Post by The Smith on Nov 9, 2008 22:44:07 GMT -5
Lord Justin Hightower arrived at Horn Hill covered in dust. He’d traveled with his infantrymen, who whistled tunes loudly, frankly happy to be back on dry land and not cramped in the under decks of the Arbor Fleet ships. Justin had sent men ahead to order his lords and their captains to convene. He reworked the words in his head one more time, words which were already being winged by raven to every lord in the Far Reach. He would have only once chance to say what needed to be said, for it would not be long before the full force of their enemies descended upon them.
“Milord Hightower, we are arrived.” Justin had to dismount to make his way through the lines of trench and spikes which surrounded the great keep of the Tarlys. Cyrus had once jokingly called it the Bloody Gate of the South. Justin feared it may soon need earn that reputation. As he got closer, he began to pass the common men in the trenches, at their post in their leather jerkins and spears. They looked alert.
“Lord Hightower,” someone called, tentatively. Justin saw the man, a grizzled old veteran.
“I served with Lord Irwyn, at Hellholt milord!” the man said reaching out his hand. Justin grabbed it, and held.
“What lessons did you take from that battle that I can apply here,” Justin asked, indulging the man for a moment.
“Fuck, These Mander pussies. We beat the Stone Hawk, we can whoop them.”
“What’s your name soldier?” Justin inquired, leaning in.
“Tolbert, Milord. Goodman Tolbert.” Justin squeezed his hand.
“See that Goodman Tolbert has a new hauberk, from my personal stores.” He said his young squire Balor Royce. The young boy nodded, and hurried to do as instructed.
Justin finally left the aged veteran, and arrived at the keep. Cyrus greeted him.
“Lord, the army is assembled for your words. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get washed up first.”
“Have they washed recently?” Justin asked.
“Uh no milord of course not.”
“Than no, the dirt suits my current task.” Justin smiled, as he stepped out onto the Battlements of Horn Hill. Young Balor raised the great Hightower Standard, and the army cheered dutifully.
“Men of the Far Reach. I apologize for being late. As most of you may have heard, our dutiful allies, Lord Tully and Lord Dondarrion, have suffered some setbacks. And the Mander men have finally made up their mind, and are turning south to face us.” There was some chattering in the crowd as Justin spoke again.
“I say let them come.” He said it quiet, and even though the echo of the hills amplified his voice, the men quieted and gave him his attention.
“I said, let them come. We stand here today in the most heavily fortified keep in all Westeros. There are more trenches, spikes, holdfasts and caltrops per yard of this land, than on any battlefield upon which man has waged war on man. If I were the Tyrells, I would rather assault the very walls of HELL HERSELF, than to try and take this keep.” He raised his arms to give a survey of the battlefield.
“And behind her walls, stands the most decent, green, gods-fearing land that has ever known. And a good and decent people. When I asked Rodrick the Rapacious for justice, you good men stood with me. And for that I thank you. But he has denied us justice. AND SO WE MUST TAKE IT!” Justin said.
“Here we will have our trial by combat. And with the Gods above who favor the cause of the just, and with your strong arms, We shall win it. The Mander will dash themselves against these walls. And when they have had enough, we shall open the gates, sweep forth and wipe them from the field. We will move east, join with our Stormland allies. Together we will crush Lord Rodrick’s army of malcontents and troublemakers. While you good men have been gathering food and supplies, resting, training and preparing, the Lords of the Mander have been pecking each other like frightened hens who have lost their cocks!” The men laugh at the play on words.
“Do not forget, our loyal allies from the Vale are still in the field, pressing Rodrick from the North. If he comes south it will be because he has been chased here by Ser Scot Royce. No, justice is coming from North and South, and they have no choice but to receive the bitter remedy, whether Rodrick would have it or not. Hold steady. As you did at Lemonwood and Hellholt.” He smiled and waved to his troops. “I am pleased to see you so energetic. I know you will not give up. Mander arms will never sully Far Reach soil.”
The Voice of Oldtown had spoken. He stepped down from the battlements, and went inside where his lords waited. He spoke with them calmly, and crisply. He encouraged them to see that Rodrick’s recent wins were not so impressive as they may first appear. That the Vale was marching against him, and the Riverlands was still fighting. The Stormlands was still strong, and prepared to strike at the Mander’s exposed flank. This was, although several months later, exactly what they had planned for when they first discussed the war.
When the night was over, Justin had assuaged all fears but his own.
Results:
Justin to Apprentice Persuasion.
Justin to Master Battle (for proper motivation of troops and leadership skills)
“Milord Hightower, we are arrived.” Justin had to dismount to make his way through the lines of trench and spikes which surrounded the great keep of the Tarlys. Cyrus had once jokingly called it the Bloody Gate of the South. Justin feared it may soon need earn that reputation. As he got closer, he began to pass the common men in the trenches, at their post in their leather jerkins and spears. They looked alert.
“Lord Hightower,” someone called, tentatively. Justin saw the man, a grizzled old veteran.
“I served with Lord Irwyn, at Hellholt milord!” the man said reaching out his hand. Justin grabbed it, and held.
“What lessons did you take from that battle that I can apply here,” Justin asked, indulging the man for a moment.
“Fuck, These Mander pussies. We beat the Stone Hawk, we can whoop them.”
“What’s your name soldier?” Justin inquired, leaning in.
“Tolbert, Milord. Goodman Tolbert.” Justin squeezed his hand.
“See that Goodman Tolbert has a new hauberk, from my personal stores.” He said his young squire Balor Royce. The young boy nodded, and hurried to do as instructed.
Justin finally left the aged veteran, and arrived at the keep. Cyrus greeted him.
“Lord, the army is assembled for your words. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get washed up first.”
“Have they washed recently?” Justin asked.
“Uh no milord of course not.”
“Than no, the dirt suits my current task.” Justin smiled, as he stepped out onto the Battlements of Horn Hill. Young Balor raised the great Hightower Standard, and the army cheered dutifully.
“Men of the Far Reach. I apologize for being late. As most of you may have heard, our dutiful allies, Lord Tully and Lord Dondarrion, have suffered some setbacks. And the Mander men have finally made up their mind, and are turning south to face us.” There was some chattering in the crowd as Justin spoke again.
“I say let them come.” He said it quiet, and even though the echo of the hills amplified his voice, the men quieted and gave him his attention.
“I said, let them come. We stand here today in the most heavily fortified keep in all Westeros. There are more trenches, spikes, holdfasts and caltrops per yard of this land, than on any battlefield upon which man has waged war on man. If I were the Tyrells, I would rather assault the very walls of HELL HERSELF, than to try and take this keep.” He raised his arms to give a survey of the battlefield.
“And behind her walls, stands the most decent, green, gods-fearing land that has ever known. And a good and decent people. When I asked Rodrick the Rapacious for justice, you good men stood with me. And for that I thank you. But he has denied us justice. AND SO WE MUST TAKE IT!” Justin said.
“Here we will have our trial by combat. And with the Gods above who favor the cause of the just, and with your strong arms, We shall win it. The Mander will dash themselves against these walls. And when they have had enough, we shall open the gates, sweep forth and wipe them from the field. We will move east, join with our Stormland allies. Together we will crush Lord Rodrick’s army of malcontents and troublemakers. While you good men have been gathering food and supplies, resting, training and preparing, the Lords of the Mander have been pecking each other like frightened hens who have lost their cocks!” The men laugh at the play on words.
“Do not forget, our loyal allies from the Vale are still in the field, pressing Rodrick from the North. If he comes south it will be because he has been chased here by Ser Scot Royce. No, justice is coming from North and South, and they have no choice but to receive the bitter remedy, whether Rodrick would have it or not. Hold steady. As you did at Lemonwood and Hellholt.” He smiled and waved to his troops. “I am pleased to see you so energetic. I know you will not give up. Mander arms will never sully Far Reach soil.”
The Voice of Oldtown had spoken. He stepped down from the battlements, and went inside where his lords waited. He spoke with them calmly, and crisply. He encouraged them to see that Rodrick’s recent wins were not so impressive as they may first appear. That the Vale was marching against him, and the Riverlands was still fighting. The Stormlands was still strong, and prepared to strike at the Mander’s exposed flank. This was, although several months later, exactly what they had planned for when they first discussed the war.
When the night was over, Justin had assuaged all fears but his own.
Results:
Justin to Apprentice Persuasion.
Justin to Master Battle (for proper motivation of troops and leadership skills)