Post by The Stranger on Jul 26, 2008 22:34:54 GMT -5
"Damnation!" Muttered Roose, watching as several men struggled to push a wagon out of a a muddy ditch. "Logistics is the ball and chain of warfare."
"Indeed m'lord." Ser Robert Manderly said, an uncle to the current lord of White Harbour. Eddison Tallhart just shook his head and looked up at the sun. "We're losing valuable time Lord Stark."
Roose said nothing for a while, chewing his bottom lip in thought. Looking down at Blizzard, as if to look for an answer from the old gods. When the direwolf sat back on his haunches and started licking his paws the Lord of Winterfell just rolled his eyes. "I swear, even the old gods can't help me here....alright men," he said, speakin up. "Cut the damn thing loose, we'll send a few messengers back to the holdfast we passed and tell them to pick it up..." Thinking for another moment he continued. "Ser," he said to Manderly. "Have the men load their packs up with as much food, and arrows as they can manage....empty out the wagons."
The next hour was spent trying to divide up the cargo from the wagon train. During that time Roose bundled up his own things. Slipping on a shirt of ringmail he watched the Blizzard, who was stretched out underneath a wagon, gnawing on the bone of an ox to get the marrow. The big grey direwolf looked up when Roose had finished, and trotted over to him. "Sorry," Roose said, "We have to go, you're going to have to leave the bone." The direwolf, as if sensing what he ment, nipped Roose on the hand, and trotted off down the line, seeing what he could find. Roose watched him go, and began thinking of the enemy they would both meet when they reached King's Landing. From what Roose had heard, the invaders were unstoppable, with limetless numbers. If it were true, Roose could not see how even the combined powers of the North, and the Vale could stop them. Yet, if the northmen did not reach King's Landing, Rickon's cause was equally doomed. As doomed as I am, if we lose.
An hour later, Roose rode along the Kingsroad, keeping his horse at a trot. Beside him, the men marched at a faster pace, the army in a desperate race to reach King's Landing before it fell. He ate litte, eating a tiny crust of bread in the saddle. And when night fell he could feel the soreness of riding already beginning to take place. "Lord Tallahart....Eddison." Roose said to the young man beside him, holding aloft Roose's banner. "Wake me if I begin to fall off the hors......" And Roose felt his head begin to rest against his chest, and his eyes close....
An hour later he awoke with a snap. Looking up in the sky, he still saw that night was upon them, but already the pinkish tinge of dawn was begging to appear on the horizon. "How long did I sleep?" Roose asked. "Two hours or so m'lord Stark." Answered Eddison. The Tallhart boy was the nephew of the current Lady Tallhart, and was three or so years older than Roose. The Lord of Winterfell had been impressed to make him his standard-bearer when he saw him defeat three men at once in the training yard. The first he had knocked off with a lance, the second a sword, and finally, when he had lost that two, had simply lept from his horse and tackled the other men to the ground. The two had become quick friends since then, and Lady Tallhart had been quite satisfied to hear that her heir, and favourite nephew had taken up with the young Stark. Rumour had it that she told anyone and everyone that 'The Lord of Winterfell has taken my good nephew as his personel advisor. Surely all they can have is victory in the south with good Eddison teaching him.' Roose had let out a howl of laughter after hearing that, while Eddison merely buried his face in some mulled wine, hoping that the red of the wine would hide the red in his face. Still, he is a good warrior, and a better friend...
The other men in his retinue consisted of Ser Wyman Manderly, a good natured fat-man and often the voice of conscience at the war councils, then came Lord Victarion Ryswell, a cautious man, who made measured remarks as though each word he said cost him five golden dragons. After him came Rickard Norrey, of the mountain clans. He had brought with him only one hundred men, all called Norrey, and all, claimed Rickard, were his brothers. Almost as short as a crannogman, but with the fiery temper to match a Dornishman, minus the cunning, he could now be heard encouring the army of the north to move faster. The Liddles would answer his call with curses and words best unmentioned among those of the gentler sex, yet they moved all the faster, the feud between the two mountain clans ran far into the past, yet they both had united to answer the call of Winterfell. Lord Dustin had sent his younger son, a man of twenty five or so, who, though a good fighter, was in the habit of dicing and staying with the men, and wasn't seen at the council very often. Roose preferred it that way, he realized that neither he, nor his men would want a drunk helping plan a campaign. Still, I'll have to have a talk with his father about it when we return north. Finally there came Edmure Karstark. Roose had been cool to the Lord of Karhold, remembering all the disputes he had with him, and Edmure had returned to the same sentiment. Yet Roose was beginning to feel he could trust him, if not entirely respect or like him.
Finally, after another hour of marching they called a halt, for a few hours of rest. Roose spent the time wetting down and sharpening Ice, pointless, for Valyrian Steel never lost its point or sharpness. Yet it was a habit he had developed at the Wall, and never had been able to get rid of. As he stared at the blade he felt something begin to grow hot against his brest. Quickly reaching down into his coat of ringmail he dug out a silver chain, to which was attached a piece of weirwood entwined with a piece of obsidian. Words, a woman's words, began to flow through his head. Hurry, Roose of the Starks, blood of the First Men, your king needs you. The realm still needs a Dragon to rule it, but the Stag cannot fall until their is a Dragon worthy, and able enough to sit the Iron Throne. Roose shook the words out of his head, not disregarding them, but fearing them. He looked down at his sword, and almost jumped back as he saw the source of the voice. Gissela, her face wreathed in fire, stared back at him. She smiled her wicked smile. The Night is Dark and full of shadows. A shadow is at the walls of Aegon's city even now, and you must be the light that dispells it. March, now, and R'hllor will sort out those who are not strong enough to march with you. In the next moment she was gone, and Roose stirred as he heard the sergents and captains of his army rousing the men for another day of hard marching.
The day was even harder than the last, with the men keeping a hard pace, a light jog which, given the weight put on them, was grueling. As two days turned into three, then four, and five, and so an so forth, the signs of hard toil began to show. The old, weak, and diseased among them began to collapse, but the northern army had no time to stop and tend to them. Their blood was that of the First Men, and when something was required of them, even a task such as marching to an unknown enemy, only the hard could survive.
Result:
Losses 1000 men to desertion and death
The army will reach King's Landing in Two weeks
Roose advances to beginner in the Higher Mysteries
Roose advances to noteworthy in stewardship
"Indeed m'lord." Ser Robert Manderly said, an uncle to the current lord of White Harbour. Eddison Tallhart just shook his head and looked up at the sun. "We're losing valuable time Lord Stark."
Roose said nothing for a while, chewing his bottom lip in thought. Looking down at Blizzard, as if to look for an answer from the old gods. When the direwolf sat back on his haunches and started licking his paws the Lord of Winterfell just rolled his eyes. "I swear, even the old gods can't help me here....alright men," he said, speakin up. "Cut the damn thing loose, we'll send a few messengers back to the holdfast we passed and tell them to pick it up..." Thinking for another moment he continued. "Ser," he said to Manderly. "Have the men load their packs up with as much food, and arrows as they can manage....empty out the wagons."
The next hour was spent trying to divide up the cargo from the wagon train. During that time Roose bundled up his own things. Slipping on a shirt of ringmail he watched the Blizzard, who was stretched out underneath a wagon, gnawing on the bone of an ox to get the marrow. The big grey direwolf looked up when Roose had finished, and trotted over to him. "Sorry," Roose said, "We have to go, you're going to have to leave the bone." The direwolf, as if sensing what he ment, nipped Roose on the hand, and trotted off down the line, seeing what he could find. Roose watched him go, and began thinking of the enemy they would both meet when they reached King's Landing. From what Roose had heard, the invaders were unstoppable, with limetless numbers. If it were true, Roose could not see how even the combined powers of the North, and the Vale could stop them. Yet, if the northmen did not reach King's Landing, Rickon's cause was equally doomed. As doomed as I am, if we lose.
An hour later, Roose rode along the Kingsroad, keeping his horse at a trot. Beside him, the men marched at a faster pace, the army in a desperate race to reach King's Landing before it fell. He ate litte, eating a tiny crust of bread in the saddle. And when night fell he could feel the soreness of riding already beginning to take place. "Lord Tallahart....Eddison." Roose said to the young man beside him, holding aloft Roose's banner. "Wake me if I begin to fall off the hors......" And Roose felt his head begin to rest against his chest, and his eyes close....
An hour later he awoke with a snap. Looking up in the sky, he still saw that night was upon them, but already the pinkish tinge of dawn was begging to appear on the horizon. "How long did I sleep?" Roose asked. "Two hours or so m'lord Stark." Answered Eddison. The Tallhart boy was the nephew of the current Lady Tallhart, and was three or so years older than Roose. The Lord of Winterfell had been impressed to make him his standard-bearer when he saw him defeat three men at once in the training yard. The first he had knocked off with a lance, the second a sword, and finally, when he had lost that two, had simply lept from his horse and tackled the other men to the ground. The two had become quick friends since then, and Lady Tallhart had been quite satisfied to hear that her heir, and favourite nephew had taken up with the young Stark. Rumour had it that she told anyone and everyone that 'The Lord of Winterfell has taken my good nephew as his personel advisor. Surely all they can have is victory in the south with good Eddison teaching him.' Roose had let out a howl of laughter after hearing that, while Eddison merely buried his face in some mulled wine, hoping that the red of the wine would hide the red in his face. Still, he is a good warrior, and a better friend...
The other men in his retinue consisted of Ser Wyman Manderly, a good natured fat-man and often the voice of conscience at the war councils, then came Lord Victarion Ryswell, a cautious man, who made measured remarks as though each word he said cost him five golden dragons. After him came Rickard Norrey, of the mountain clans. He had brought with him only one hundred men, all called Norrey, and all, claimed Rickard, were his brothers. Almost as short as a crannogman, but with the fiery temper to match a Dornishman, minus the cunning, he could now be heard encouring the army of the north to move faster. The Liddles would answer his call with curses and words best unmentioned among those of the gentler sex, yet they moved all the faster, the feud between the two mountain clans ran far into the past, yet they both had united to answer the call of Winterfell. Lord Dustin had sent his younger son, a man of twenty five or so, who, though a good fighter, was in the habit of dicing and staying with the men, and wasn't seen at the council very often. Roose preferred it that way, he realized that neither he, nor his men would want a drunk helping plan a campaign. Still, I'll have to have a talk with his father about it when we return north. Finally there came Edmure Karstark. Roose had been cool to the Lord of Karhold, remembering all the disputes he had with him, and Edmure had returned to the same sentiment. Yet Roose was beginning to feel he could trust him, if not entirely respect or like him.
Finally, after another hour of marching they called a halt, for a few hours of rest. Roose spent the time wetting down and sharpening Ice, pointless, for Valyrian Steel never lost its point or sharpness. Yet it was a habit he had developed at the Wall, and never had been able to get rid of. As he stared at the blade he felt something begin to grow hot against his brest. Quickly reaching down into his coat of ringmail he dug out a silver chain, to which was attached a piece of weirwood entwined with a piece of obsidian. Words, a woman's words, began to flow through his head. Hurry, Roose of the Starks, blood of the First Men, your king needs you. The realm still needs a Dragon to rule it, but the Stag cannot fall until their is a Dragon worthy, and able enough to sit the Iron Throne. Roose shook the words out of his head, not disregarding them, but fearing them. He looked down at his sword, and almost jumped back as he saw the source of the voice. Gissela, her face wreathed in fire, stared back at him. She smiled her wicked smile. The Night is Dark and full of shadows. A shadow is at the walls of Aegon's city even now, and you must be the light that dispells it. March, now, and R'hllor will sort out those who are not strong enough to march with you. In the next moment she was gone, and Roose stirred as he heard the sergents and captains of his army rousing the men for another day of hard marching.
The day was even harder than the last, with the men keeping a hard pace, a light jog which, given the weight put on them, was grueling. As two days turned into three, then four, and five, and so an so forth, the signs of hard toil began to show. The old, weak, and diseased among them began to collapse, but the northern army had no time to stop and tend to them. Their blood was that of the First Men, and when something was required of them, even a task such as marching to an unknown enemy, only the hard could survive.
Result:
Losses 1000 men to desertion and death
The army will reach King's Landing in Two weeks
Roose advances to beginner in the Higher Mysteries
Roose advances to noteworthy in stewardship