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Post by Royal Joker on Jun 12, 2020 16:43:08 GMT -5
"Bring me both Greyjoys"Said Stannis, who sat atop his horse, clad again in full armor, the visor raised and the circlet atop his great war helm. Soon thereafter, Asha was brought before the king -with no shackles- by her Mormont guardian, the she-bear wearing plate, boiled leader and mail, like many others of her ilk, purported to be shapeshifters. Theon, who had been quite useful, came with his sister. The king turned his severe frow to face them both, the sole remaining offspring born from the loins of Balon Greyjoy, so-called king on the Iron Islands. "Asha, come hither. You said you wanted to fight, didn't you?"
"Aye, I would. I don't know how far I'll get with this foot, but put a weapon in my hand and I'll make good use of it against those Bolton bastards."
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 12, 2020 16:46:30 GMT -5
"Fucking Wyman Manderly."
Cursed Damon, swinging blindly at the Manderly retainer.
"Get back to the column, lads, these are traitors!"
The bastard's boys likewise sped into a gallop, with Damon and his boys hoping to return to the Bolton column to warn Roose of the treachery.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 12, 2020 16:49:20 GMT -5
"Bring me both Greyjoys"Said Stannis, who sat atop his horse, clad again in full armor, the visor raised and the circlet atop his great war helm. Soon thereafter, Asha was brought before the king -with no shackles- by her Mormont guardian, the she-bear wearing plate, boiled leader and mail, like many others of her ilk, purported to be shapeshifters. Theon, who had been quite useful, came with his sister. The king turned his severe frow to face them both, the sole remaining offspring born from the loins of Balon Greyjoy, so-called king on the Iron Islands. "Asha, come hither. You said you wanted to fight, didn't you?"
"Aye, I would. I don't know how far I'll get with this foot, but put a weapon in my hand and I'll make good use of it against those Bolton bastards." Said Stannis. "For long my men have wanted to burn you, Asha. But you shall not, you shall prove your worth today. Bring her a horse!"His gaze is stern below the openned visor. A stallion is promptly brought, the reins handed to the Greyjoy. Stannis' steel-clad hand then points to the islet where a godtree grew, alone, its twisted branches heavy with snow.
"You shall raise your arms in there. Bring your brother with you, if he still has some fight inside him"If Stannis was a man who could smile, he would, albeit very slightly.
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Post by pontifex on Jun 12, 2020 17:13:35 GMT -5
Lord Lester's blade was covered in gore shortly after the lines met. he darted from behind his shield to strike killing blows. The Freys were weak, demoralized probably. They were far from home as he was, but he fought with a purpose. "Stannis! Stannis King!" was his war cry as he headbutted a man-at-arms in the face, instantly shattering his nose. Their line held, even as a spear caught the man next to him in the thread. "Shields up men, do not let down your guard! Forward!" As the Crowned Stag banner advanced, the Frey line eventually bent, folded, and broke. Lord Morrigen did not follow in the pursuit. He knew this could not be the full strength of the enemy. But where were they? Hiding in ambush? Still in the castle? Why would they sally forth with only half their strength unless they had vastly underestimated Stannis? Too many questions to be answered now. He went to where his brother would have been fighting, in his section of the line, and it was not long before he spotted the Crows of House Morrigen sewn and dirty on a surcoat. He was laying in a shallow pool of blood. "Richard, brother?" There was no response. He still lived, but he was unconscious. His helm was dented, which bore the tale out easily enough. A man with an arm wound was walking about aimlessly. "You there! Drag my brother back to camp, now!" With his brother cared for as best as was possible in this frozen hell, Lester sought out the banner of the king through the winds, and walked to it.
"Your Grace!" He shouted above the wind to his King. "Ser Richard is incapacitated." The gore was freezing on his blade even as he spoke. "Command me sire, where would you have me fight?"
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Post by oznerol on Jun 12, 2020 17:19:54 GMT -5
Lord Lester's blade was covered in gore shortly after the lines met. he darted from behind his shield to strike killing blows. The Freys were weak, demoralized probably. They were far from home as he was, but he fought with a purpose. "Stannis! Stannis King!" was his war cry as he headbutted a man-at-arms in the face, instantly shattering his nose. Their line held, even as a spear caught the man next to him in the thread. "Shields up men, do not let down your guard! Forward!" As the Crowned Stag banner advanced, the Frey line eventually bent, folded, and broke. Lord Morrigen did not follow in the pursuit. He knew this could not be the full strength of the enemy. But where were they? Hiding in ambush? Still in the castle? Why would they sally forth with only half their strength unless they had vastly underestimated Stannis? Too many questions to be answered now. He went to where his brother would have been fighting, in his section of the line, and it was not long before he spotted the Crows of House Morrigen sewn and dirty on a surcoat. He was laying in a shallow pool of blood. "Richard, brother?" There was no response. He still lived, but he was unconscious. His helm was dented, which bore the tale out easily enough. A man with an arm wound was walking about aimlessly. "You there! Drag my brother back to camp, now!" With his brother cared for as best as was possible in this frozen hell, Lester sought out the banner of the king through the winds, and walked to it. "Your Grace!" He shouted above the wind to his King. "Ser Richard is incapacitated." The gore was freezing on his blade even as he spoke. "Command me sire, where would you have me fight?" Said Stannis, a rider was dispatched back to camp, to bring and warn the camp surgeon, who was adept at cleaning and treating the grievous battle wounds: he could pull and arrow shaft and amputate a limb with the help of a saw.
"You will take all the cavalry, Lord Lester"
He stood on the stirrups, visor raised, surrounded by his sworn swords, like Godry Farring. "Take the horse and fall on their flank and rear. I shall hold the center myself. I trust you will do your best"Coming from a man like Stannis trust was no small thing.
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Post by pontifex on Jun 12, 2020 17:34:38 GMT -5
"They will fall beneath our hooves in the name of the one true King of Westeros, sire." Lord Lester replied. He turned and called to his squire, whom he had ordered to remain with the reserves until now, and was made ready to lead a charge. It was some moments before the lad was even aware of what was happening, shivering as he was in his boiled leather. Some heavier plate must be attached, his lance, tipped with steel and not merely some tourney play thing, hafted in place. His shield, bloodied and dented, was strapped to his side. When he was made ready he called out. His own squire lifted the banner of House Morrigen, a black crow on a field of white - a fitting badge in this bleak landscape. "Knights, to me!" he called "Make ready to charge!" He did not bother to see how many had come, he would do his duty regardless of their numbers.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 12, 2020 18:06:39 GMT -5
Stannis simply nodded as Lester left in a hurry, Morrigen's horse thunderously galloping away. The king then looked to his the heart of the blizzard raging before him and his army. Horns could be heard in the distance, distant and faint, and standards could be glanced in the horizon, a massed line of men approached Baratheon's host, an army marching under the cruel array of flayed men in bloody pink fields. Clarions sang and banners were waved, the men raised shields and weapons, arrows were planted in the ground, hundreds taken and readied to be released upon the enemy's heads. The king stood, surrounded by bannermen, allies and sworn swords, grinding his teeth, jaws locked, ready to fight for a last time, if needed. The sword, Lightbringer, that of a messiah, was released from its scabbard, covering the surroundings with light. The Baratheon lowered his visor and everywhere around him men did as much. A crow sang a song of war, perched in a tree, watchful.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jun 12, 2020 18:24:17 GMT -5
"Fucking Wyman Manderly." Cursed Damon, swinging blindly at the Manderly retainer. "Get back to the column, lads, these are traitors!" The bastard's boys likewise sped into a gallop, with Damon and his boys hoping to return to the Bolton column to warn Roose of the treachery. Despite Manderlys best attempts, Damon manages to stay ahead of the pursuing riders. A final attempt is made when the 'Frey' riders come from the flanks, but again, are unable to catch Damon as he rides back to Bolton's lines. As a result, Roose becomes aware of Manderly's total treachery and that the Freys were destroyed by not only Stannis's troops, but also the traitorous Manderlys.
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Post by perry on Jun 12, 2020 18:34:49 GMT -5
The Bolton men slipped through their fingers, the riders regroup and pull back toward their main force. Luckily the snow still obscured their position, and in their smaller numbers they would be less likely to be found. The Manderlys pivoted, moving from their position next to the lake. The Boltons still had to face Stannis, they simply new the Manderlys were coming now. Little could change. The die cast.
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Post by pontifex on Jun 12, 2020 18:45:33 GMT -5
ooc: can we get a little moderator help with logistically what the field looks like now?
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jun 12, 2020 18:50:39 GMT -5
MapIgnore the drawings, that was done by Barry in the battle before. As the scouts returned, and Manderly reformed their position for the battle ahead, a great gust of wind blows over the battlefield, revealing, momentarily, the two formations of Bolton and Baratheon. Ramsay stood at the center of his father's troops, ready to lead them head long to take the head of the King on the Wall. Roose, himself, eyed the battlefield quietly, looking and scanning. His cavalry reserve formed up, ready to commit to any action that the Warden of the North desired to make. This was to be it: the battle that decided the fate of the North! Would Bolton prevail and secure his reign or would the Rh'llor god be with Stannis and ensure his victory over the traitorous Northmen?  The battle began with command after command was made as Northmen archers loosed arrows at Stannis's formation. After several were loosed, Ramsay ordered his charge, drawing his sword and bellowing loudly. The Northmen charged, wielding sword, spear, and axe as they lunged forward and hurtled towards the Baratheon line which was line of shields, bristling with spears. Yet, as the Bastard of Bolton charged, his eyes would spy a familiar banner on the right: the Greyjoy banner. A small group formed around it, led by Asha Greyjoy. If she was there, then likely Reek was too! Would the lure to regain his personal slave outdo his father's command?
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Post by oznerol on Jun 12, 2020 19:04:04 GMT -5
"Raise shields"
The order was uttered by many more mouths after the king uttered them. The shafts splinterred against raised oak and steek, glanced of plate and at times sent a man down, bleeding, either wounded or dead. However, it was now the turn for the Baratheon king's archers. The crossbowmen from the Stormlands, with heavy weapons of iron and wood, loosened their bolts at the incoming Northmen, with the sheer ferocity of their composite arms. The Northmen unleashed their arrows, shot with bows long and short, wooden and made of bone. Hissing death raining over the charging Boltons and their allies.
"Steady. Hold the ground! Steady! Wilde, make sure the men of the Rainwood do not falter"
Said Stannis, rather softly, as merely having his cup filled during a banquet, his orders were conveyed as they left the regal and thin lips. The shields, painted with foxes and roses, sleeping lions, gallant knights, stags, fiery hearts, hay, turtles and many more locked up, forming a solid shieldwall. Spears and pikes were raised, turning the formation into a deadly hedgedog of steel and oak. The center would hold. That much did Stannis think as he grinned his teeth from within the helmet, his war banner fluttering over his head. He did not pray. There was no need.
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Post by pontifex on Jun 12, 2020 19:05:13 GMT -5
Arrows began raining down among his men. Some of them glanced harmlessly off his plate, others found their mark among those who could not afford to armor themselves so thickly. Lord Lester Morrigen couched his lance. "For Stannis, Stannis King!" He cried, and the others took up the call. "Stannis, Stannis!" He spurred his horse and began the charge, his lance falling into place. He led the men to the left of the line, to crumple their lines from the flank as the King commanded. Their blow would fall hardest here. His crow banner flapped as he charged, the extreme right of the Bolton lines came into view as the snow seemed to clear. His visor was down, Lord Morrigen's actions came as if by instinct, he had done this hundreds of times before, either in the practice yard as a young lad or in battle as in recent years. He picked his target, knowing that his charger would kick down several others nearby. He aimed at the upper chest. The spearman brought his shield up to block the blow but it made no matter. His lance punched through the shield and transfixed the man where he stood. Lester lost no time in drawing his sword with the off hand. Still ahorse, he rained down death blows among the Dreadfort men. "Death! Death! Death!" he shouted.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 12, 2020 19:22:18 GMT -5
Bolton’s war horns sounded as they arrayed in their battle lines. Ramsay held the vanguard of the Bolton troops, the Dreadfort’s hardiest soldiers that had served Roose Bolton throughout the entirety of his campaigns in the Riverlands. They were grim-faced northerners, clad in mail and furs, and would carry out the Lord of the Dreadfort’s will whether his son chose to or not. They marched up between the lakes on foot, the Bastard himself at their head with his standard bearer, waving the Flayed Man impaled with the Wolf of Winterfell. Ramsay wore no shield, carrying instead a sword and a cruelly spiked mace. At the right rode Ryswell, with the light horse, and at the left marched Hother Umber’s greybeards, a tattered banner depicting the chained giant signalling their position. Lord Bolton himself brought up the rear of the army, looking over the pieces moving as a lesser man would playing cyvasse, his gaze utterly without a hint of any emotion as his dead eyes surveyed the battlefield. Where Manderly was, he did not know, but the reserve was ready for the appearance of the Mer-Men and to strike hard and fast against their lines.
Even through the sheet of wind and ice, Ramsay saw the fluttering Kraken by the watchtower, as well as the Greyjoy bitch that stood watch there with a paltry number of men. Bolton raised his axe and roared a war cry, blood boiling with the rage that overcame him and overwhelmed with the anxiety of battle.
”REEK! I’m coming for you, betrayer! And your bitch sister!”
The Lord of Winterfell led his personal guard straight for the Greyjoy banners, leaving a stupefied Lord Locke to continue the advance towards Stannis’s lines. Roose watched the carnage unfold from afar, a smile tugging gently at his pale lips as he spotted Ramsay’s banner crossing the Ice.
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Post by perry on Jun 12, 2020 19:41:51 GMT -5
The Mer-Men formed up lines once more, they could hear the battle coming, even through the wisps of wind and ice. This would be the day and the time, a worthy death for a worthy few. Their banners flew above them, the Merman, green tail and all, set upon a teal background. They would strike from the southern (?) flank, though Bolton knew they were coming now so they would likely face a count measure they knew, this would not be as easy as facing the Freys. The knights of White Harbor formed up, their plan of attack directed by the Lord of Lard. "Today is not a day to die, but if you do, be sure to bring a traitor with you!" The head of the knightly retinue cried. "For King Robb! For Eddard! For the NORTH!" The men put hoof to snow, as they advanced, once they were close enough they would charge at full force.
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