Post by The Stranger on Jul 24, 2008 17:34:02 GMT -5
Lord Dondarrion and his army arrived at the base of Casterly Rock in good timing and with no real troubles, and no mention of enemy troops on either flank or rear. Regardless Breck wasted little time in putting the long ladders together as well as the constructing the battering ram, a sometimes arduous process made quick by the strong willed men he commanded.
While the orders were placed for construction, Breck visited tents and spoke with his men giving chats with the smallfolk and ensuring them that they would be victorious. He was saddened however, when he saw the great number of young boys, many half a dozen years younger than him-- and he considered himself to be a young man on the field. One particular boy had never left the Stormlands before, and the whole thing was as exhilarating as it was scary for him. Breck had smiled at the boy, and before he left the tent he prayed in his head that the boy should not meet an unkind fate.
But so many would. And at the age of 20, Breck knew this the most perhaps, haven ridden to war three times already. Such were the pains of war, and trouble of being a commander.
After spending his afternoons with his men he returned to the tents at night for progress reports and command briefing with his officers, many the same age as himself but almost all were noblemen. And a large lot of those were inexperienced at that. When plans had finally been formulated for the quickest and easiest way to climb and assault one of the largest Westerosi castles, Breck ordered two more days of rest followed by a day for preparations and finally, the attack.
Before the battle Breck rode out tall on his horse, caparisoned in violet and black, and full in silver barding. He reached for his helm and pushed up his visor. Pacing his horse between columns of men he shouted to them, "MEN OF THE STORMLANDS!", to which they cheered, "I am Breck Dondarrion, and I, like you, have come to rid our good Wester-fellows of common filth. You and I have come to see our lands safe and protected again. We are the bastion of hope for those who are hopeless in these dark times. We shall fight together today, and today we shall live or die together, fighting for the freedom we hold so dear!" He shouted the last line, lifting an armored arm into the air, and falling back in line with the rest of his troops he motioned them forwards towards the walls.
-----------------
The men had been constructing siege equipment for the past several days, while the walls of Casterly Rock loomed eerily over them. The first few days were spent cutting down trees, a long and tiring process. Next they spent days cutting the trees into manageable lengths and sizes to construct siege ladders to scale the walls. Finally they constructed the behemoths, giant ladders of redwood logs. They spent that night preparing for the next morning, readying themselves for the battle. It would be no easy task, retaking Casterly Rock. Byren tried to steel his men in preparation for the battle to come.
“I know all of you men, and I’ve fought beside you for the past months.” Byren said to his Harvest Hall men, as he stood up from his chair.
“These lizards have been backed into a corner! They are all hiding behind those stone walls, scared out of their wits! They are afraid because they know we are coming, they know they are doomed to the justice of the Seven above! Let us be the harbingers of their fate! They shall know no mercy from us, they stormed our shores! Burned the Wester-men our of their homes! They dared to challenge us, the mighty Westerosi! We drove the dragons out long ago, let us now drive these lizards away forever!” Byren finished, lifting his ale into the air.
“For Justice in the name of the Father, and Strength in the name of the Warrior!” Byren toasted, gulping down his ale. He had done what he could to strengthen the men for the morn, all that was left was for him to lead them up the walls against the lizard men.
-----------------
Willam felt his heart rush as he ran with his men up to the walls of Casterly Rock. He kept in stride with his fellow Stormlanders, and with each step Willam saw another one of his comrade’s fall. He could see the wall fifty feet ahead of him, to his left soldiers carried a ladder and to his right he could see the battering ram moving into place at the gates of the castle. As he ran he could see arrows fall left in right, some hitting there mark and others landing haplessly in the dirt and gravel around him. The wall was now closer than before. In a few more seconds he would be there. He felt something smash against his steel breastplate, and was taken aback for a moment as the arrow that hit him aimlessly fell to the ground.
The wall was close. He began to shout back to his soldiers. “On me”!! He took a breath. “On me men”!! Hoist the ladders against the wall”!! Almost in unison he saw the ladder’s clang to the wall fastening themselves against it. Willam felt his heart race as the ladder’s clanged against the walls with a reassuring sound.
He started to climb. Each step felt like an eternity. He raised his head and could barely see anything through the visor of his great helm. He felt something slam against his shoulder as he was thrown off balance and another slam against the side of his skull. Dizziness filled him, but still he began to climb. Now he could see the top.
His hand grabbed for the ledge, but before he knew it there was a strange face on top of the ramparts in front of him. The Basilisk soldier scowled, and through his grin Willam could see his rotting yellowed teeth. The man raised his sword, but before he could strike Willam already had him. He yanked the man by the collar of his chainmail vest and with a violent pull sent the man flying over the wall. He could hear the man scream, hear the terror in his voice as he fell to his certain demise, but Willam did not care the fury of battle had enveloped him. Willam thrust out the same arm he had used to kill the man, catching the invader’s falling short sword. His foot had caught the final wrung of the ladder by the time he peered over the enemies walls. He could not see anything but the enemy host waiting for him on top of the ramparts. One man came at him his large axe coming in a horizontal slash. Willam ducked underneath the axes’ shaft, and brought his sword across the man’s jugular in a fatal stroke. The man dropped the axe stumbling back in a haze of blood and confusion. He spun quickly around to counter the blade of another opponent slamming the man’s sword against the ground and slashing him across the chest as he fell from the wall into the court yard of Casterly rock.
Despite his frenzy Willam was able to view the situation around him. His men were pouring over the walls but sill they needed more. There weren’t enough of them, and he could see the enemy pushing the ladder’s around him back down to the ground.
Another man came at Willam small in stature an iron helmet obstructing his face. The enemy’s strokes seemed almost childish as he spun his sword in a downward arc. The greatsword slammed into the ground with a hard clang. Willam brought around his left foot pinning it behind his opponent’s own as he slammed his fist into the basilisk’s chest. There was something odd about the sound the soldier made as he fell to the ground. It didn’t sound right, but before Willam knew it he had more soldiers swarming around him. He cut another man down, but behind him there was a clang of metal that smashed into the back of his breastplate. His armor wrang as pained wracked through his body, and he could feel his anger burn. He turned around to see the other soldier he had tripped back on his feet a ringing greatsword in his hand. The hands shivered as they held the sword, the swords massive handle construing the small hands of it’s wielder. Willam slapped the sword aside with his gauntleted hand, plunging his short sword deep into the man’s stomach. He heard it again that sound as the man fell, but he didn’t care.
He left the short sword in the man’s stomach as he fell backwards in front of him he could see his men were taking the bridge. He spun around pulling his bastard sword from its sheath across his back. The rage built inside him. One man came at him. Willam rushed at him parrying his blow to the side and quickly cutting the man across his chest, and in another move severed the man’s head from his shoulders. Another came at him this one charging with a flail as Willam sidestepped his blow and flung his from the ramparts. They came one after the other, and he cut them down each in his own turn. It seemed an eternity but before he knew it no more came and in front of him he only saw the fearful basilisk soldiers.
Willam shouted at them all his breath streaming forth like a bull ready to rush. “What do you wait for? You cowards who came into our homes and attacked and killed our women and children, you tyrants who raped our land!” He could hear his men press harder behind him as they yelled in support.
Willam continued “Come on…come and face me you craven lizards. Come now face the storm!!! Face the fury!!!
With his last words he charged into the fray cutting men down left and right. Before he was through with them the Basilisks began to run. He saw men throwing themselves from the wall’s in desperation fleeing from his troops. He heard someone yell “they are falling back to the keep.”
------------------
Breck found himself in the thick of fighting, constantly slashing, parrying and cutting through his enemies as he pressed on side by side with his men. In the beginning of the battle he had taken a tough wound to his side, and cried out in pain. Soldiers immediately rushed forth to protect him from a killing blow and before long he was up on his feet again running for keep. At one time he saw his cousin fighting and watched as he cut down soldiers. Willam had definitely become more skilled in fighting, as was to be expected of any man who survived long enough to fight a second battle in war.
Barking orders from a safer position Breck reformed men around him and charged into a group of basilisk soldiers, rushing their wavering position. His sword strokes and blocks became a dance, a dance he knew so well now. At certain point he lost
awareness of what he was even doing as he cut down two more soldiers. The thought sickened him, though, that he could kill men without thinking, and for the rest of the battle he kept his mind active. Not only for his sanity, but for his safety as well.
------------------
Byren sprinted forward, men all around him. To either side ladders were being carried, and above him arrows darkened the sky, tearing through the air to reach their prey. Byren furrowed his brow and frowned, sickened by the sight of an arrow piercing a man in the eye. I must keep going, he thought, the men are counting on me to lead them in the battle. Byren kept running as an arrow whizzed by his arm, screeching as it made a scratch across the steel plate. He looked behind him and noticed the men were uneasy, slowing their pace.
“Keep running!” Byren yelled loudly, “The faster you run the fewer arrows that have a chance to kill you!” He finished with a shout, and the men started running faster having realized it was true. The wall suddenly came upon them, seemingly as tall as the sky. Byren huffed as he helped a ladder get its footing in the ground, and helped heave the behemoth up onto the wall. He heard the metal spikes clank up at the top of the wall, and knew that the ladder had fixed itself upon the battlements. He took a big breath, steeling himself for the moments to come.
“Men! Do not fear these god-forsaken lizards, for we have the strength of the Warrior behind us! Nothing shall stop us this day!” Byren grabbed onto the ladder and pulled himself up onto the first rung, cursing his armor under his breath. He pulled himself up onto the next rung, and then the next, his armor seemingly struggling to throw him off the ladder. He felt the ladder wobble, and looked up to see a soldier trying to throw the ladder off, but to Byren’s immense joy was unable to complete the task.
Byren heaved himself up another rung, panting and sweating in his armor. Finally he was near the top, and he hap-hazardously drew his sword, barely managing to hold on. He struggled to pull himself up onto the crenulations, but finally managed to get over them and onto the wall. Basilisk men all around him drew their swords and started yelling in their native language. Byren raised his sword and went into combat with the first one, his fatigue instantly forgotten in the adrenaline rush. Men came scrambling up the ladder and onto the wall behind him, and soon a large group of Stormlanders were fighting against the Basilisk army. Byren smiled at what only could be curses from the enemy as reinforcements continued to flow up the ladder.
“On me!” Byren shouted, as a rush of men came up behind him.
“Lets show them what Stormlanders are made of!” He yelled over the roar of the battle, running forward. He sliced at an enemies’ shoulder, but his sword was parried. Byren brought his sword back and sliced again, harder this time, smacking the soldier across the chest. He nodded in satisfaction as he heard the wind get knocked out of the man, knocking his sword out of his hand and driving it into the man’s throat. The dance of swords became too routine, too routine for his liking, and Byren tried to keep reminding himself that this was good, this was to drive out the invaders so that he could go back to his home.
Eventually the battle started to slow, and as the amount of bodies on the ground increased the amount of enemies decreased, before eventually there was only a large pocket of them left.
“Men, they are forced to retreat! Let us give chase before they lock themselves into the keep!” Byren yelled, grouping men around him. He rushed forward with the men as the basilisk soldiers ran away into castle. He caught up to one and dueled momentarily before slicing the man’s throat, and continued on. Suddenly he became aware that he was alone, so he stopped to let the men catch up. He then also realized that they were going down into the bowels of the castle, and not into the keep.
“What are those lizards thinking? They must be making for the catacombs. Men, follow them and don’t let them escape!” Byren said quickly, as the last of the basilisk soldiers ran down the steps into the catacombs.
------------------
Willam observed the scene below. The Stormlanders and men of the west had breached the inner courtyard and were chasing what remained of the basilisk army to the keep at Casterly rock. Willam’s head spun. A mixture of excitement and exhaust caused him to remove his helmet. He felt the steel brush across the starting’s a beard on his face, and felt the air hit his soaking brown hair. He ran his hand through his brown hair touching the ends of his hair in back of his skull. He pulled his hand away. He saw blood, but not his own.
He heard the familiar sound of his cousin Breck commanding the men toward the keep as he reclined against the walls behind him atop the battlements of Casterly Rock. His head was somewhere else. Back home with his new wife, with his people. Perhaps someday Willam would be a father, gain renown and be hailed as a hero for the deeds he had performed. He heard it again the familiar voice now hushed to a whimper.
He got up and made his way toward the pile of bodies he had laid to waste before him. He saw the movement in the corner of his eye the short sword protruding from the soldier’s stomach as his chest raised up and down each stroke causing him agony. He knelt beside the boy’s body and removed the helmet speaking as he pulled it off. “It will all be over soon.” Soon you will be in the hand’s of the stranger and then will be reborn in the arms of the mother.” Willam didn’t believe the words himself but he knew there would be satisfaction in saying them. As he removed the helmet he saw the long dark black hair fall from beneath it. They boy had a soft face for as soldier, and full lips, with eyes as green as emeralds. Blood ran from the corners of him mouth into that obsidian black hair that had enchanted Willam with its beauty. It was then Willam realized it. This was no boy he didn’t realize it in battle but it all was coming together.
He peered into the women’s eyes. He could see the fear as he brought his hand the corner of her face. She shuddered away from his touch. Tears began to stream from the Willam’s eyes as a final word escaped from his lips. “No…”
--------------
After hours more of bloody fighting Lord Dondarrion had cut his way to the heart of the city and keep, and put an end to the basilisk army's defense. He watched as they ran into the crypts and ordered men to follow them, but ordered their retreat quickly after, suspecting something sinister. He'd request later of the Lannister commander that those men be smoked out, or chased down, but not left alone.
With minimal to no resistance left on the battlements or in the actual city, Dondarrion rode into the keep and had Lannister banners raised on its towers once more. A victory for the Stormlands.
--------------
Byren took his great helm off and held it against his left side as he sheathed his sword. He wiped sweat from his brow, thought little help that did in truth--he was coated in the stuff. His men had long since come back from the catacombs, stating that the enemy had gone very deep into them and could not be found. Byren told them to make one last round in the castle, to make sure there were no lizard tricks to be had. Byren started walking back to the keep, where Lord Dondarrion was sure to be. Bodies were all over on the ground, and Byren pursed his lips in disgust as he stepped over a head, with the body several feet away.
Results:
Willam improves towards Master Swordsmanship
Willam improves towards Master Battle
Breck improves towards Grandmaster Battle
Breck improves towards Grandmaster Swordsmanship
Byren improves towards Master Sword Fighting
Byren improves from Noteworthy Battle Command to Expert Battle Command
While the orders were placed for construction, Breck visited tents and spoke with his men giving chats with the smallfolk and ensuring them that they would be victorious. He was saddened however, when he saw the great number of young boys, many half a dozen years younger than him-- and he considered himself to be a young man on the field. One particular boy had never left the Stormlands before, and the whole thing was as exhilarating as it was scary for him. Breck had smiled at the boy, and before he left the tent he prayed in his head that the boy should not meet an unkind fate.
But so many would. And at the age of 20, Breck knew this the most perhaps, haven ridden to war three times already. Such were the pains of war, and trouble of being a commander.
After spending his afternoons with his men he returned to the tents at night for progress reports and command briefing with his officers, many the same age as himself but almost all were noblemen. And a large lot of those were inexperienced at that. When plans had finally been formulated for the quickest and easiest way to climb and assault one of the largest Westerosi castles, Breck ordered two more days of rest followed by a day for preparations and finally, the attack.
Before the battle Breck rode out tall on his horse, caparisoned in violet and black, and full in silver barding. He reached for his helm and pushed up his visor. Pacing his horse between columns of men he shouted to them, "MEN OF THE STORMLANDS!", to which they cheered, "I am Breck Dondarrion, and I, like you, have come to rid our good Wester-fellows of common filth. You and I have come to see our lands safe and protected again. We are the bastion of hope for those who are hopeless in these dark times. We shall fight together today, and today we shall live or die together, fighting for the freedom we hold so dear!" He shouted the last line, lifting an armored arm into the air, and falling back in line with the rest of his troops he motioned them forwards towards the walls.
-----------------
The men had been constructing siege equipment for the past several days, while the walls of Casterly Rock loomed eerily over them. The first few days were spent cutting down trees, a long and tiring process. Next they spent days cutting the trees into manageable lengths and sizes to construct siege ladders to scale the walls. Finally they constructed the behemoths, giant ladders of redwood logs. They spent that night preparing for the next morning, readying themselves for the battle. It would be no easy task, retaking Casterly Rock. Byren tried to steel his men in preparation for the battle to come.
“I know all of you men, and I’ve fought beside you for the past months.” Byren said to his Harvest Hall men, as he stood up from his chair.
“These lizards have been backed into a corner! They are all hiding behind those stone walls, scared out of their wits! They are afraid because they know we are coming, they know they are doomed to the justice of the Seven above! Let us be the harbingers of their fate! They shall know no mercy from us, they stormed our shores! Burned the Wester-men our of their homes! They dared to challenge us, the mighty Westerosi! We drove the dragons out long ago, let us now drive these lizards away forever!” Byren finished, lifting his ale into the air.
“For Justice in the name of the Father, and Strength in the name of the Warrior!” Byren toasted, gulping down his ale. He had done what he could to strengthen the men for the morn, all that was left was for him to lead them up the walls against the lizard men.
-----------------
Willam felt his heart rush as he ran with his men up to the walls of Casterly Rock. He kept in stride with his fellow Stormlanders, and with each step Willam saw another one of his comrade’s fall. He could see the wall fifty feet ahead of him, to his left soldiers carried a ladder and to his right he could see the battering ram moving into place at the gates of the castle. As he ran he could see arrows fall left in right, some hitting there mark and others landing haplessly in the dirt and gravel around him. The wall was now closer than before. In a few more seconds he would be there. He felt something smash against his steel breastplate, and was taken aback for a moment as the arrow that hit him aimlessly fell to the ground.
The wall was close. He began to shout back to his soldiers. “On me”!! He took a breath. “On me men”!! Hoist the ladders against the wall”!! Almost in unison he saw the ladder’s clang to the wall fastening themselves against it. Willam felt his heart race as the ladder’s clanged against the walls with a reassuring sound.
He started to climb. Each step felt like an eternity. He raised his head and could barely see anything through the visor of his great helm. He felt something slam against his shoulder as he was thrown off balance and another slam against the side of his skull. Dizziness filled him, but still he began to climb. Now he could see the top.
His hand grabbed for the ledge, but before he knew it there was a strange face on top of the ramparts in front of him. The Basilisk soldier scowled, and through his grin Willam could see his rotting yellowed teeth. The man raised his sword, but before he could strike Willam already had him. He yanked the man by the collar of his chainmail vest and with a violent pull sent the man flying over the wall. He could hear the man scream, hear the terror in his voice as he fell to his certain demise, but Willam did not care the fury of battle had enveloped him. Willam thrust out the same arm he had used to kill the man, catching the invader’s falling short sword. His foot had caught the final wrung of the ladder by the time he peered over the enemies walls. He could not see anything but the enemy host waiting for him on top of the ramparts. One man came at him his large axe coming in a horizontal slash. Willam ducked underneath the axes’ shaft, and brought his sword across the man’s jugular in a fatal stroke. The man dropped the axe stumbling back in a haze of blood and confusion. He spun quickly around to counter the blade of another opponent slamming the man’s sword against the ground and slashing him across the chest as he fell from the wall into the court yard of Casterly rock.
Despite his frenzy Willam was able to view the situation around him. His men were pouring over the walls but sill they needed more. There weren’t enough of them, and he could see the enemy pushing the ladder’s around him back down to the ground.
Another man came at Willam small in stature an iron helmet obstructing his face. The enemy’s strokes seemed almost childish as he spun his sword in a downward arc. The greatsword slammed into the ground with a hard clang. Willam brought around his left foot pinning it behind his opponent’s own as he slammed his fist into the basilisk’s chest. There was something odd about the sound the soldier made as he fell to the ground. It didn’t sound right, but before Willam knew it he had more soldiers swarming around him. He cut another man down, but behind him there was a clang of metal that smashed into the back of his breastplate. His armor wrang as pained wracked through his body, and he could feel his anger burn. He turned around to see the other soldier he had tripped back on his feet a ringing greatsword in his hand. The hands shivered as they held the sword, the swords massive handle construing the small hands of it’s wielder. Willam slapped the sword aside with his gauntleted hand, plunging his short sword deep into the man’s stomach. He heard it again that sound as the man fell, but he didn’t care.
He left the short sword in the man’s stomach as he fell backwards in front of him he could see his men were taking the bridge. He spun around pulling his bastard sword from its sheath across his back. The rage built inside him. One man came at him. Willam rushed at him parrying his blow to the side and quickly cutting the man across his chest, and in another move severed the man’s head from his shoulders. Another came at him this one charging with a flail as Willam sidestepped his blow and flung his from the ramparts. They came one after the other, and he cut them down each in his own turn. It seemed an eternity but before he knew it no more came and in front of him he only saw the fearful basilisk soldiers.
Willam shouted at them all his breath streaming forth like a bull ready to rush. “What do you wait for? You cowards who came into our homes and attacked and killed our women and children, you tyrants who raped our land!” He could hear his men press harder behind him as they yelled in support.
Willam continued “Come on…come and face me you craven lizards. Come now face the storm!!! Face the fury!!!
With his last words he charged into the fray cutting men down left and right. Before he was through with them the Basilisks began to run. He saw men throwing themselves from the wall’s in desperation fleeing from his troops. He heard someone yell “they are falling back to the keep.”
------------------
Breck found himself in the thick of fighting, constantly slashing, parrying and cutting through his enemies as he pressed on side by side with his men. In the beginning of the battle he had taken a tough wound to his side, and cried out in pain. Soldiers immediately rushed forth to protect him from a killing blow and before long he was up on his feet again running for keep. At one time he saw his cousin fighting and watched as he cut down soldiers. Willam had definitely become more skilled in fighting, as was to be expected of any man who survived long enough to fight a second battle in war.
Barking orders from a safer position Breck reformed men around him and charged into a group of basilisk soldiers, rushing their wavering position. His sword strokes and blocks became a dance, a dance he knew so well now. At certain point he lost
awareness of what he was even doing as he cut down two more soldiers. The thought sickened him, though, that he could kill men without thinking, and for the rest of the battle he kept his mind active. Not only for his sanity, but for his safety as well.
------------------
Byren sprinted forward, men all around him. To either side ladders were being carried, and above him arrows darkened the sky, tearing through the air to reach their prey. Byren furrowed his brow and frowned, sickened by the sight of an arrow piercing a man in the eye. I must keep going, he thought, the men are counting on me to lead them in the battle. Byren kept running as an arrow whizzed by his arm, screeching as it made a scratch across the steel plate. He looked behind him and noticed the men were uneasy, slowing their pace.
“Keep running!” Byren yelled loudly, “The faster you run the fewer arrows that have a chance to kill you!” He finished with a shout, and the men started running faster having realized it was true. The wall suddenly came upon them, seemingly as tall as the sky. Byren huffed as he helped a ladder get its footing in the ground, and helped heave the behemoth up onto the wall. He heard the metal spikes clank up at the top of the wall, and knew that the ladder had fixed itself upon the battlements. He took a big breath, steeling himself for the moments to come.
“Men! Do not fear these god-forsaken lizards, for we have the strength of the Warrior behind us! Nothing shall stop us this day!” Byren grabbed onto the ladder and pulled himself up onto the first rung, cursing his armor under his breath. He pulled himself up onto the next rung, and then the next, his armor seemingly struggling to throw him off the ladder. He felt the ladder wobble, and looked up to see a soldier trying to throw the ladder off, but to Byren’s immense joy was unable to complete the task.
Byren heaved himself up another rung, panting and sweating in his armor. Finally he was near the top, and he hap-hazardously drew his sword, barely managing to hold on. He struggled to pull himself up onto the crenulations, but finally managed to get over them and onto the wall. Basilisk men all around him drew their swords and started yelling in their native language. Byren raised his sword and went into combat with the first one, his fatigue instantly forgotten in the adrenaline rush. Men came scrambling up the ladder and onto the wall behind him, and soon a large group of Stormlanders were fighting against the Basilisk army. Byren smiled at what only could be curses from the enemy as reinforcements continued to flow up the ladder.
“On me!” Byren shouted, as a rush of men came up behind him.
“Lets show them what Stormlanders are made of!” He yelled over the roar of the battle, running forward. He sliced at an enemies’ shoulder, but his sword was parried. Byren brought his sword back and sliced again, harder this time, smacking the soldier across the chest. He nodded in satisfaction as he heard the wind get knocked out of the man, knocking his sword out of his hand and driving it into the man’s throat. The dance of swords became too routine, too routine for his liking, and Byren tried to keep reminding himself that this was good, this was to drive out the invaders so that he could go back to his home.
Eventually the battle started to slow, and as the amount of bodies on the ground increased the amount of enemies decreased, before eventually there was only a large pocket of them left.
“Men, they are forced to retreat! Let us give chase before they lock themselves into the keep!” Byren yelled, grouping men around him. He rushed forward with the men as the basilisk soldiers ran away into castle. He caught up to one and dueled momentarily before slicing the man’s throat, and continued on. Suddenly he became aware that he was alone, so he stopped to let the men catch up. He then also realized that they were going down into the bowels of the castle, and not into the keep.
“What are those lizards thinking? They must be making for the catacombs. Men, follow them and don’t let them escape!” Byren said quickly, as the last of the basilisk soldiers ran down the steps into the catacombs.
------------------
Willam observed the scene below. The Stormlanders and men of the west had breached the inner courtyard and were chasing what remained of the basilisk army to the keep at Casterly rock. Willam’s head spun. A mixture of excitement and exhaust caused him to remove his helmet. He felt the steel brush across the starting’s a beard on his face, and felt the air hit his soaking brown hair. He ran his hand through his brown hair touching the ends of his hair in back of his skull. He pulled his hand away. He saw blood, but not his own.
He heard the familiar sound of his cousin Breck commanding the men toward the keep as he reclined against the walls behind him atop the battlements of Casterly Rock. His head was somewhere else. Back home with his new wife, with his people. Perhaps someday Willam would be a father, gain renown and be hailed as a hero for the deeds he had performed. He heard it again the familiar voice now hushed to a whimper.
He got up and made his way toward the pile of bodies he had laid to waste before him. He saw the movement in the corner of his eye the short sword protruding from the soldier’s stomach as his chest raised up and down each stroke causing him agony. He knelt beside the boy’s body and removed the helmet speaking as he pulled it off. “It will all be over soon.” Soon you will be in the hand’s of the stranger and then will be reborn in the arms of the mother.” Willam didn’t believe the words himself but he knew there would be satisfaction in saying them. As he removed the helmet he saw the long dark black hair fall from beneath it. They boy had a soft face for as soldier, and full lips, with eyes as green as emeralds. Blood ran from the corners of him mouth into that obsidian black hair that had enchanted Willam with its beauty. It was then Willam realized it. This was no boy he didn’t realize it in battle but it all was coming together.
He peered into the women’s eyes. He could see the fear as he brought his hand the corner of her face. She shuddered away from his touch. Tears began to stream from the Willam’s eyes as a final word escaped from his lips. “No…”
--------------
After hours more of bloody fighting Lord Dondarrion had cut his way to the heart of the city and keep, and put an end to the basilisk army's defense. He watched as they ran into the crypts and ordered men to follow them, but ordered their retreat quickly after, suspecting something sinister. He'd request later of the Lannister commander that those men be smoked out, or chased down, but not left alone.
With minimal to no resistance left on the battlements or in the actual city, Dondarrion rode into the keep and had Lannister banners raised on its towers once more. A victory for the Stormlands.
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Byren took his great helm off and held it against his left side as he sheathed his sword. He wiped sweat from his brow, thought little help that did in truth--he was coated in the stuff. His men had long since come back from the catacombs, stating that the enemy had gone very deep into them and could not be found. Byren told them to make one last round in the castle, to make sure there were no lizard tricks to be had. Byren started walking back to the keep, where Lord Dondarrion was sure to be. Bodies were all over on the ground, and Byren pursed his lips in disgust as he stepped over a head, with the body several feet away.
Results:
Willam improves towards Master Swordsmanship
Willam improves towards Master Battle
Breck improves towards Grandmaster Battle
Breck improves towards Grandmaster Swordsmanship
Byren improves towards Master Sword Fighting
Byren improves from Noteworthy Battle Command to Expert Battle Command