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Post by Gandalf on May 26, 2023 19:58:46 GMT -5
{Rebel Forces}Baratheon Host: 16,736
3347 Archers
10,041 Footmen
1673 Heavy Horse
1673 Light Horse
Arryn Host: 14,560
2912 Archers
8736 Footmen
1456 Light Horse
1456 Heavy Horse
Stark Host: 20,000
4000 Archers
14000 Footmen
1000 Light Horse
1000 Heavy Horse
Tully Host: 17,194
3438 Archers
10316 Footmen
1719 Heavy Horse
1719 Light Horse
{Royal Host:}Royal Army - 20,427 men
4,086 Archers
12,256 Footmen
2,042 Light Horse
2,043 Heavy Horse
Reachmen Army - 18,824 men
3764 Archers
11,292 Footmen
1882 Light Horse
1882 Heavy Horse
Dornish Army - 20,000 Men
4,000 Archers
10,000 Spearmen(Footmen)
4,000 Light Horse
2,000 Heavy Horse {Present Characters} Rebels:
Robert Baratheon
Eddard Stark
Jon Arryn
Hoster Tully
Brynden Blackfish
Denys Arryn
Walder Frey
Royals:
Rhaegar Targaryen
Jon Connington
Ser Lewyn Martell
Prince Oberyn Martell
Lord Ulrick Dayne
Ser Richard Lonmouth
Ser Myles Mooton
With the taste of blood on their tongues, Robert Baratheon's rebels made their march from Stony Sept to King's Landing. Dark rumours brought word that Robert sought to claim the crown for himself by virtue of conquest and bloodline, setting the capital into a panicked frenzy as the unthinkable suddenly seemed perilously close. All that lay between the destruction of the Targaryen dynasty and Robert Baratheon were the armies of Rhaegar Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone. Commanding a smaller army than the rebels, the Prince had chosen to defend the crossing of the Blackwater Rush from Gold Road to the west. The ten thousand banners of the royal host could be seen fluttering in the breeze from the city walls, and at their head rode the famed Prince in his black and ruby plate. Soon the rebel banners appeared from the west to match them. The rearing stag, the prowling direwolf, the soaring falcon and the leaping trout, leading thousands upon thousands more. It was an enormous host, slow and ponderous, covering the landscape like a bulging sore as it slithered eastwards. Robert's vanguard formed up in front of the river, the Lord of Storm's End assessing his chances. There was a stone bridge and at least two places to make a ford either side; fortunately the spring rains had not yet come in force, or else the river would have likely flooded scuppered any hope of a crossing here, where the river was at its most narrow. Even so, it would be difficult. The Prince of Dragonstone had heavily fortified each crossing. The bridge between the fords was held by the Rose of Tyrell, where no doubt Lord Mace would make his stand. On the right flapped the Red Dragon, the ruined host of Connington revitalised, where the water was most shallow. Left hung the Sun and Spear, where one man pointed out that the water was deeper, more treacherous to cross. ( oznerol orders please, RP as you please gents)
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Post by Gandalf on May 27, 2023 5:53:24 GMT -5
Trumpets ring as the archers advance, sending volleys across the river. Footmen scream and die in hails of arrows, and the first blood is spilt into the Blackwater.
Baratheon signals his advance on the northwards bridge, the massive combined force of the Stormlands and Vale trotting into the shallows to spill the blood of the Prince's men. Rhaegar spurs his horse forward. Lonmouth and Mooton were at his left, Ser Selmy at his right. Lord Connington's vanguard held the embankment as the chivalry of two kingdoms came rushing across to die at the points of spears and poleaxes. Baratheon barrelled in among them, a demon in the shallows on horseback, laying about with his hammer as he tried to make headway on the other side. Men and horses were dying all about him, screams filling the air as they fell. Some had their bodies taken away by the river, drowning in their armour as they floated downstream towards the city they would conquer. For all his endeavour, the royal line held, those banners unmoving. Ser Denys soon joined him, but even Lord Arryn's might did not cause the pendulum to sway. Connington, so eager for vengeance, spurred his horse too far into the water - and finds himself face to face with his sworn enemy, Robert Baratheon.
In the centre, Stark would lead the direwolf across the stone bridge, Northmen howling and hooting as they threw themselves wildly upon the lines of the Reach. Lord Mace had been commanded to hold the bridge, and so hold it he would. Soon the bodies began piling, and the melee there descended into a rough shoving match between the men of the south and their foes of winter. Both sides were paying terrible price, but the Northmen were no closer to making headway. Worse still for Lord Eddard, he sustains a wound in the fighting, though his adrenaline allows him to ignore it for the time being.
In the south, where the crossing was more treacherous, Lord Tully had been commanded to hold the line and wait for further instruction. The Dornishmen under Prince Lewyn and Prince Oberyn waited in anticipation, a few of the more boisterous shouting taunts across the shallows. But Lord Hoster did not move, and so both sides settled into a strange lull as they watched their comrades butcher each other furiously.
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Post by oznerol on May 27, 2023 6:05:45 GMT -5
Robert swings the hammer from side to side, taking delight and joy in the carnage. He did not pay much atention to anything but the rise and fall of the hammer. Another helmet caved in, another arm or leg broken, that was all that mattered. He fought fiercely, with great mirth and laughing as he did, like his many warrior ancestors. Like a storm he fell upon the crownlanders, a tower of man, atop a black horse. And then, he saw the twin gryffins, the red and white.
"Connington!"
He spurred his horse.
"Fiend, come face me! You baseborn bastard!"
Hammer high, the horse powerfully charging forward he rode like a thunderstorm. The Hand would come first, then the Prince...
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Post by Gandalf on May 27, 2023 6:30:29 GMT -5
Stag and Griffin dance in the water. Lord Robert struck like a thunderclap, landing a fierce blow on Connington's shield that broke the wood clean in two and jolted his arm up to the shoulder. With his shield now shattered and useless, it was all he could do to avoid being knocked from his horse. They fought valiantly, trading blows in the shallows, but slowly Connington was losing the battle, and he knew it. Baratheon was stronger, quicker. He wielded that hammer as if it were a toy, parrying and swinging the heavy steel with ease.
The Griffin decided to go down fighting, a curse upon his lips, kicking his horse swiftly to pass by his foe and land a fearsome blow on his torso with the battle-ax. Steel found mail, leather and flesh, and the roar of pain from Baratheon was the last thing he heard before the hammer came down upon his exposed back, sending him sprawling into the water to drown and choke upon his own blood. The fight raged on around them, uncaring.
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Post by oznerol on May 27, 2023 13:44:26 GMT -5
Baratheon howls. His retainers take the reins and bring the Stormlord back to the shore, as the battle raged and the lines stood, in a merciless carnage.
"Seven Hells"
Grunted Baratheon. His cousin Estermont gave Robert a hand unhorsing. The flesh had been torn and the wound was bleeding profusedly.
"He almost gut me like a fucking pig"
The gauntlet ran red with blood as it was spilled and went through his fingers. The maester would be called.
"Send word to Arryn. He has to fucking break the line now the Hand is roasting his arse in hell"
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Post by Gandalf on May 28, 2023 7:59:06 GMT -5
Ser Denys Arryn did as Lord Robert bid, and carried the Falcon across the bank to plant his standard at the other side. Eventually overwhelming mass told, and the Prince's men buckled. Rhaegar himself was struck from his mount, with Lonmouth and Mooton dragging him away from the field as Ser Selmy cut a path of retreat through Baratheon's knights. He was barely alive, leg shattered in several places by the weight of a fallen horse.
For the men carrying the dragon, all looked lost, as Stormlanders and Valesmen swarmed over the north side of the river. Cries of victory rang out over the river, but they were not for the stag.
In the centre, Stark's lines broke, and the Northmen were sent back across the bridge by Tyrell's heavy horse. Many broke and ran, followed by the thunder of hooves as Lord Mace's knights rode them down with ruthless abandon. Lord Eddard himself took another wound before falling into the hands of the foe. At his capture, many of the Stark bannermen simply threw down their arms and surrendered.
Seeing the carnage unfold and desperate to seize the momentum, Lord Hoster ordered his own banners across the river, only to meet a bristle of Dornish spears on the other side. Prince Lewyn and Prince Oberyn drove back assault after assault, before the latter lead a sortie of heavy horse into the shallows that broke the Tully lines completely. They retreated straight into the welcome arms of the Reachmen, who gladly obliged in killing them by the thousand. Lord Hoster cut his way out with his surviving knights, managing to rally some of the escaping Rivermen and Northmen back to Riverrun.
With no reserve to shore up the lines, the western embankment was now overrun. Soon, Reachmen were in the Baratheon encampment, completely cutting off any hope of Lord Robert's retreat. One party found Lord Arryn himself, attempting to rally fleeing men. Intending to capture him, they knocked him from his horse - only to find the elderly lord had been killed in the fall.
Thus as the royal lines reformed and the Dornish swivelled to face the threat of the Stormlanders, Lord Robert found he had enemies in front and behind him as he tried to cross back over the river to the aid of his allies. Men began to break and flee, only to run into the waiting lances of the Reachlords. They began to throw their arms down by the hundred, not willing to fight. Surrounded with no hope of escape, Lord Robert had no choice but to surrender.
The rebellion was over.
Royal victory
Rebels:
8674 Rivermen and Northmen retreat up the Gold Road under Lord Hoster, who escapes
Robert Baratheon is captured
Lord Eddard is captured and wounded - unable to fight for a day
Lord Jon is killed
Ser Denys is captured
Black Walder is captured
Robert gains +1 warfare for winning two single combat battles.
Royals:
976 Royal Casualties
368 Tyrell Casualties
563 Dornish Casualties
Prince Rhaegar wounded with a permanently damaged leg
Prince Oberyn sustains a minor injury
All others survive.
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Post by Gandalf on May 28, 2023 10:09:34 GMT -5
Rhaegar heard the scream of agony as his horse buckled, a lance having hit it square in the chest. With a sickening crunch, he hit the bed of the stream, and his agonised scream was muffled by the water as unimaginable pain shot through his right leg.
Water filled his lungs. Fear filled him as his heart thundered, drumming as if it would burst. Shadows moved above him, steel in hand. Men fell to join him in the water. In this, they were all equal. No matter what banner a man flied, whether he was prince or peasant, they would share this final rest. His leg would not move, and after a few moments he ceased to struggle. His lungs were burning, and when he opened his mouth again they would surely fill. There were worse ways to die.
Two shadows stood over him, and he was dimly aware of a man in black and red hauling him up from the water. His leg was a ruin, and he screamed in pain at the sight of it. It looked wrong, twisted like a rope into a knot, bone jutting out at the shin. It was the last thing he saw before the world went dark.
When he awoke, it was in his tent, aching and sore, eyes burning as they adjusted to the light. A fog hung over his mind, thick as peat, and for all he tried he could not pierce it to think clearly. At first he thought it had been a dream, before he tried to stand and found that he could not. Selmy had stayed for days to watch him, and though wearied the aged knight had not lapsed in his vigil. Eventually the Prince was made to understand that they had won, despite his near death, and that the rebels were utterly broken. Milk of the Poppy sapped his energy, and his heavy lidded eyes fought against him.
"Fetch me Lewyn." He murmured, raising his hand weakly to gesture outside the tent. Pallid and sweaty, he looked half a corpse, and matted silver hair hanging in clumped threads about his bared shoulders. His leg was covered by blankets and dressings and tied to a pair of wooden splints, though he could not even feel it. "I must know... Who lived."
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Post by Magnate Lucius on May 28, 2023 11:05:49 GMT -5
It didn't take long for word to spread of Lord Jon's death. The grief of Denys was uncontrolled as he remained imprisoned along with other nobles and notables of the once grand army of Robert Baratheon's cause. Jon Arryn had been a prudent Lord of the Vale, calm and wise beyond his years. He had a trusting demeanor and was a kind person to both family and otherwise, like Eddard and Robert, who viewed him as a second father. Fate had been cruel by taking so many of his family away and yet Jon prevailed to the very end, keeping his head high. He had been the first to raise his banners in defense of Stark and Baratheon... but now... he was dead. Falling from his horse and likely breaking his neck upon impact. The Vale had lost a most wonderful ruler.
Many of the Valemen, captured, looked at Denys now. De fact, he was to be Lord Paramount, but that all depended on the sentencing by Rhaegar. Hopefully he, and not the Mad King, would be the judge. For if it were the latter, they would all be burned surely. Burned as traitors and rebels while the Mad King screamed all manner of things.
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Post by Royal Joker on May 28, 2023 11:53:06 GMT -5
Hoster looked back wearily as he led the retreating rivermen and northmen away from the battlefield. It had been a disaster, and Hoster blamed himself for his inaction during the early parts of the battle. Had he moved quicker, perhaps things would have turned out differently. The bitter taste of bile filled his mouth. The sight of the battlefield was unbearable, leaving so many loyal and true warriors to die at the hands of the Mad King. Yet there was nothing he could do but march north. North towards respite, north towards Riverrun.
A few lordly banners belonging to the Riverlands and the North he could spot in what remained of his army. Yet the houses of Stark, Baratheon, and Arryn were missing. It stung to see such loss and he prayed for their safety. Hoster even missed the weaselly presence of Black Walder Frey - though a spawn of Old Walder, he had proven himself a loyal bannerman. As he rode on, Hoster's thoughts shifted to his children - Cat, Lysa, Edmure... what would he tell his children?
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trot
Veteran 
Posts: 77
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Post by trot on May 28, 2023 12:03:20 GMT -5
Rhaegar heard the scream of agony as his horse buckled, a lance having hit it square in the chest. With a sickening crunch, he hit the bed of the stream, and his agonised scream was muffled by the water as unimaginable pain shot through his right leg. Water filled his lungs. Fear filled him as his heart thundered, drumming as if it would burst. Shadows moved above him, steel in hand. Men fell to join him in the water. In this, they were all equal. No matter what banner a man flied, whether he was prince or peasant, they would share this final rest. His leg would not move, and after a few moments he ceased to struggle. His lungs were burning, and when he opened his mouth again they would surely fill. There were worse ways to die. Two shadows stood over him, and he was dimly aware of a man in black and red hauling him up from the water. His leg was a ruin, and he screamed in pain at the sight of it. It looked wrong, twisted like a rope into a knot, bone jutting out at the shin. It was the last thing he saw before the world went dark. When he awoke, it was in his tent, aching and sore, eyes burning as they adjusted to the light. A fog hung over his mind, thick as peat, and for all he tried he could not pierce it to think clearly. At first he thought it had been a dream, before he tried to stand and found that he could not. Selmy had stayed for days to watch him, and though wearied the aged knight had not lapsed in his vigil. Eventually the Prince was made to understand that they had won, despite his near death, and that the rebels were utterly broken. Milk of the Poppy sapped his energy, and his heavy lidded eyes fought against him. "Fetch me Lewyn." He murmured, raising his hand weakly to gesture outside the tent. Pallid and sweaty, he looked half a corpse, and matted silver hair hanging in clumped threads about his bared shoulders. His leg was covered by blankets and dressings and tied to a pair of wooden splints, though he could not even feel it. "I must know... Who lived." It would not take the Prince's attendants long to find Prince Lewyn he was moving organizing some of the captured Tully soldiers into lines. His white cloak still stained with the battlefield dirt and grime. At least few of his own men were killed, but the Prince's wound was serious, and it was not clear he would survive the day. Lord Hoster Tully had escaped, but with the hosts of the rebels decimated there was little the man would be able to do. At the attendants summons Prince Lewyn turned and went to the Prince. Lewyn pauses as he enters and listens to the Prince. "Ser Connington fell on the battlefield fighting Robert Baratheon." He pauses examining the Prince. "We have captured both Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, and Jon Arryn died in the fighting. Hoster Tully however managed to fight his way free, but with so few remaining men I doubt he will be able to mount much resistance." Lewyn pauses again uneasy. His mind flashing back to the day of Rickard Starks execution. Cooked alive in a suit of armor. It was the fate that awaited these men back at the capital. "I believe it would be best to send a force to lay siege to Riverrun and convince Lord Hoster to Stand down."
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Post by Gandalf on May 28, 2023 12:26:27 GMT -5
Rhaegar winced as he propped himself up onto his elbows. A servant came in and pushed a cup of water to his lips, and he gulped down greedily. A few droplets fell onto his bare chest, broad and hairless.
"So few live." He blinked, and strained his eyes to concentrate. His tone sharpened suddenly. "No. I will have no more bloodshed, Ser... It is done." It was an effort for him to force the words out, though he managed through gritted teeth.
"Selmy told me I will walk again, if I am lucky." A part of him wanted to laugh as he sat up in the bed, gasping as the sensation started to return to his aching limbs. The Gods played many tricks with the lives of men, it seemed. Nothing in his dreams had warned him of this. "If I am lucky. I am lucky enough to live, I think. I have not survived hell to see more men die on my account."
He lifted a hand, as if reaching out.
"Send a rider to Lord Hoster... I will offer... Truce, peace, if he forfeits his arms and rides to speak with me..."
Gods, but he was exhausted. He fought the urge to sleep as it tried to overpower him. His stomach growled, and he realised suddenly that he had not eaten for days.
"The rest... I will speak with them, after I am cleaned and dressed."
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Post by oznerol on May 28, 2023 14:14:59 GMT -5
Robert had fought, but Stark had fallen, and the falcon was no-where to be seen. With his erstwhile allies and friends either gone or killed Baratheon tasted true defeat. Bleeding badly from an abdominal wound he had still managed to wrestle several men-at-arms but, in the end, it was unavoidable. Armour dented, antlers broken and guts almost spilled the Stormlord was a ruin to behold. He knew he would rather die now than later at the hands of the Mad King or his lecher of a son, so he hoped blood loss and wound would claim him to an untimely grave. Robert would only regret not having reclaimed his bride and leave his brothers in such a sorry state.
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trot
Veteran
Posts: 77
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Post by trot on May 28, 2023 14:34:12 GMT -5
Rhaegar winced as he propped himself up onto his elbows. A servant came in and pushed a cup of water to his lips, and he gulped down greedily. A few droplets fell onto his bare chest, broad and hairless. "So few live." He blinked, and strained his eyes to concentrate. His tone sharpened suddenly. "No. I will have no more bloodshed, Ser... It is done." It was an effort for him to force the words out, though he managed through gritted teeth. "Selmy told me I will walk again, if I am lucky." A part of him wanted to laugh as he sat up in the bed, gasping as the sensation started to return to his aching limbs. The Gods played many tricks with the lives of men, it seemed. Nothing in his dreams had warned him of this. "If I am lucky. I am lucky enough to live, I think. I have not survived hell to see more men die on my account."He lifted a hand, as if reaching out. "Send a rider to Lord Hoster... I will offer... Truce, peace, if he forfeits his arms and rides to speak with me..."Gods, but he was exhausted. He fought the urge to sleep as it tried to overpower him. His stomach growled, and he realised suddenly that he had not eaten for days. "The rest... I will speak with them, after I am cleaned and dressed." Lewyn says after a moment of hesitation. "You are in no shape to move about right now." He pauses considering. "You know what the king will want to do once word of there capture reaches the capital. What terms do you intend to offer?"
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Post by Gandalf on May 28, 2023 14:50:59 GMT -5
Rhaegar reluctantly grunted his assent. Lewyn was right. If he wanted to move anywhere, he would have to be carried in a litter, for he could not even sit a horse until the bone was set.
"Clemency... I will offer clemency, on my honour." More servants entered, this time with platters of bread, cheeses, and sweetmeats.
"We will take hostages from the rebel lords. Have the prisoners cleaned and their dressed, make sure... They are treated well." He said between mouthfuls, not bothering to conceal his hunger. "His Grace can do little while we have all of our men in the field, but I dare not risk the safety of my family. We must act quickly..."
Precious days had been lost to this wound. Events were in danger of spinning away from them, and despite the pain and fatigue he had to act. There was still the issue of what to do with Baratheon - the man had intended to make himself king, and for all his righteousness that was the direst of treasons.
"We will march to Harrenhal. I intend to call a council."
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trot
Veteran
Posts: 77
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Post by trot on May 28, 2023 15:38:29 GMT -5
Lewyn nods and bows to the Prince. "I will ensure the prisoners are treated well." Doran would need to be informed of the council. "By your leave." Once the prince assents Lewyn returns to the Dornish encampment and issues orders to several men, and then turns to get himself cleaned and ready to receive the rebels.
It would be several hours before the prisoners were brought under armed guard to the Dornish portion of the the camp. Their wounds had been cared for and they were given a chance to clean up. Eddard Stark, Robert Baratheon, and Ser Denys Arryn were presented to the Prince Lewyn now in a clean White cloak. The man examines the traitors for a moment before speaking.
"My lords it's time for this rebellion to come to an intend. Your armies have been broken and there is little to be gained by continuing this affair. Prince Rheagar has little desire to see more bloodshed. He is offering you all clemency. You will reswear your oaths to the crown, and each of your houses will provide a family member to be fostered at the capital." He pauses looking at the rebel lords. "Are these terms acceptable my lords?"
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