sun was setting on the bloody dunes of Hellholt marked the end of a legendary general at the end of a legendary battle, at the end of a legendary war. Live or die Alexander would make history, but the question was he to be remembered as a legend or a simple footnote in the books of Maesters? In the end, Alexander had fought on in hopes of seeing his children one day grow older and run around the gardens that Dacey had planted in Uplands. Dacey had written about how lovely they were and as he closed his eyes, no longer could he smell the tinge of blood and urine and the murderous sight of the rich crimson blood oozing into the Dornish sands. As he closed his eyes he could almost see and smell the red and white roses planted neatly in line at the base of the Castle’s modest keep.
The past had been dark for Alexander Irwyn and as his fever broke and his strength returned, Alexander knew that he had to make a new future for himself and his family.
While the sun was setting on the Dornish campaign, Alexander knew that it would not be long before it would rise again in response to a new conflict for the realm. Time would tell what would become of the Barren Oak: Bloody Alex Irwyn; the Butcher of Sunspear, but for now the Boy General from the Knightly House of Irwyn would sleep and hope his dreams would one day return to visions of his boyhood optimism.
Results:
Alexander Irwyn moves towards Legendary Axe Combat for his battle with Quentin Fowler.
Ser Keldon gains Master Longsword
Ser Keldon gains Expert Battle
His mind recalled his escape from King’s Landing, as Alex and his general’s climbed through the sewers of the ancient city to cross the Blackwater to freedom. The same Blackwater he had crossed a year earlier as his men had stormed the keep at the battle of Fire and Blood.
Alexander remembered the words of the Blackwood ambassador who swore that his wife Dacey would be brutally tortured if he resisted and his response. At the time he had felt that no man could be so cruel but after all he had seen and done he knew that he could never underestimate the wickedness of the human spirit.
He had remembered the body of his dead wife being removed from the tower, still chained where Horas no doubt tortured her to death. The only identifiable feature the bracelet he had given her after their first anniversary that somehow managed to withstand the intense heat. He remembered, visiting the Burrow and seeing his friend’s grieving widow and kissing his children goodbye before going off to war for the third time in as many years.
His Dornish strategy had been executed almost to perfection at least until it was clouded by the fog of war. The Keeps of Wyl and Lemonwood had fallen quickly and allowed the Far Reach to avoid the perilous passes and intense Dornish heat that had slaughtered so many of the other armies.
Alexander had assumed the Dornish would reinforce Sunspear and he had prepared for a long siege and the hopes of a quick end to the war through negotiations. Instead the capital was left abandoned, with the exception of the poison and guerillas that had remained to kill his lords and army.
The tragedy of Sunspear was as much the fault of Tristeza Martell as his own; soldiers weren’t supposed to die of poison, especially not his friend Ser Gilbert, and the violent sight of his sworn sword gagging on his own blood had completely overwhelmed the rational thoughts that had once guided his every move before this war. The thought of the Dornish snake laughing at his dying wife and friend had been more then Alexander could bear and he ordered the city razed. The city had at most two thousand Dornish soldiers still hiding in it but many more then that would die in the fires that humbled the once proud home of the Martells.
Ser Oliver Bulwer might have been right to balk at the tragedy there, but Alexander had no regrets from his decision to burn the city. Traitors and Assassins do not deserve the honor of a soldier’s death, but the murder of the three Dornish women troubled him deeply, while members of the royal court, their only guilt was being siblings of the traitorous Tristeza Martell. He remembered the words of Lord Francis Varner who had celebrated his friend’s rise to power with the words, “finally we have a friend in Dorne.” Alexander wondered what the last conversation the two “friends” had shared just before he died in Horas’s tower.
Alexander remembered the march to Godsgrace, the Dornish keep on the banks of the Greenblood and Vaith Rivers, of all the keeps in Dorne Alexander liked Godsgrace the best, the winding rivers reminded him of the streams in Irwyn that flowed just south of where he was born. The fields and fruit trees that lined the riverbanks were a welcome change from the endless dunes and treacherous mountains that made up the rest of Dorne.
Alexander had known the key to victory was the defeat of the Stonehawk Fowler, but despite all his attempts he could not get the drop on the Legendary Dornish General. The map he kept in his command tent had sightings of him all over Dorne which made Alex believe that his army really could fly like the Hawk of his sigil. When word came from Tytos Blackwater that the Stonehawk, had landed near Hellsholt, Alexander knew that he had to face him.
The Dornish sun played its cruelest trick on his army by beating down the Legendary Aemon Webber and sending him to his tent to recover, even with the illness of the great Webber, Alexander marched his soldiers and the men of the Mander, West and Vale forward to the dunes of Hellholt for one more battle.
Alexander had under estimated the strength of the Dornish army and his heart leaped as 21,000 Dornishmen had marched over the largest Dune to meet his men. The battle was like none Alexander had ever faced, and hoped he would never face again. The crimson blood that bubbled up from the dunes around Hellholt had soaked the sands and covered men, horses and equipment in the blood of over 30,000 men. Almost half of the fighting forces of the Far Reach and Dorne would make their final resting places the bloody sands of Hellholt.
Like the tide, the battle ebbed and flowed and despite the early edge falling in Fowler’s favor, Alexander had commanded his men the best he could. When he had fallen short, Ser Keldon, Lord Tarly, Ser Blackbar, Ser Lydden and Ser Hill had picked up the slack to keep the army together. As the battle raged on for many hours, the discipline of lines vanished and the field turned into the largest melee the kingdom would likely see in a generation.
Eventually Alexander had cut his way to Lord Fowler, and as his throwing axe missed its mark, Alexander locked in single combat with the Dornish legend, not to decide the battle or the war but to decide which man would arrive in hell first.
This new battle fought as the hot Dornish sun was setting on the bloody dunes of Hellholt marked the end of a legendary general at the end of a legendary battle, at the end of a legendary war. Live or die Alexander would make history, but the question was he to be remembered as a legend or a simple footnote in the books of Maesters? In the end, Alexander had fought on in hopes of seeing his children one day grow older and run around the gardens that Dacey had planted in Uplands. Dacey had written about how lovely they were and as he closed his eyes, no longer could he smell the tinge of blood and urine and the murderous sight of the rich crimson blood oozing into the Dornish sands. As he closed his eyes he could almost see and smell the red and white roses planted neatly in line at the base of the Castle’s modest keep.
The past had been dark for Alexander Irwyn and as his fever broke and his strength returned, Alexander knew that he had to make a new future for himself and his family.
While the sun was setting on the Dornish campaign, Alexander knew that it would not be long before it would rise again in response to a new conflict for the realm. Time would tell what would become of the Barren Oak: Bloody Alex Irwyn; the Butcher of Sunspear, but for now the Boy General from the Knightly House of Irwyn would sleep and hope his dreams would one day return to visions of his boyhood optimism.
Results:
Alexander Irwyn moves towards Legendary Axe Combat for his battle with Quentin Fowler.
Ser Keldon gains Master Longsword
Ser Keldon gains Expert Battle