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Post by oznerol on Jun 14, 2020 11:54:15 GMT -5
Alysane recognized the blade immidiately, knowing the origin of it before Snow even explained it. A few times she had seen it herself, when she was younger, before it was taken to the Wall. Longclaw, the ancestral blade of House Mormont. Yet, the She-Bear only nodded. "My mother shall decide on this, but if the Old Bear trusted you with this, he had most likely his reasons and I'm not the one to question it", she solely replied, "It is sad to hear that he has passed away, no matter the terms under which he left the island for the Watch."He said, placing the sword back in place, fastening the belt. "I shall wield the sword with pride"Jon looks to the tower where Val lived, Wun Wun still on the entrance. He hoped that Jeyne wouldn't be too scared by the gentle giant, considering she had married Bolton he had seen way worse. "I shall ride to Eastwatch, to gather wildlings to my banner. Then, we shall march South"He flexes his sword hand. "I will be equally honored to have you by my side, Lady Mormont"--- The host arrived to the Karhold after days of march from Eastwatch, avoiding to tresspass Last Hearth's, for Jon knew that the Umbers had little or no love for the wildlings, least so Whoresbane and Crowsfood. The snow was thickening and it was no easy road South, but, certainly, the wildlings had seen worse and their gear allowed them to move faster through the inhospitable terrain than a man-at-arms would. Each night they raised camp, littering the fields with fireplaces, but Jon warned them and they placed both watchers and tried to organize their tents, forming around their clan leaders. The bane of wildlings had always been their lack of discipline and albeit Jon had no desire to change their spirits he would, when possible, try to make them see the most prudent choice, as to not be caught under guard and disorganized. Val, the wildling, had rode with them, her guardian Wun Wun gone with Jon she had no want or desire to stay at the mercy of the Kneelers' Queen or her Red witch. Still, there was something more that led her, the so-called wildling princess, to ride with the Stark bastard. They were increasingly seen riding together and Val was often in company of Jon's direwolf when venturing up and down the column or riding to glance what laid beyond the road, her white cloak wavering in the wind behind her back as she galloped. Tormund headed the host, next to an increasingly less brooding and unburdened Jon, who still, nevertheless, carried the shadow of his own death and betrayal at the hands of his brethren. The morn the Karhold was seen on the sky Jon commanded his wolven standard to be raised along those of each chieftains -crude things and tokens that were solely recognizable among the Free Folk- and they blared the wildling horns as salute. Jon, a score of chieftains -including Tormund, the Harlen brothers and Gavin the Trader- and the very Val herself rode to the gates, expecting to be welcomed by the Magnar of Thenn and his dear wife, the nubile Alys Karstark.
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LD
Veteran 
Posts: 35
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Post by LD on Jun 14, 2020 13:34:11 GMT -5
Alysane Mormont would join the host, as she was offered the chance. Although she wouldn't get used to the wildlings within Snow's host, it was nontheless better than staying with the Queen's Men and her Queen.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 14, 2020 14:47:50 GMT -5
Bronze-shielded Thenns lined the stout stone walls of Karhold, their crude banner fluttering atop the ramparts adjacent to the Karstark's own device, similarly a sun in winter. Iron bound gates creaked open, and Lord Snow was welcomed into the new home of Magnar Sigorn and his Lady Wife, who came out dressed in lordly furs to greet their guests.
"Lord Snow."
Greeted Alys, bowing her head. Sigorn knew little of the common tongue, and simply offered Jon a nod of recognition.
"What brings you here, from the Wall? Has something happened?"
She sounded a little confused to see him with a host of Wildlings at his back, but nonetheless pleased at his arrival.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 14, 2020 14:59:56 GMT -5
Jon dismounts and is followed by Val, Mormont, Tormund and the other chieftains. The banner with the white wolf flutters over his head, now acompanied by a bear standing on his hind legs.
"Alys, cousin"
He said, with a short bow.
"Magnar, my respect"
Jon added with a nod. He was wearing hard leather, a mail shirt and a grey cloak.
"It's a long story. And hard to believe"
He felt unease telling that he had actually died and was revived by Melisandre.
"To put it blunty, I'm freed of my bows and now I march south, to the Dreadfort first, then to Winterfell. News arrived of Stannis' death. I have to see by myself and get rid of the black-hearted Ramsay"
Jon's eyes look like animated by an inner fire.
"These chieftains, men and women have sworn to follow me. Will the Karhold stand with his kin of Winterfell and ride?"
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 14, 2020 15:14:32 GMT -5
"We can spare few men, Lord Snow. The Thenns are only two hundred strong, with the rest at the Wall, and the rest of Karhold is only garrisoned by old men and green boys."
Alys pensively replied, eager to repay the debt that she incurred to Jon at his kindness but without means to do so.
"I can offer what provisions we have, some warm beds and food, and whatever few men we can spare, my lord. It is not much, but I owe you a great deal."
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Post by oznerol on Jun 14, 2020 15:37:40 GMT -5
"We can spare few men, Lord Snow. The Thenns are only two hundred strong, with the rest at the Wall, and the rest of Karhold is only garrisoned by old men and green boys." Alys pensively replied, eager to repay the debt that she incurred to Jon at his kindness but without means to do so. "I can offer what provisions we have, some warm beds and food, and whatever few men we can spare, my lord. It is not much, but I owe you a great deal." Said Jon. He had hoped to gain at least a part of Sigorn's shieldsmen and shieldswomen, but to no abail. "We shall depart in the morn"He added. "We shall, one day return to the Wall. I expect you shall be there for the last battle, the only one that truly matters: against the Dead"
Said he, looking straight into the Magnar's eyes. "On the meanwhile, we're glad to join you for the night, but we have to leave in the earnest"
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 14, 2020 15:41:34 GMT -5
Sigorn nodded, understanding either the tone or the meaning of some of Jon's words.
"Our honour to host, Snow."
Grunted Sigorn, presumably in what few words he knew in the common tongue. Alys had been teaching him, and he was beginning to show a decent grasp of it. Lady Karstark smiled approvingly.
"Please, come inside, Lord, to the warm."
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Post by oznerol on Jun 14, 2020 15:48:10 GMT -5
Sigorn nodded, understanding either the tone or the meaning of some of Jon's words. "Our honour to host, Snow." Grunted Sigorn, presumably in what few words he knew in the common tongue. Alys had been teaching him, and he was beginning to show a decent grasp of it. Lady Karstark smiled approvingly. "Please, come inside, Lord, to the warm." He nods and goes inside the castle, as the lords' guest. He had never been in the Karhold before, but it was said Karstark were kin to Stark and that both would be welcome in each other's homes. Certainly, Jon would enjoy Alys' hospitality for the night, some revelries would also make good for the Free Folk, and saying a wildling spoused to a kneeler and lording a castle would send and spread certain message among those in the host. To live together was possible and they could make the best of it.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 14, 2020 19:25:16 GMT -5
Smoke. Lights. They feel safe, far from war.
The chilling winds at night were freezing, but Snow seemingly felt no cold whatsoever. He stood on the stirrups.
"Aye, that's it"
He turns on the saddle.
"Tormund, ready your climbers"
Giantsbane nodded. The men and women of the Free Folk were used to climb the Wall, a gatehouse a third or a fourth its size and made of stone and wood would be an easy job.
"Harle, clean the battlements"
The huntsman motioned for his people to follow him. At night, without a full moon, they crossed the fields like shadows, getting close to the castle's dark mass, almost covering the dim light of the stars like a dark mountain. The wielded composite bows and longbows made of bone, powerful weapons. Tormund's men followed a bit later, like shadowcats, nimble and armed with daggers and shortswords. They had ropes and hooks. Arrows left bows with a hiss and two men fell with little noise to their deaths. Moments later, that section of the wall saw two, three, four hooks clinging and getting attached to the sharp merlons, like teeths in a gaping mouth. With a grunt the men and women started climbing, like squirrels: one almost fell, but was saved by his partner. Jon, Ghost and a force of wildling awaited, laying low in the grass, weapons at the ready. Soon thereafter a torch waves in the battlements over the gate. Snow unsheathed his sword.
"Go, go!"
They ran towards the postern gate, covered by night, nimble shadows. They entered the castle through this smaller gate, one by one, and entered the courtyard with little noise. A guard laid with his throat slit in the gatehouse, crumbled next to the threshold. Another guard was being dispatched by two wildlings, his eyes wide with fear.
"Move, to the barracks"
Jon gestured with the naked steel of his sword. Harle the handsome nodded, while his twin and Tormund's men ended the last two guards, at the other side of the curtain walls, playing dice in the northernmost watchtower. The wooden barracks were a large building, probably with enough room for a few hundred guards. Jon moved to the middle of the courtyard, sword unsheathed, while wildling took their positions all around him and over him. The direwolf snarls.
"Men of the Dreadfort! I came here to receive your surrender"
A few men started rushing out the barracks, some half-naked. The first two were slaughtered as they were leaving the wooden building by the wildlings on both sides of the door. The third was pierced by two arrows with goose feathers. The fourth dropped blade and the fifth retreated inside the barracks.
"Now, willing to negotiate?"
"Who might you be?"
"Jon Snow, son of Ned Stark, I came for justice, drop your weapons, bend the knee and you shall be spared further trouble"
On top of the walls the wildlings pointed at every window and door with bows, arrows at the ready. Jon moves the sword from side to side, the Valyrian steel hissing.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 14, 2020 19:31:58 GMT -5
One by one, the garrison filed out, those few men who had been left behind by Bolton gathering in the courtyard. Under the watchful eye of the Free Folk they piled their steel, then kneeling before the Lord Snow. With no word from Lord Bolton and the enemy already in the castle, resistance seemed pointless, and to resist would bring them death. They were caught unprepared and unawares, and so the Dreadfort now belonged to Jon and his wildlings. The keep itself was theirs to garrison, though the foreboding home of the Flayed Kings of old loomed large both over the landscape and the history of House Stark, recent and ancient.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 15, 2020 3:30:08 GMT -5
One by one, the garrison filed out, those few men who had been left behind by Bolton gathering in the courtyard. Under the watchful eye of the Free Folk they piled their steel, then kneeling before the Lord Snow. With no word from Lord Bolton and the enemy already in the castle, resistance seemed pointless, and to resist would bring them death. They were caught unprepared and unawares, and so the Dreadfort now belonged to Jon and his wildlings. The keep itself was theirs to garrison, though the foreboding home of the Flayed Kings of old loomed large both over the landscape and the history of House Stark, recent and ancient. The wildlings flooded into the castle -while soldiers were kept under watch into their barracks-, erecting their tents on the very castle grounds, all around the place, even in the godswood; where Wun Wun thought he would sleep, laying on one of the trees. Some took the towers as shelters, other even the stables, and a score of them made into the great hall, now no longer empty, but with flames on every fireplace and even the sounds of laughter and feasting -over the spoils taken-. Val claimed for herself the old chambers of Lady Bolton, that had been closed for many years now, and Tormund placed his bed on the solar, with two of his sons, his daughter an son-in-law. Jon, on his own, alongside Ghost, wandered along the castle. It was roomy and large, almost as much as Winterfell, but it was eerie and dark, where Winterfell was imposing and regal; even the weirwood was twisted and strange, the faces a thing of terror. He ventured into Roose's own chambers, only to find them stern and almost empty, save for the tapestries -sole concession for luxury- and the silver vessels exposed in an open closet. A chest was full with his clothing, including a variety of pink doublets and cloak, littered with small drops of red. He thought he glanced Ghost marking territory in a corner, but he said nothing: he was doing virtually the same. Tired, he removed his boots, wrapped himself on his cloak and slept before the fireplace, over a furry carpet and Ghost laying with him side by side: rather dead than sleeping in that bed without washing all sheets and covers first. The next morning came early. Jon had been woken by the direwolf. The castle was awakening too. The still unsure soldiers of the former garrison wandered around with unease, a mix of fear and hatred towards the wildlings in their faces. The wildlings were consorting with the peasants and servants on the castle, who were not so afraid and were actually gladdened of seeing Bolton's thrall over them gone. And quite a few washerwomen had let themselves by claimed by rugged but handsome wildlings and now they were laughing at their laps. The castle's cook, a large blonde man, had been claimed by one of Ygon's great-granddaughters and now he felt some kind of a wildling lord and boasted about his scratched back and loins to the grooms and the pinchs. Jon thought quite a few bastards would be born soon enough. Let them enjoy.
He looked at the armory building. Jon had told Mormont to see what they could get from it to arm the wildlings and it seemed the Lord of the Dreadfort had stored a sufficient amount of mail and leather that would do great to armor the Free Folk. They could also replace their bronze and iron weapons -Jon could not give them enough steel from the Night's Watch at Eastwatch- with good castle steel, which was much needed if they were going to face Bolton in the field. There was, also, a suit of amor, good plate, that the Stark had found deep within the armory. It was a nice suit, made for a young and nimble man of close age to Jon's, they seemingly had a similar build: with the help of Alysanne he puts it on, claiming that only a few adjustments were needed. He felt weird, never having worn such a lordly armor, despite he had seen Robb sparring in one, custom-made, and that father had his own, that he regularly oiled and had fixed by Winterfell's smiths. Jon's banner flew in the keep and the flayed men now laid in a pyle on the courtyard, soon the be burned and discarded. The Stark wore his grey cloak, slightly thin for the weather, but he didn't feel much cold these days, and he walked through the battlements, while Ghost gorged himself on half a cow they had found slaughtered in the kitchens. He stood in one of the towers, domineering the landscape and he saw something in the distance, the distinctive shape of a host going their way. Pink little banners fluttering with the breeze. A wheelhouse. How?
Jon warned Harle the Huntsman and soon the wildlings were in the walls, their hands on spears, axes and bows. Snow stood at the top of the gatehouse, waiting for whoever was to come, if they would, his right hand resting on the sharp merlon.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 15, 2020 9:04:10 GMT -5
Roose was wheeled up to the gates of his own castle, barely conscious still from the wounds he had sustained at Winterfell; a spear in the thigh, an arrow in the calf, a blow from a club or mace breaking a few of his ribs and shattering his wrist. Bolton had taken some milk of the poppy, but otherwise had grown used to the pain and the cold. It was punishment for his defeat, for placing his trust in weak men that failed him in battle. The looming gates of the Dreadfort stood before him now, and the safety of those blackened stone walls. All Bolton wanted now was warm fire and a bed, to sleep for a thousand years. Fat Walda had grown fatter still from the child, his wife fussing him the whole journey to make sure he was not too cold or too uncomfortable.
"M'lord Bolton demands entrance to his castle! Open up, mangy curs!"
Shouted Steelshanks Walton up to the battlements, who but for a broken nose had survived the conflict unscathed. They waited before the gates, the Flayed Man banners limply hanging in the breeze after being soaked by torrential snow.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 15, 2020 10:07:32 GMT -5
An arrow ended Walton's infamous career in the spot, going through his exposed mouth. The grey feathers from the shaft could still be seen between helm and gorget. He fell from the horse with a thunder of plate, blood pooling on the mud.
"Ya'all arrived to wrong place, you short-dicked mongrels, where're yer manhoods?"
Yelled a booming voice from the battlements. Another voice, less powerful but clear was now heard.
"The castle now belongs to Lord Snow, ye basterds. The doors will remain closed!"
A long-faced young man was over the gatehouse, under what could be identified as a white direwolf in a dark field of black cloth, the Starks arms modified. A choir of yelling and cheering arises in the battlements, that were manned by several hundred men, arrows at the ready, if eyes were to be trusted.
"Lord Bolton! The Dreadfort is lost and a raven came: we know all your vassals deserted you and that you were soundly defeated"
His voice was clear and loud, coming from above.
"To the men of the Dreadfort: the day is lost, surrender, dip your banners, bend the knee and you shall be pardoned. Give up the traitor Roose Bolton to me and you all shall be spared further trouble"
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 15, 2020 10:17:22 GMT -5
Without Walton, any semblance of leadership dissipated. The Dreadfort men either threw their weapons to the ground or ran in the opposite direction, leaving the wagon in which Bolton lay wounded undefended. Fat Walda stayed with him, fearfully taking shelter behind her husband’s comatose body. Bolton groaned, though not in anguish but in frustration at the sheer idiocy of his predicament.
“We surrender!”
Shouted Walda, shrilly.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 15, 2020 10:25:15 GMT -5
The gates openned and scores of wildlings went through, wearing mail and wielding castle steel. They had been prepared since the Bolton banners were glanced in the distance. The chieftains yelled for his men to gather the men who surrendered, grouping them. And the wheelhouse was led inside the castle. The door was openned and there he stood, long-faced and grey eyed. He offered help to Lady Walda to get out the carriage, no harm would ever befall the innocent woman, no matter her family's name.
"Lady Walda"
He said, kind, simpathetic to her predicament, courteous. And, then, Jon, wearing leather and mail, peered into the wheelhouse, sword in hand, where he could smell blood and sickness, thick with sweat and a hint of death and fever.
"Lord Bolton. You killed my brother and sat in my father's throne"
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