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Post by Politburo Barry on Jul 8, 2020 22:00:15 GMT -5
Justin had been assigned to lead the left wing of the Baratheon army, chiefly its mounted sellswords, and had not been given orders to advance even as the center and right wing of both armies met. "Hold now," He'd warned some of the soldiers who were getting visibly antsy, "We aren't needed just yet." Their patience was rewarded by the shift of the battle lines around Stannis' center as the traps impeded the Reachmen advance, and soon the light horse of the enemy came into view. "Up and at 'em, lads!" He barked then, seizing his lance from a squire and spurring his steed to begin darting forward. He was one of the few men wearing mail and plate in the sea of light cavalrymen in boiled leather, and grinned as he buried his lance in some Reach squire's gut with enough speed to snap the ashwood. He'd just barely managed to draw his sword from its scabbard when more Reachmen came at him; their own blades left deep cuts in the red-blue-green triskelion on his white shield, but his retaliatory backswings left them with much worse.
Alas, despite his efforts, Massey found his own sellswords falling before the Reach's light cavalry in droves, and soon falling back to their initial positions in the forest to the north. The knight of spirals followed grudgingly, spitting curses and minced oaths (some Sevener in nature) as he went, shouting at the officers and smacking some of the nearest mercenaries with the flat of his blade in an effort to restore discipline. It turned out to be almost unnecessary though, as they'd only just finished reforming their lines when the Baratheon center surged forward, crushing through its Reachmen counterpart as they went. Far off to the west, though Massey could not see it, the Baratheon right was also pushing forward decisively, spearheaded by Morrigen's heavy horse. "Well, what are you all waiting for?!" Justin bellowed, pointing his sword at the confused and faltering Reachmen ahead of them. "Come on! We need only support the King in this one last push, and the day is ours!"
That they did, and that it was.
--------------------------------
After the battle, Justin reported to King Stannis as commanded, having first changed out of his armor. He didn't look any worse for wear, contrary to his liege who had taken a wound to his side, and regarded it with some worry. Nevertheless, he soon banished the concern from his beardless face and replaced it with a grin. "A worthy victory, Your Grace! Once more you surpass your brother, the late King Robert. Surely, the Iron Throne cannot be far from you now." Randyll Tarly had dealt Robert Baratheon his only defeat at Ashford many years ago, when Massey himself was still but a pageboy yet to have his first taste of wine or women. And today Stannis had done what Robert could not, driving him from the field, and no doubt giving him and the pretend Dragon he served pause.
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Post by AxBrew Sunster on Jul 8, 2020 22:09:44 GMT -5
Randyll watched as what should have been a devastating charge from the Reach's finest knights was blunted against a counter-charge from a force of mercenary knights, a storm green banner blazoned with a raven bobbing above them. Watching the silver-clad spearhead shatter against the ranks of Stannis' men, he knew the battle was lost. His teeth gritted again, and his face became stern, as he raised Heartsbane high over his head and wheeled it about, "Retreat! Fall back men of the Reach!" He called, before pulling his horse about and leading his knights away. As the infantry began to try and pull away, and Stannis' forces gave chase, he led his knights in sweeping the lines, engaging in whatever way they could to assist in the retreat. It seemed to matter little though. On the left flank, where the fighting had been thickest, Mathis Rowan's men had devolved into a routing mob, and many were pulled down and captured. At the right, alongside the pits, the fighting had only just been fully engaged, and in the painstaking process of withdrawing their forces, the joint command of Addam Marbrand and Axell Flowers lost a number of men. At last, Marbrand was able to lead his cavalry forward in a charge that broke the infantry out of the engagement, but as he wheeled back away, Tarly could see even from the distance that he was holding an arm tight to his side and swaying slightly in his saddle.
At last the main lines pulled past Lord Osgrey's rearguard, and Tarly wheeled up alongside him for a moment. "Hold them as long as you can, then pull your forces back in retreat and join us. We'll be falling back to Duskendale." He sheathed Heartsbane as he spoke, then pulled his horse's reigns taught again, leading the retreating forces away and trying to keep them in line. He raised the visor of his helmet and spat to the side, eyes hard as he surveyed the dregs of his army filtering past him. Duskendale was still more than a day's ride away, they would be out of the fight for some time.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jul 8, 2020 22:15:48 GMT -5
Harrold is admitted to see the King; Stannis sits within his command tent, with perhaps half a dozen serving men and a maester attending to him. The Red Priestess stands by two braziers, warming a small dagger. “Lord Arryn.”
The King grunted, bare chested but for the wine-sodden cloth wrapped about his torso. Harrold says as he removes his helmet, looking at the injuries inflicted upon the King. I pray to the Lord of Light that this is not life threatening.The male says, gesturing to the wounds. What is our next step though? Will Jon Snow be joining us?Was the way to the south clear or were there more armies?
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 8, 2020 22:27:55 GMT -5
Justin had been assigned to lead the left wing of the Baratheon army, chiefly its mounted sellswords, and had not been given orders to advance even as the center and right wing of both armies met. "Hold now," He'd warned some of the soldiers who were getting visibly antsy, "We aren't needed just yet." Their patience was rewarded by the shift of the battle lines around Stannis' center as the traps impeded the Reachmen advance, and soon the light horse of the enemy came into view. "Up and at 'em, lads!" He barked then, seizing his lance from a squire and spurring his steed to begin darting forward. He was one of the few men wearing mail and plate in the sea of light cavalrymen in boiled leather, and grinned as he buried his lance in some Reach squire's gut with enough speed to snap the ashwood. He'd just barely managed to draw his sword from its scabbard when more Reachmen came at him; their own blades left deep cuts in the red-blue-green triskelion on his white shield, but his retaliatory backswings left them with much worse. Alas, despite his efforts, Massey found his own sellswords falling before the Reach's light cavalry in droves, and soon falling back to their initial positions in the forest to the north. The knight of spirals followed grudgingly, spitting curses and minced oaths (some Sevener in nature) as he went, shouting at the officers and smacking some of the nearest mercenaries with the flat of his blade in an effort to restore discipline. It turned out to be almost unnecessary though, as they'd only just finished reforming their lines when the Baratheon center surged forward, crushing through its Reachmen counterpart as they went. Far off to the west, though Massey could not see it, the Baratheon right was also pushing forward decisively, spearheaded by Morrigen's heavy horse. "Well, what are you all waiting for?!" Justin bellowed, pointing his sword at the confused and faltering Reachmen ahead of them. "Come on! We need only support the King in this one last push, and the day is ours!"That they did, and that it was. -------------------------------- After the battle, Justin reported to King Stannis as commanded, having first changed out of his armor. He didn't look any worse for wear, contrary to his liege who had taken a wound to his side, and regarded it with some worry. Nevertheless, he soon banished the concern from his beardless face and replaced it with a grin. "A worthy victory, Your Grace! Once more you surpass your brother, the late King Robert. Surely, the Iron Throne cannot be far from you now." Randyll Tarly had dealt Robert Baratheon his only defeat at Ashford many years ago, when Massey himself was still but a pageboy yet to have his first taste of wine or women. And today Stannis had done what Robert could not, driving him from the field, and no doubt giving him and the pretend Dragon he served pause.
Replied the King, teeth grit in pain as Melisandre sealed the wound. The skin hissed, and the tent stank of sweat and burnt flesh.
“We rest for tonight. Round up the prisoners. Put a sword in the hand of those that would fight for me, take the heads of those who are too proud. The nobles will remain in the baggage train.”
The maester focused on re-dressing the wound. Although the flesh had sealed, it had left a gruesome scar across the ribs. “Tomorrow we march to the city. Lord Davos should have the Blackwater under blockade.” Harrold is admitted to see the King; Stannis sits within his command tent, with perhaps half a dozen serving men and a maester attending to him. The Red Priestess stands by two braziers, warming a small dagger. “Lord Arryn.”
The King grunted, bare chested but for the wine-sodden cloth wrapped about his torso. Harrold says as he removes his helmet, looking at the injuries inflicted upon the King. I pray to the Lord of Light that this is not life threatening.The male says, gesturing to the wounds. What is our next step though? Will Jon Snow be joining us?Was the way to the south clear or were there more armies?
“They have elephants, I am told. I have never fought an elephant. Enough arrows and spears drive even the best trained gelding mad with fear. I suspect these Eastern beasts will be no different.”
They were dangerous to those with little sense. Keeping the curiosities at a distance would be vital to their victory against the Golden Company.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jul 8, 2020 22:33:56 GMT -5
“It is only superficial, my Lord. The Lord favours his chosen king.”Replied the Priestess, as Stannis clutched at the sealed wound, face written into a grimace.“Lord Snow is a day behind us, and Lord Edmure is covering our rearguard. We march on the capital on the morrow, though I suspect the pretender will throw another host at us before we reach King’s Landing.”They had been at Stokeworth but a few days ago, and doubtless their outriders would soon hear of Tarly’s defeat.
“They have elephants, I am told. I have never fought an elephant. Enough arrows and spears drive even the best trained gelding mad with fear. I suspect these Eastern beasts will be no different.”
They were dangerous to those with little sense. Keeping the curiosities at a distance would be vital to their victory against the Golden Company. Elephants? Harrold had heard his maester speak of the odd creatures to the East. Then... if there is another army, and it is defeated, the way to the capital will be open?Lord Arryn inquires, looking at the King. Then the Lord of Light is allowing you to finish what the traitors started.Harrold was slowly falling under the zealotry of the Red God. May he give fortune to my men, Sire. His newest followers. We will do as Jon Arryn did and see you upon the Iron Throne.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 8, 2020 22:37:23 GMT -5
Randyll watched as what should have been a devastating charge from the Reach's finest knights was blunted against a counter-charge from a force of mercenary knights, a storm green banner blazoned with a raven bobbing above them. Watching the silver-clad spearhead shatter against the ranks of Stannis' men, he knew the battle was lost. His teeth gritted again, and his face became stern, as he raised Heartsbane high over his head and wheeled it about, "Retreat! Fall back men of the Reach!" He called, before pulling his horse about and leading his knights away. As the infantry began to try and pull away, and Stannis' forces gave chase, he led his knights in sweeping the lines, engaging in whatever way they could to assist in the retreat. It seemed to matter little though. On the left flank, where the fighting had been thickest, Mathis Rowan's men had devolved into a routing mob, and many were pulled down and captured. At the right, alongside the pits, the fighting had only just been fully engaged, and in the painstaking process of withdrawing their forces, the joint command of Addam Marbrand and Axell Flowers lost a number of men. At last, Marbrand was able to lead his cavalry forward in a charge that broke the infantry out of the engagement, but as he wheeled back away, Tarly could see even from the distance that he was holding an arm tight to his side and swaying slightly in his saddle. At last the main lines pulled past Lord Osgrey's rearguard, and Tarly wheeled up alongside him for a moment. "Hold them as long as you can, then pull your forces back in retreat and join us. We'll be falling back to Duskendale." He sheathed Heartsbane as he spoke, then pulled his horse's reigns taught again, leading the retreating forces away and trying to keep them in line. He raised the visor of his helmet and spat to the side, eyes hard as he surveyed the dregs of his army filtering past him. Duskendale was still more than a day's ride away, they would be out of the fight for some time. Osgrey lowered his visor, the banner of the chequy lion fluttering above as his riders spurred forward into the Baratheon lines. It was a forlorn hope, a desperate charge to hold back the already victorious, but Eustace would do his duty with sword in hand and a scream on his lips. They crashed into a wall of spears and shields, many being thrown from their horses on impact by the snarling sellswords that had pledged themselves to Stannis’ gold. Eustace swivelled in the saddle to hack a man’s arm off at the elbow, and then turned to thrust his sword through boiled leather and rusted mail into another’s chest. The blade was lost in flesh and bone as his horse reared upwards, and a dozen hands tore the Lord of Coldmoat from his saddle. Thrown to the floor, Eustace was saved only by his crest; a burly knight in red and white kicked off an assailant and hauled the Lord of Coldmoat to his feet. Osgrey was now a prisoner of Stannis Baratheon, and was clapped in irons and sent to the baggage train to await his ultimate fate.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 8, 2020 22:43:40 GMT -5
“It is only superficial, my Lord. The Lord favours his chosen king.”Replied the Priestess, as Stannis clutched at the sealed wound, face written into a grimace.“Lord Snow is a day behind us, and Lord Edmure is covering our rearguard. We march on the capital on the morrow, though I suspect the pretender will throw another host at us before we reach King’s Landing.”They had been at Stokeworth but a few days ago, and doubtless their outriders would soon hear of Tarly’s defeat.
“They have elephants, I am told. I have never fought an elephant. Enough arrows and spears drive even the best trained gelding mad with fear. I suspect these Eastern beasts will be no different.”
They were dangerous to those with little sense. Keeping the curiosities at a distance would be vital to their victory against the Golden Company. Elephants? Harrold had heard his maester speak of the odd creatures to the East. Then... if there is another army, and it is defeated, the way to the capital will be open?Lord Arryn inquires, looking at the King. Then the Lord of Light is allowing you to finish what the traitors started.Harrold was slowly falling under the zealotry of the Red God. May he give fortune to my men, Sire. His newest followers. We will do as Jon Arryn did and see you upon the Iron Throne.
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Post by Pinkerton on Jul 9, 2020 10:22:38 GMT -5
An hour after the battle had ended, new horns were heard behind Baratheon's army. The banners of the Vale, dominated by the newly weaved banner of House Arryn, approached to reinforce the victorious army. From afar, Harrold gazed out, seeing bodies all over the place. A great number of them being Reachmen, but there were piles of Baratheon soldiers. Banners laid across the field, horses had flies over their carcasses, and the wounded were being retrieved. He watches as a series of Reachmen soldiers are taken away in chains, prisoners of the battle. As his army moved into to join Stannis' soldiers, Harrold looks at Albar Royce and Symond Templeton who were present with him. Seems we missed quite the fight.Lord Arryn says before snapping the reins of his horse as he galloped into the encampment to meet with His Grace.
Templeton semeed bored. He looked around at the corpses
"Lots of dead stags, though. It looks like Tarly gave a hell of a fight."
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jul 9, 2020 12:15:49 GMT -5
“Ser Justin. It seems you escaped the thick of the fighting. Tarly was wise not to throw his full force across the pits.”
Replied the King, teeth grit in pain as Melisandre sealed the wound. The skin hissed, and the tent stank of sweat and burnt flesh.
“We rest for tonight. Round up the prisoners. Put a sword in the hand of those that would fight for me, take the heads of those who are too proud. The nobles will remain in the baggage train.”
The maester focused on re-dressing the wound. Although the flesh had sealed, it had left a gruesome scar across the ribs. “Tomorrow we march to the city. Lord Davos should have the Blackwater under blockade.” Ser Justin replied with a nod. It was not the most glorious of bouts, but a hard fight to keep warriors humble wasn't a bad thing so long as they won in the end, he figured. "I hope to play a more helpful role in the battles to come.""It will be done." Massey affirmed simply when instructed to recruit or execute the prisoners. "But before I leave to do this, sire, I must ask if you would also consider giving those unwilling to fight the choice of being banished to the Wall, as the Greyjoy turncloak chose before we left the North." Not that he was particularly unwilling to execute the serjeants too foolish to bend the knee before their better, indeed he knew having their head removed by him would be a much more merciful end than being roasted on a pyre, and frankly probably the best death they could hope for if they continued to defy the will of Stannis Baratheon. But executing unarmed prisoners was still grim work without honor, and though he'd do it if he had to, the Crownlander knight hoped to have to do as little of that as possible.
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Post by pontifex on Jul 9, 2020 19:02:01 GMT -5
Morrigen found the King's banner, and rallied to it wish his surviving horse. "Another victory, your Grace." He said, raising his visor. His tunic and armor was covered in viscera and blood.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 10, 2020 10:25:26 GMT -5
“Ser Justin. It seems you escaped the thick of the fighting. Tarly was wise not to throw his full force across the pits.”
Replied the King, teeth grit in pain as Melisandre sealed the wound. The skin hissed, and the tent stank of sweat and burnt flesh.
“We rest for tonight. Round up the prisoners. Put a sword in the hand of those that would fight for me, take the heads of those who are too proud. The nobles will remain in the baggage train.”
The maester focused on re-dressing the wound. Although the flesh had sealed, it had left a gruesome scar across the ribs. “Tomorrow we march to the city. Lord Davos should have the Blackwater under blockade.” Ser Justin replied with a nod. It was not the most glorious of bouts, but a hard fight to keep warriors humble wasn't a bad thing so long as they won in the end, he figured. "I hope to play a more helpful role in the battles to come.""It will be done." Massey affirmed simply when instructed to recruit or execute the prisoners. "But before I leave to do this, sire, I must ask if you would also consider giving those unwilling to fight the choice of being banished to the Wall, as the Greyjoy turncloak chose before we left the North." Not that he was particularly unwilling to execute the serjeants too foolish to bend the knee before their better, indeed he knew having their head removed by him would be a much more merciful end than being roasted on a pyre, and frankly probably the best death they could hope for if they continued to defy the will of Stannis Baratheon. But executing unarmed prisoners was still grim work without honor, and though he'd do it if he had to, the Crownlander knight hoped to have to do as little of that as possible.
Replied Stannis, with his usual grim-faced nod.
—
“Each one is hard won, Lord Morrigen. I am paying for my throne with the blood of thousands.”
The King’s squire fastened up his tunic, now the wound been treated. Stannis gingerly moved his arm.
“The men need rest, but they will not have it. In but a few days the rest of our foes will be upon us.”
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Post by pontifex on Jul 10, 2020 16:13:15 GMT -5
"Good" Morrigen retorted. "Let us be done with this once and for all. One more battle until King's Landing, and victory."
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jul 11, 2020 10:32:50 GMT -5
With leave to do so, Ser Justin departed from the king's presence and soon ordered the common prisoners to be assembled before him. To them all he offered three options: bend the knee and fight for King Stannis, take the black, or die. Those Reachmen who picked the former option would be separated from the rest, set to have their bonds removed and a weapon placed in their hands after they had formally bent the knee and sworn quick oaths to Stannis in person. Those who chose the middle option would be returned to the camp's makeshift prison tents, to be sent to the Wall at the first opportunity - if the King's army could not spare the men to escort them, Justin reasoned, then perhaps the Northmen under Jon Snow could, once the hardest fighting was done.
And those who spurned both of the former options, well. Massey would be right there with the executioners removing their heads on the spot. A hard business with no honor involved, but necessary all the same to deal with useless mouths that refused to be useful either to their rightful king or the Black Brothers, especially as winter closes in behind them and every crumb of bread becomes invaluable for survival. Besides, it was as he thought before; a quick beheading was a much more merciful end than being thrown to the pyre, and the best that such recalcitrant supporters of the enemy could expect.
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Post by pontifex on Jul 11, 2020 13:56:35 GMT -5
Black and Gold Dragon banners were ubiquitous. Twelve such of enormous size flapped about Aegon’s steed as he mounted. His armor was polished to a sheen, inlaid with black steel. It was not as fearsome as his father’s but it would do. This would be the day he would assert his dominion over the Seven Kingdoms. The blood of Stannis Baratheon would water the earth. He drew Blackfyre and hefted it to rest against his shoulder. He spurred his horse and rode it down along the line of his assembling army, reviewing them. He stopped to deliver impromptu addresses and encouragement. “Men of the Golden Company, my faithful subjects, we return to Westeros as exiles, as men that have tasted of defeat in the distant path. Today we are reborn in the blood and fire of battle, our oaths renewed, our honor restored. My forebears carried this very blade into battle during the Conquest, and none could withstand my namesake on the battlefield. We may not have the Black Dread to ensure ultimate victory, but we ride to battle secure in the knowledge that the rabble assembled before us has not been tempered as the Company has. These are farmhands with pikes for the most part, hedge knights, very few of the best chivalry remain and yet - we must not be over cocky. The Golden COmpany has been forged over decades in the wars and battles of the east. Even one of the newest recruits among you has seen more of battle than many Lord who now stand opposed to us on the field. Each man of you brings a lifetime of experience in war - you are worth twice of what they are worth.” Aegon gestured to the standard of the Golden Company, skulls dipped in gold. “Your Captains bear Crowns in death worth more than the Crowns of many lesser men. Prove your worth this day, one last time, let us put an and to this Usurper, and reap the many rewards. The common among you shall be elevated to knighthood, the knights among you to Lords, the Lords among you to the most trusted positions in the Realm. Today marks the start of a new chapter." {ordersSpoiler}Aegon sat down with his war council for one last time. “It is finally time to smash the Usurper’s brother, the traitor Stannis Baratheon. My orders are as follows.”
He looked to Harry Strickland. “Strickland will command the center, composed or our middling quality troops. 2,900 Sellswords and the light infantry, supported by one third of our archer force will comprise the center. (Archers will be divided ⅓ to each flank). They will engage with the enemy and allow their line to bend, without breaking. Draw the enemy in until their line is bulging into our own - this will be an envelopment masked to look like a victory, as if we are bending and about to break.”
Aegon ensured his orders were understood by Strickland before he continued. “The rest of our forces will be evenly split on either flank, with orders to at least hold both flanks and accomplish the envelopment by allowing the center to ease back from the engagement, or to push ahead if the initial charge is exploited well. The elephants will charge on the left flank only. Manwoody will command the left, and I the right.”
Aegon pointed to the distance “None are to enter those woods under any circumstances, it is too likely to be a trap.”
Strickland:
Traits (10+3):
Resilience: 4 (+1 from New Blood)
Charisma: 2 (+1 from New Blood)
Intelligence: 2 (+1 from New Blood)
Authority: 4
Aegon:
Resilience: 3
Charisma: 2
Intelligence: 3
Authority: 3 (+1 from Birthsign)
Dickon Manwoody:
Resilience - 4
Charisma - 2
Intelligence - 2
Authority - 2
{Targaryen Army}- led by Captain-General Harry Strickland
Total: 10,000 men + 8,200 sellswords + 24 Elephants
Golden Company (10,000 men + 24 Elephants):
24 Elephants
500 Knights
1,000 Light Cavalry
2,500 Heavy Infantry
3,000 Archers
3,000 Light Infantry
SELLSWORD COMPOSITION UNKNOWN |
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 11, 2020 14:16:45 GMT -5
The Baratheon host once more had assembled. The Crowned Stag within the Burning Heart stood imperiously above an army of heraldic devices, a motley assembly of fabric gathered from the Stormlands, Crownlands, the North. Accompanying them were the strange and colourful devices of the Essosi Free Companies, as well as the banners of hedge knights and free-riders that had pledged their swords to Stannis. On the left hung the imposing banner of the Starks of Winterfell; Lord Snow had caught up with the King’s host and added a part of his army to the King’s own, fearsome men from the Barrowlands and the Hornwood Hills that carried swords and axes of black iron. They waited silently before the forest, the plains between the two forces littered with the dents and marks of battle. Men had fought and died here but a few days before, and air still reeked of it. Stannis has said his speeches, spoken to his bannermen and captains, and now those who would seat him on the throne watched on grimly as the Golden Company advanced.
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