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Post by Royal Joker on May 23, 2023 13:33:51 GMT -5
The wind whistled as heavy rain fell from dark clouds. The sound of waves crashing against cliffs filled the air, though it could drown out the marching steps of twenty thousand men. Their colors were dulled by rain and mud, yet their banners still flew proudly - the rose of Tyrell, the huntsman of Tarly, and the centaur of Caswell to name but a few. Bronzegate had surrendered without a fight, now the home of House Baratheon would face the might of the Reach. Randyll Tarly stood a safe distance from the walls of the ancient castle while his men set up camp and began to construct siege equipment. The pain was somewhat bearable today thanks to the concoction brewed up by his maester. He was still unable to mount a horse thanks to his busted leg, curse Robert Baratheon and his house. He would not, could not, show any weaknes before the task at hand. Storm's End would fall, peacefully or not. {Spoiler}{Tarlys host}
1,804 Heavy Horse
1,804 Light Horse
11,603 Foot
3,603 Archers
Total: 18,814 A messenger was sent forward to the walls, requesting a parley with the castellan. |
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Post by oznerol on May 24, 2023 7:02:16 GMT -5
A man, tall and lithe, appears atop the gate, in armor, with a tabard, a golden field with a stag within.
"Whoever you might be, tell Tarly that Storm's End does not surrender. It hasn't fell to men or God in millenia"
Stannis looked to the army beyond. Less than twenty thousand, for sure, according to the reports and the number of tents. Maester Cressen had dutifully reached an approximate amount. Baratheon had full stores of food and three thousand men. A tenth of that number would be able to hold the castle for many months. The young men gritted his teeth. He hoped his dullard of a brother would come, eventually, and relief the siege.
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Post by Royal Joker on May 24, 2023 14:12:33 GMT -5
A man, tall and lithe, appears atop the gate, in armor, with a tabard, a golden field with a stag within. "Whoever you might be, tell Tarly that Storm's End does not surrender. It hasn't fell to men or God in millenia"Stannis looked to the army beyond. Less than twenty thousand, for sure, according to the reports and the number of tents. Maester Cressen had dutifully reached an approximate amount. Baratheon had full stores of food and three thousand men. A tenth of that number would be able to hold the castle for many months. The young men gritted his teeth. He hoped his dullard of a brother would come, eventually, and relief the siege. Tarly's frustration was near its boiling point when the messenger returned with Stannis' answer. It had been a useless wish that the castle simply surrender. The Baratheons were warriors at would not bend so easily. The Lord of Horn Hill turned to his retinue. "Send out the men to collect as much wood, rocks and boulders as they can find. I want trebuchets to rain down death on those rebels, and battering rams and siege towers. I will not wait years for Storm's End to starve to death. And send word to Lord Tyrell, I want the Redwyne fleet to block off any access in or out of that castle. It will be their tomb."With his orders given, Randyll Tarly returned to his tent to rest. The lords and knights under his command hurried to get men working. Foragers were sent out to scour the local forest and villages for any resources - wood, metal, leather, textiles, whattle and thatch, food, water, and able-bodied men and women. Axemen brought back scores of cut-down trees and twigs. The army had plenty of men to spare to both keep watch against any attempted raid from the defenders and to build a war machine that could bring down the Red Keep itself. When his pain allowed it, Randyll would personally oversee the construction of his war engines. The trebuchets were prioritized above all - large throwing machines that were planned to throw stones and fire pots over the walls to damage any flammable buildings inside. Portable mantlets sprang up to give the attackers options to damage the walls. The men were also ordered to dig earthworks on the side of the camp facing Storm's End to protect against incoming missiles. Finally, several siege towers protected by rawhide and moveable battering rams with roofs began construction if the time for a final assault was deemed right. It would take some time, but Randyll could wait. The pain in his leg kept his mind focused on this singular purpose. He would break Storm's End, one way or the other.
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Post by oznerol on May 30, 2023 5:45:51 GMT -5
Trebuchets fell silent.
The last projectile fruitlessly impacted against one of the battlements, leaving but a dent on the colossal walls. Only a few truly went over the massive ramparts, as the boulders could hardly surpass in height the mount where the castle was erected. The hardened rock endured all punishment, for the stones were so well placed that not even the wind could pass through. The drum tower, the massive holdfast, held within itself chambers, barracks, granary and all that mattered, while inside the walls proper or adjacent to it were the stables and kitchens. However, the matter was food. Supplies were running short after almost a year under siege. Grain had been consumed long ago, and it wasn't neither the best nor the most abundant: men had gathered it before the siege, but it was the last grain before the cold of winter -the white raven arrived a fortnight ago- and, thus, hardly enough to fill the whole stores of Storm's End; least so for more than three thousand men, women and children. First came horses, mules and donkeys, which provided enough for food for a few weeks for the sizable garrison. Then came cats, dogs and even rats. The situation was dire. Tarly had assaulted the walls with a score of ladders and even a large tower that went down in flames, men died, men were injured and maimed -like Doyal Noye, faithful smith, that now lacked an arm-. But, above all, men were starving. Even Baratheon's household looked thin and pale, for the lack of proper substenance.
Stannis had lost a stone of weight, as he hardly ate. Not only due the lack of it, but also because the lord rarely felt the need, least so in a time of strife and war. Tall and lithe as he was, Baratheon now looked emaciated, a bag of sinews, muscles and bone wrapped in leather, mail and cloth. He was hardly seen without mail or the sword in the scabbard. He was seen all the time walking up and down the walls, overseeing everything and leaving nothing to chance. Only distraction he allowed himself was playing cyvasse with Cressen, turning into a decent player. The game's board was like a battlefield and playing honed his tactical mind, kept him on his toes. No matter how capable the young nobleman was, even he could not do much about the lack of food. Worse, they could not be provided by sea, as Storm's End was pestered by the Redwyne fleet, and not a single venture could be made into sea to catch fish in order to feed the garrison. Stannis had grown frustrated and now used to grit his teeth, tense jaw and neck, and muttered endlessly as he wandered around the castle. And word from Robert had went silent and none knew what happened beyond the walls. Soldiers celebrated the capture of a fat rat, that was rapidly readied for supper. Baratheon sighed as he passed by...
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Post by Gandalf on May 30, 2023 9:40:14 GMT -5
Black ship, black sails. A shadow on the water that drifted between the rocks in the treacherous shallows, buffeted by the howling winds that gave Shipbreaker Bay its name. Larger craft would not dare hold so close to the cliffs, those jagged teeth that jut from the earth like the gaping maw of a giant. Death waited for the unwary in their shadow, down in the watery court of the Merling King that welcomed every lost sailor as an honoured guest. Dangerous enough, then, without two-dozen warships and a score of smaller craft hunting in the shallows. They had locked up the harbour good and tight, at least in daylight. No sailor, no matter how skilled or swift, would break through those lines of ships unseen.
But the weathered man that stood on the prow of his black shadow was no sailor, at least not by the laws of Men.
”Lower them lads!” He fought to be heard over the screeching wind, clinging to the rudder as a fierce gust veered them towards the black daggers that lay waiting in the shallows. Two young boys fought with the rigging in answer, pulling down the great black sheets of rain-soaked cloth. They were panting like dogs, soaked to the bone by the spray of salt and sky. Even so, they did not waste a moment. Two pairs of oars pulled them across the water, slow and steady. So slow they seemed to hardly move at all, but it was better than being food for the fish.
Inch by inch they closed upon the ancient fastness of Storm’s End. They were truly within sight now, drifting under the shadow of the formidable black walls and thick drum towers that crowned the cliffs above the bay. The rain seemed to come heavier and heavier, black and hard like sheets of lead. They sheltered under the cliffs as lightning cracked and boomed above them, flashes of light streaking across the sky. Perhaps there was a war in the heavens as well as upon the earth.
Suddenly they could row no more, doubling over them in exhaustion as the storm raged about them. With a grimace of concern, the smuggler hauled the anchor into the shallows and hurried over to them, wrapping them together in his arms and rubbing them for warmth.
”Wait here, below the deck. Change your clothes, or your mother will have my hide when you both catch a chill.”
A rowboat splashed into the shallows, loaded with barrels of cod and pike, onions and carrots, beer and salted beef. Muffled oars carried it over the treacherous waves. He was so close, now. So closed that he risked a lantern’s light, for he had not come this far to sink within sight of his goal. It crawled agonisingly under the shadow of Storm’s End, a lonesome crag between rock and wall large enough for a smuggler’s rowboat. With a shout, he yelled for the sentry in the darkness as he tied the craft to a rock.
“Food! Fish and Beer, for my lord Baratheon!”
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Post by oznerol on May 30, 2023 11:20:14 GMT -5
Black ship, black sails. A shadow on the water that drifted between the rocks in the treacherous shallows, buffeted by the howling winds that gave Shipbreaker Bay its name. Larger craft would not dare hold so close to the cliffs, those jagged teeth that jut from the earth like the gaping maw of a giant. Death waited for the unwary in their shadow, down in the watery court of the Merling King that welcomed every lost sailor as an honoured guest. Dangerous enough, then, without two-dozen warships and a score of smaller craft hunting in the shallows. They had locked up the harbour good and tight, at least in daylight. No sailor, no matter how skilled or swift, would break through those lines of ships unseen. But the weathered man that stood on the prow of his black shadow was no sailor, at least not by the laws of Men. ”Lower them lads!” He fought to be heard over the screeching wind, clinging to the rudder as a fierce gust veered them towards the black daggers that lay waiting in the shallows. Two young boys fought with the rigging in answer, pulling down the great black sheets of rain-soaked cloth. They were panting like dogs, soaked to the bone by the spray of salt and sky. Even so, they did not waste a moment. Two pairs of oars pulled them across the water, slow and steady. So slow they seemed to hardly move at all, but it was better than being food for the fish. Inch by inch they closed upon the ancient fastness of Storm’s End. They were truly within sight now, drifting under the shadow of the formidable black walls and thick drum towers that crowned the cliffs above the bay. The rain seemed to come heavier and heavier, black and hard like sheets of lead. They sheltered under the cliffs as lightning cracked and boomed above them, flashes of light streaking across the sky. Perhaps there was a war in the heavens as well as upon the earth. Suddenly they could row no more, doubling over them in exhaustion as the storm raged about them. With a grimace of concern, the smuggler hauled the anchor into the shallows and hurried over to them, wrapping them together in his arms and rubbing them for warmth. ”Wait here, below the deck. Change your clothes, or your mother will have my hide when you both catch a chill.” A rowboat splashed into the shallows, loaded with barrels of cod and pike, onions and carrots, beer and salted beef. Muffled oars carried it over the treacherous waves. He was so close, now. So closed that he risked a lantern’s light, for he had not come this far to sink within sight of his goal. It crawled agonisingly under the shadow of Storm’s End, a lonesome crag between rock and wall large enough for a smuggler’s rowboat. With a shout, he yelled for the sentry in the darkness as he tied the craft to a rock. “Food! Fish and Beer, for my lord Baratheon!”The guards almost lept on their toes when they heard the yelling. Word of the event spread through the courtyard like wildfire and, quickly, one of the commanding knights on duty, bearing a turtle on the tabard, allowed the men to omen one of the small sea gates, in order to let Davos pass into the fortress with his load. The news reached Stannis himself, who hurried himself to the yard, where he expected to see the cause and origin of all the commotion.
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Post by Royal Joker on May 30, 2023 12:29:37 GMT -5
Another messenger was sent forward to the gates of Storm's End. Lord Tarly requested a parley with Sir Baratheon. The messenger further informed the defenders on the walls that a great battle had been fought at Blackwater Rush in the north, and Prince Rhaegar had emerged victorious. The army of Robert Baratheon and his allies was no more.
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Post by Gandalf on May 30, 2023 13:42:23 GMT -5
Black ship, black sails. A shadow on the water that drifted between the rocks in the treacherous shallows, buffeted by the howling winds that gave Shipbreaker Bay its name. Larger craft would not dare hold so close to the cliffs, those jagged teeth that jut from the earth like the gaping maw of a giant. Death waited for the unwary in their shadow, down in the watery court of the Merling King that welcomed every lost sailor as an honoured guest. Dangerous enough, then, without two-dozen warships and a score of smaller craft hunting in the shallows. They had locked up the harbour good and tight, at least in daylight. No sailor, no matter how skilled or swift, would break through those lines of ships unseen. But the weathered man that stood on the prow of his black shadow was no sailor, at least not by the laws of Men. ”Lower them lads!” He fought to be heard over the screeching wind, clinging to the rudder as a fierce gust veered them towards the black daggers that lay waiting in the shallows. Two young boys fought with the rigging in answer, pulling down the great black sheets of rain-soaked cloth. They were panting like dogs, soaked to the bone by the spray of salt and sky. Even so, they did not waste a moment. Two pairs of oars pulled them across the water, slow and steady. So slow they seemed to hardly move at all, but it was better than being food for the fish. Inch by inch they closed upon the ancient fastness of Storm’s End. They were truly within sight now, drifting under the shadow of the formidable black walls and thick drum towers that crowned the cliffs above the bay. The rain seemed to come heavier and heavier, black and hard like sheets of lead. They sheltered under the cliffs as lightning cracked and boomed above them, flashes of light streaking across the sky. Perhaps there was a war in the heavens as well as upon the earth. Suddenly they could row no more, doubling over them in exhaustion as the storm raged about them. With a grimace of concern, the smuggler hauled the anchor into the shallows and hurried over to them, wrapping them together in his arms and rubbing them for warmth. ”Wait here, below the deck. Change your clothes, or your mother will have my hide when you both catch a chill.” A rowboat splashed into the shallows, loaded with barrels of cod and pike, onions and carrots, beer and salted beef. Muffled oars carried it over the treacherous waves. He was so close, now. So closed that he risked a lantern’s light, for he had not come this far to sink within sight of his goal. It crawled agonisingly under the shadow of Storm’s End, a lonesome crag between rock and wall large enough for a smuggler’s rowboat. With a shout, he yelled for the sentry in the darkness as he tied the craft to a rock. “Food! Fish and Beer, for my lord Baratheon!”The guards almost lept on their toes when they heard the yelling. Word of the event spread through the courtyard like wildfire and, quickly, one of the commanding knights on duty, bearing a turtle on the tabard, allowed the men to omen one of the small sea gates, in order to let Davos pass into the fortress with his load. The news reached Stannis himself, who hurried himself to the yard, where he expected to see the cause and origin of all the commotion. The smuggler named himself as Davos, and had started unloading the barrels from his boat. He was a weathered man, dark and slim, though in the thick rain all a man could see was a shape in a sodden black cloak. "Fine fish, meat and beer, at a good price for the Lord Baratheon!" He continued to bellow, straining to be heard amongst the garrison. They were laughing, joking, jostling, waiting for their lord to emerge even in their rabid hunger. It was no shame to say that their lean faces and hard eyes frightened him, though he accepted their adulation at his arrival as good enough word that they would not hurt him.
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Post by oznerol on May 30, 2023 14:02:13 GMT -5
The guards almost lept on their toes when they heard the yelling. Word of the event spread through the courtyard like wildfire and, quickly, one of the commanding knights on duty, bearing a turtle on the tabard, allowed the men to omen one of the small sea gates, in order to let Davos pass into the fortress with his load. The news reached Stannis himself, who hurried himself to the yard, where he expected to see the cause and origin of all the commotion. The smuggler named himself as Davos, and had started unloading the barrels from his boat. He was a weathered man, dark and slim, though in the thick rain all a man could see was a shape in a sodden black cloak. "Fine fish, meat and beer, at a good price for the Lord Baratheon!" He continued to bellow, straining to be heard amongst the garrison. They were laughing, joking, jostling, waiting for their lord to emerge even in their rabid hunger. It was no shame to say that their lean faces and hard eyes frightened him, though he accepted their adulation at his arrival as good enough word that they would not hurt him.
Said a very tall man, thin but wide of frame, black pitch hair, not so abundant and a sad gaze. "Your timely arrival spared us much shame. Rats are less than savory"The lord wore a tabard, mail and leather, a fine sword on the scabbard. "I'm Stannis, of House Baratheon. How could you break the blockade? Redwyne is no fool and these waters are dangerous"
The men were unloading the cargo. So many onions. And fish and cured meat. With water and the scarce supplies left they could last for a few months more. Enough for support to arrive. --- Tarly is granted a parlay on neutral ground, if he is willing to do as much. Baratheon refuses to say anything else.
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Post by Gandalf on May 30, 2023 14:25:39 GMT -5
"Aye, I am a smuggler, lord Stannis. I know these waters, and small boats pass by at night unseen."
Davos answered honestly, as he hauled the last barrel up to stand amongst the rest. He was panting, near to exhaustion, but still managed a bow.
"Salted beef and onions tastes much better than rats. That is why I came to sell them to you, milord."
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Post by Royal Joker on May 30, 2023 14:44:32 GMT -5
Randyll met with Stannis on neutral ground, the barest number of guards as had been agreed upon. The time of rest during the siege had given him some respite. His leg had begun to heal somewhat, and the pain was getting duller. Tarly, being the stubborn man that he was, had wasted no time getting back to training what little he could. He could walk with a cane if his leg was wrapped tight in bandages, though running any distance was out of the question. At least he could ride a horse again, though only at a soft trot.
He leaned against his cane and gave the young Baratheon a look-over. He almost felt pity for the starving lad.
"I commend your dedication to your duties, Sir Baratheon. Weaker men would have surrendered by now. You honor your house and your keep, and I can see that you no doubt have suffered just as your men no doubt have."
There was a tenacity in Stannis's eyes that spoke to Randyll. He could see the eyes of a good soldier... and a dangerous one.
"However, even us soldiers must sometimes put down our swords and talk. I trust my messenger delivered the news from the north?"
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Post by oznerol on May 30, 2023 16:21:30 GMT -5
"They fetch a far price when the people are starving"Acknowledged Stannis with a curt nod. "You're a smuggler. A baseborn criminal... But..."Baratheon looked the barrels. He removed a glove and grabbed an onion. Fat and juicy, recently harvested. "You fed the hungry, you did so out of some uncommon spirit or good will. This diserves a reward"Stannis looked back at Davos. "This is my price, I will make you a knight, Davos, and give you a tract of land of your choice that is mine to give and title of nobility. This will turn you into a retainer of mine. However, you must learn that Justice is to be observed. This world is not fair, if we don't make it"
He left the onion with its companions and puts his glove back. "I will have the first joint of each finger in one of your hands removed. The punishment owed to all that smuggle"The lord looked at Davos with somber eyes. Randyll met with Stannis on neutral ground, the barest number of guards as had been agreed upon. The time of rest during the siege had given him some respite. His leg had begun to heal somewhat, and the pain was getting duller. Tarly, being the stubborn man that he was, had wasted no time getting back to training what little he could. He could walk with a cane if his leg was wrapped tight in bandages, though running any distance was out of the question. At least he could ride a horse again, though only at a soft trot. He leaned against his cane and gave the young Baratheon a look-over. He almost felt pity for the starving lad. "I commend your dedication to your duties, Sir Baratheon. Weaker men would have surrendered by now. You honor your house and your keep, and I can see that you no doubt have suffered just as your men no doubt have."There was a tenacity in Stannis's eyes that spoke to Randyll. He could see the eyes of a good soldier... and a dangerous one. "However, even us soldiers must sometimes put down our swords and talk. I trust my messenger delivered the news from the north?"Stannis stood tall on the saddle. He wore leather, mail and iron. The banner behind him shows two stags facing each other -two for the secondborn son, a variant of the paternal arms. "Words are wind, more so coming from the enemy"He said, gritting his teeth. The jaw was tense, like the muscles of the neck. "I am Stannis of House Baratheon, my knees do not bend easily, Tarly"
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Post by Gandalf on May 31, 2023 3:57:35 GMT -5
Davos blinked, once and then twice, and wondered if he had heard right. Was this a dream? That he was cold and shivering told him it was not. This Stannis also did not look the type for jesting; the gathered men in the courtyard were held in a stunned silence.
He flexed his fingers on his left hand, and thought of his sons, of Marya.
”If you do the cutting, milord Stannis, I will accept that as a fair trade.”
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Post by oznerol on May 31, 2023 6:00:33 GMT -5
Davos blinked, once and then twice, and wondered if he had heard right. Was this a dream? That he was cold and shivering told him it was not. This Stannis also did not look the type for jesting; the gathered men in the courtyard were held in a stunned silence. He flexed his fingers on his left hand, and thought of his sons, of Marya. ”If you do the cutting, milord Stannis, I will accept that as a fair trade.”Soon thereafter they found themselves at the smithy. Stannis sat on a stool while the cleaver heated on the furnace. The lord had picked the blade to give Davos a clean cut.
"Have you given some thought to which name and arms will you chose for your house? A lord must have such things"He looked at the blade which Doyal Noye removed from the fire. The heated edge will keep away any kind of fever and assured the cut would be clean. Cressen, the chain around his wrinkled neck, waited nearby, with a frown. But he knew better, would not dare to say anything against Stannis' judgement.
"Ready?"Stannis was handed the cleaver. For a man trained in arms it would be an easy and quick affair.
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Post by Gandalf on May 31, 2023 8:14:40 GMT -5
Davos shivered, through from the cold or fear, he did not know.
He was staring at his fingers, splayed out on the anvil before him. Two men held him in place, rough arms keeping him steady so that their lord would not miss. When they had grabbed him, he had realised that Lord Stannis Baratheon was entirely serious.
”Arms?” He parroted with wide eyes, not quite understanding why this was being asked of him.
With a frown, he considered the ones he knew by sight. ”I fear all the good ones are taken, milord.”
Glancing around, his eyes fell upon one of the barrels, now broken open. Onions were being piled into sacks, to be stored for rationing.
”An onion, I think. Or a ship. Both, so I never forget the gesture.” He somehow doubted he would forget.
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