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Post by Gandalf on Jun 11, 2023 4:05:25 GMT -5
Grand Admiral Chesser poachoznerolMagnate LuciusSer Jaime would recognise the banners of his father’s men; the golden sun of the Leffords, the leaping dogs of Clegane, the snarling boar of Crakehall. They had piled in through the River Gate, scattering the Goldcloaks before them, and now spread out along the city streets in all directions, killing indiscriminately whether their quarry were armed or not.
Houses were broken into or torched, valuables seized and smallfolk dragged into the street to be butchered. Blood mixed with the filth in the streets, and soon the stench of blood and murder became pungent.
The fighting was spreading out onto the walls, with the Lion of Casterly Rock now dancing above the gatehouse. A rider went to lord Tywin to inform him of their victory, and that the way into the city was open. The message spread all around the encampment; the city was at their mercy.
Alongside the Westermen came the Dornish, the Sun and Spear of the Martells dancing through the cobbled streets. Their goal was clear: the Red Keep loomed above the city, and Oberyn would lead the knights of Dorne on a maddened ride around the Hoof and up Aegon’s Hill. With all the troops atop the walls, they met almost no resistance, though they would surely find the gates of the Aegonfort barred to their entry.
With the fighting now spreading, both the defenders and the besiegers slowly become aware that the forces of the Prince are inside the city. For the defenders, this is a nightmare come true, and many Goldcloaks simply throw their spears down and flee. However, the levies raised from the Crownlands remain loyal and willing to defend the king.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 11, 2023 4:15:52 GMT -5
”What? You are certain?”
Rhaegar had returned to his tent to await the eventual return of Ser Darry. There had been no sight of the Kingsguard man’s reappearance, and so the Prince had been busying himself playing a game of cyvasse with his squire. Whent’s dragon had just fallen sidewards, leaving the King undefended.
”There can be no bloodshed in the city.” Panic cracked through the usual calmness. They had men in the city, with no real commander to control their worst excesses. He rushed from his tent, grunting in frustration as several men had to help lift him into the saddle. He still only wore mail and leathers. ”No time.” Their protests were swat away like flies. The royal standard was readied as every able bodied knight who could sit a horse was rushing to fasten their breastplate and find their horse.
”To the River Gate!” Boomed the command, and with his good leg he spurred his midnight palfrey to the head of the quickly arrayed column of steel and horseflesh that now galloped like madmen towards the city gates.
—
Lyonel had been swift to join the party of Westermen at the gates, smashing into gaggle of poorly-armed goldcloaks that had assembled a motley defence of the Gatehouse. His lance drove through a watchman like a knife going through cheese, leaving his foeman a bloodied ruin in the dirt. Turning in his saddle, he drove steel into the throat of another man who had lain rough hand on his bridle. Then another man fell, and then another. Young boys, grey old men, it did not matter. A strange euphoria was upon him, an exhilaration that he had not found in anything else but this destructive violence. The enemy seemed to melt before him, turning to scatter in all directions, even into the river itself. Soon the men of the West were through the gates, into the city. Wherever the slaughter continued was where he would go.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jun 11, 2023 12:10:44 GMT -5
The Dayne banners followed the charge of the Dornish. Although, Lord Ulrick did not lead them. He was hardly a warrior in comparison to the Sword of the Morning, his brother, and his cousin, Ser Mors of High Hermitage. And so, command of his detachment was given to Mors. He may not be a warrior, but Ulrick was at least smart enough to know who was best given the duty. And so, along with those such as Blackmont, Jordayne, Uller, and Yronwood, Ser Mors led the Dayne contingent into the city as they charged forth. The city was in total disarray given the sudden entry of troops, loyal to Prince Rhaegar. The Goldcloaks were already in a full blown rout... poor excuse for a City Watch they were. Perhaps even boys were placed in their ranks to shore up their numbers.
Ser Mors looked about as the other Dornish detachments fanned out throughout the city. No orders were given to their house by Oberyn, so Mors decided to follow with his contingent towards the Red Keep.
================================
Harwyn Vikary followed the knights, led by House Kenning, his immediate liege. They were mixed in with the knights of the Westerlands that also charged forth. The male had been, for a time, in a disillusioned mindset after meeting with Ser Quentyn near the Kingswood. Even now, the visions of the fire still flashed in his mind. So when his sword was drawn, ready to charge, while others utter cries of the Seven, Ser Vikary took a moment to reflect on who to cry out for.
In a quiet voice, he muttered the Lord of Light's name and joined in the advance that broke through King's Landing walls and shattered the Goldcloaks.
Soon, the city's streets were awash with blood and screams.
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Post by Grand Admiral Chesser on Jun 11, 2023 18:23:48 GMT -5
Watching with apt fascination and horror at the chaos erupting around him, Jaime's heart was filled with a weight of confliction; an oath sworn to protect a man he no longer thought worth protecting, versus the bonds of family. Was this his fathers doing, the Prince's, did it really matter. The twank of a bowstring pulled him from his momentary daze. He needed to move.
Galloping onwards through the crowded streets, a detachment of Goldcloaks at his side. Around him screams filled the air and blood the streets, as the numerous denizens of the city fled in a futile effort to escape the oncoming onslaught. Up ahead in the direction of the gate the 3 headed dragon banner was being replaced with a snarling lion.
Turning a corner he almost rode into a group of knights from House Clegane. Cursing Jaime quickly swung around on his horse, watching in disappointment as his escort of Goldcloaks was quickly diminished. Bolting his horse past two surprised guardsmen down a winding street he soon emerged in an open courtyard closer to the city walls where he found himself faced with more Westerman men, this time the banners of House Lefford. Seeing little escape, Jaime reigned back his horse and quickly wrenched free his helmet, his golden hair billowing in the midday sun; Figuring it best to be recognizable when so many of these men had their blood up.
Coming to a decision, Jaime used his sword to cut free a section of his white cloak and wrapped it around the blade, before holding it aloft.
Back on the other side of the walls, Tywin rode beside the Prince as word of the assault reached them.
Shouting orders toward a handful of messengers, "Send word to my commanders to focus their assault on the Aegonfort, drive off any opposition, but let any wise or craven enough to surrender do so. I want the city taken in one piece." Tywin knew from experience how quickly things could get out of hand. "Tell them to reign in our men and get them organized and prepared to push inwards. This fight is with the king not the people of Kings Landing." Spurring his horse, he quickly rode after the Prince.
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Post by poach on Jun 12, 2023 3:28:25 GMT -5
Watching with apt fascination and horror at the chaos erupting around him, Jaime's heart was filled with a weight of confliction; an oath sworn to protect a man he no longer thought worth protecting, versus the bonds of family. Was this his fathers doing, the Prince's, did it really matter. The twank of a bowstring pulled him from his momentary daze. He needed to move. Galloping onwards through the crowded streets, a detachment of Goldcloaks at his side. Around him screams filled the air and blood the streets, as the numerous denizens of the city fled in a futile effort to escape the oncoming onslaught. Up ahead in the direction of the gate the 3 headed dragon banner was being replaced with a snarling lion. Turning a corner he almost rode into a group of knights from House Clegane. Cursing Jaime quickly swung around on his horse, watching in disappointment as his escort of Goldcloaks was quickly diminished. Bolting his horse past two surprised guardsmen down a winding street he soon emerged in an open courtyard closer to the city walls where he found himself faced with more Westerman men, this time the banners of House Lefford. Seeing little escape, Jaime reigned back his horse and quickly wrenched free his helmet, his golden hair billowing in the midday sun; Figuring it best to be recognizable when so many of these men had their blood up. Coming to a decision, Jaime used his sword to cut free a section of his white cloak and wrapped it around the blade, before holding it aloft. As the band of Westermen troops reached Jaime, they fanned out around him into something of a defensive circle. As the gates remained open and the Dornish were swarming through in ever-greater numbers, there was little fight left in the few defenders present at the gatehouse. Though it seemed likely to Raymar that the King had escaped on his ship, doing so had cost him the city. "Ser Jaime, there is no need to surrender yourself to us, the loyal bannermen of your own father." said Raymar, offering the Kingsguard his hand in friendship, "though I must now take you to him, both for his own relief and for your defence: the cape and armour of a Kingsguard inside the city could have you taken as a target by Prince Rhaegar's forces." Raymar and the Westermen about him took Jaime back through the gate. As they traveled, Raymar updated Jaime on the events that had transpired: the Great Council, Rhaegar's diplomacy with the rebel lords, Lord Velaryon's arrival and stand-off with the Prince, the Prince's declaration of his own rebellion against the Crown, and the presence of much of the realm's Lords Paramount, including House Lannister, within the Prince's coalition. "Would you have any information on my son, perhaps?" asked Raymar as they neared the personal banner of Lord Tywin himself, the reunion of father and son (Lannister and Lefford both, as it was likely Raymar's own father Harmund rode with Tywin), "he was in the city along with other young Westermen, I understand you would occasionally dine with them between duties. Is he fled? Imprisoned? In hiding?" Raymar knew 'dead' was a possible answer, one he hoped dearly not to hear. Donnel, for all his youth, was already noted for his cunning and, some would say, cynicism. If any young Lordling knew when the time was right to go into hiding or slip away before the walls closed in, it was Donnel. Lord Tywin now came into view, emerging from within the gaggle of personal guardsmen and senior Westerman Lords who were accompanying him.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 12, 2023 5:49:01 GMT -5
The walls and gates drew closer to the galloping men. Sounds of battle filled the air along with the pungent stench of blood. Smoke billowed from the gatehouse, a signal fire to the King’s Men that the walls and gates had failed them.
”Gods above.” Corpses in gold and red littered the ground near the gates, left to rot in a macabre offering to death and destruction. It filled their nostrils, and it was all Rhaegar could do not to retch. They pressed on through the gates, the Prince sending men out to stop the looting where they could. Many of the Westermen formed up at the sight of Lord Tywin’s banner, abruptly ceasing their rampage through the streets to converge back into the square before the River Gate.
”Where is my father?” Rhaegar demanded of the Lefford party that approached, seeing Ser Jaime among their number. ”If he has fled the Keep, then all that remains is for us to secure the city.”
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Post by poach on Jun 12, 2023 9:13:53 GMT -5
Raymar stopped before the arriving party of Prince Rhaegar which included Lord Tywin. With Jaime successfully delivered to his father's care, that was at least one major objective of Lord Tywin's complete.
"Prince Rhaegar," said Raymar in greeting, touching the rim of his helm as something of a salute, "There has been no confirmed sighting of your father. The party that loaded aboard the ship sailing into the bay even now was no doubt important, for they risked and lost the security of the city in order to rush the docks. Alas, no one got close enough to identify any individuals: they threw forward a strong screen to delay our interception, but in covering the docks left the gatehouse vulnerable."
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 12, 2023 10:29:39 GMT -5
Rhaegar nodded grimly. He supposed it was either his own children or his brother, though it mattered not now. The ship had made it out to sea, far from his grasp.
”Perhaps Ser Jaime knows something of my father’s mind.” His palfrey padded at the ground, nostrils flaring at the scent of violence hanging in the air. Several columns of riders formed up behind him, and the royal standard fluttered loosely in the wind. That searching gaze of his now turned to Raymar. ”Catching them at the River Gate was well done, Ser Lefford. You will be well rewarded for your service.”
He then caught the glint of the Dornish banners in the distance. More and more men were streaming in through the Mud Gate now, and an eerie quiet had descended on the city as the violence largely contained itself; the last of the Goldcloaks present on the southern walls had fled.
”But let us put an end to this first. Secure the surrender of the city, Ser Lefford. My father’s men must know their cause is lost. I will prevent further blood being shed if I can.”
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Post by Royal Joker on Jun 12, 2023 10:48:03 GMT -5
Aerys giggled like a mad man as he watched the chaos spread from the Mud Gate out into the rest of King's Landing. He recognized the banners of all his vassals and his son, traitors all. Finally it would all come to an end. The flames had spoken one last time, revealing that from this chaos his reign would be reborn. It was only fitting that these traitors serve as kindling for the greatest flame in history, one to rival the sun. He turned to Wisdom Rossart and his fellow master alchemists.
"Masters of the flame! The time has come for your tireless and loyal work to bear fruit. Send out your brothers and acolytes, light the flames that will burn for a thousand years! Let wildfire eat their flesh and bone, leave them a kingdom of ash to squabble over until my rebirth."
Aerys left the alchemists to perform their final duties. He wandered the halls of his forebears with purpose until he reached the great hall. Braziers were burning bright, casting ominous shadows over the bones of the great dragons of House Targaryen. The King laid a hand on the massive skull of Balerion the Black Dread. The largest dragon in history, yet even he would be dwarfed by what would come next. Aerys took the steps up the Iron Throne. He took his seat atop the thousand blades and waited tentatively. Rossart and his brothers would have to hurry lest he burn them for treason, too - he would never forgive them if his project was ruined by Rhaegar and his ilk. He giggled to himself again, imagining their charred corpses.
"Burn them. Burn them all!"
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 12, 2023 11:39:22 GMT -5
Upon hearing the rantings of the King and the news that an army was now ascending Aegon’s Hill, the Red Keep descended into utter chaos. Lord Chelsted and a few other of the cronies came forward to beg the King to cease this course of action. A few guards remained, but they were thinning by the dozen, streaming out the gates of the keep along with several courtiers and nobles to take their chances with the Dornish. Ser Hightower remained at the King’s side, faithful as ever, along with a few of the more fanatical of the King’s followers. The old knight always saw it as his duty to simply obey, not to question. Princess Elia and the Dornish would find themselves unguarded, for the Keep was suddenly eerily empty. Varys had disappeared, the eunuch making himself scarce.
Upon their approach to the red keep, Prince Oberyn and his detachment found the gates thrown open. They were confronted by a stream of nobles and soldiers alike throwing down their arms and begging the King’s mercy. Grand Maester Pycelle was amongst them, babbling incoherently that the King intended to destroy the entire city with Wildfire. Hooded men had snuck out with them, he said, and were making their way through the city to no doubt enact the vile schemes of their insane patron. No others knew much of what he spoke, but the old man swore this was the truth.
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Post by poach on Jun 12, 2023 13:53:14 GMT -5
Raymar Lefford
Raymar nodded, accepting his orders. He sought out his father, the Lord Lefford, whose authority would be sufficient to make such a task happen.
Together, the Lefford men set about gathering Westerman knights and more dependable men at arms and tasked them with restoring order as quickly as possible: stopping looting and raping, posting troops along important roads and outside important buildings, and fighting fires. Raymar was on the ground, leading efforts from the front, while Harmund sought out other Westerman Lords and recruited them to the Prince's effort.
Steadily, the area of restored order expanded, catching up to the wave of looting. Some looters were executed as examples.
Donnel Lefford
As the fighting drew closer and the streets outside and around the manse became more active, as people either fled the fighting or groups of garrison troops ran towards it, more information became available. Those fleeing from the fighting were overheard discussing both Dornish and Westerman attackers, causing the group of young knights to spur into action. Rapid discussion concluded the Westerlands must be in the rebel camp now, and that staying put now that Tywin had shown his hand was suicide: if this assault failed, the King would no doubt be rounding up every Westerman in the city come nightfall. They had to make their move now.
All were now gathered in the entrance hall, armed and armoured in full, doing final checks of their various straps, belts, and shields. The plan was simple: move towards the fighting in a tight group, shields up, no stopping. They would either overwhelm or intimidate into moving aside any opposition, or attempt to bypass any strongpoints that wouldn't yield. Until they met the front line of friendly troops, they were in danger of simply being surrounded and overwhelmed.
"Alright, let's go, open the doors!" shouted Ser Edric Sarsfield to the two others waiting by the barred door. They hefted the barring pin off the doorway and pulled open, allowing the light and sounds of a city at war to flood in.
The group quickly moved out into the street and began moving at a determined marching pace towards the sound of fighting. The best armoured took the front, with those in lesser protective gear formed the sides of their mobile shieldwall, keeping wary eyes on the many doorways and side streets, watching for the sudden appearance of any Goldcloaks or Crownlands forces loyal to the King.
As it turned out, there was little need for such preparation. Every group of Goldcloaks or Crownlands troops they encountered were fleeing or fled at the sight of the approaching party. The fight had already left the defenders, it seemed: the siege had turned into a sack at a rapid pace. Still, the group kept formation and awareness until they rounded a corner and were faced with a wall of steel.
"Westermen, Westermen!" shouted Edric Sarsfield, recognising the various emblems on the troops shields as belonging to multiple Westerlands houses.
"Aye, friendly." came the wary response, as a man-at-arms pushed through the opposing shield wall and addressed the young knights, "you don't look to be looters, state your business!"
"We are knights of the Westerlands, in hiding in this city! We saw the walls had fallen and are making a break for friendly lines." said Donnel as the group lowered their shields and relaxed, "I am Ser Donnel Lefford, can you tell me what is transpiring?"
They heard it all: the Westerlands marched, camped at Harrenhal, were announced to be joining the Prince, arrived at King's Landing for parlay, and how it had turned into this. The man-at-arms was not privy to the reasons behind it all, but he recounted events as he knew them. The young Knights were pointed back towards the walls to seek out their various fathers, uncles, grandfathers, cousins, so on.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 13, 2023 3:19:24 GMT -5
Upon hearing the rantings of the King and the news that an army was now ascending Aegon’s Hill, the Red Keep descended into utter chaos. Lord Chelsted and a few other of the cronies came forward to beg the King to cease this course of action. A few guards remained, but they were thinning by the dozen, streaming out the gates of the keep along with several courtiers and nobles to take their chances with the Dornish. Ser Hightower remained at the King’s side, faithful as ever, along with a few of the more fanatical of the King’s followers. The old knight always saw it as his duty to simply obey, not to question. Princess Elia and the Dornish would find themselves unguarded, for the Keep was suddenly eerily empty. Varys had disappeared, the eunuch making himself scarce.
Upon their approach to the red keep, Prince Oberyn and his detachment found the gates thrown open. They were confronted by a stream of nobles and soldiers alike throwing down their arms and begging the King’s mercy. Grand Maester Pycelle was amongst them, babbling incoherently that the King intended to destroy the entire city with Wildfire. Hooded men had snuck out with them, he said, and were making their way through the city to no doubt enact the vile schemes of their insane patron. No others knew much of what he spoke, but the old man swore this was the truth.
Oberyn said, atop his fearsome stallion. "He wanted to slaughter us all!"
"Hundreds of thousands cooked alive in their own flesh? This cannot be. The capital burned... by the Seven!"Lord Uller could not believe such thing. Oberyn looked back at his paramour's father.
"Take the swiftest, bravest and most able of us all. Hunt down the pyromancers, slaughter them like cattle. Send word to Dayne to deal with this personally as well. Jordayne, take these men out the walls and secure the Keep. I will deal with the king and rescue my sister myself"Martell spurred the horse forward with ferocity, spear in hand. The crossed the gates galloping and proceeded to the holdfast. "Sunspear! Martell!"
He would sooner kill anyone standing before him and his sister than having to deal with the inconvenience of talking someone out this situation.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 13, 2023 3:52:50 GMT -5
The Dornishmen would nod and ride off, beginning their desperate search throughout the city for the King’s chosen agents. The centre of the city was in chaos; some of the King’s men were fighting, others were running, throwing down their spears and banners to save their lives over their honour. The sense of dread that hung in the air only increased when the word spread of fire in the city.
Some of the pyromancers were found quickly, the Dornishmen riding them down in the streets. But Wisdom Rossart was not among them, nor were his two chief acolytes. The Hand of the King had seemingly vanished.
All of this would matter little to Oberyn, who entered the Holdfast to find the King cackling to himself with Ser Gerold Hightower by his side. The aged knight was the only guard that remained to the King; it seemed that all others had abandoned him and fled, confident of the Prince’s victory now that his forces were rampaging around the city.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 13, 2023 4:02:51 GMT -5
The Dornish knights and men-at-arms filled the room.
"Monster"
Oberyn moved with the spear at the ready.
"You heartless bastard. Useless incest spawn, you never did anything good in your cursed life. I wish I had poisoned your sorry arsehole when I had the chance"
He pointed at the king with his spear.
"Rapist, torturer, tyrant, unworthy of even calling yourself king. Abomination. You call yourself king and the realm finds you wanting. I sentence you to death"
Martell gestures to his retainers.
"That is a fucking Hightower. A Reachman lackey. Slaughter him. Long time since Dornish spears could be bathed in Reach blood"
And they charged forward.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 13, 2023 4:18:35 GMT -5
Ser Gerold was an old man of seventy, and not the young knight he was. Nonetheless, the Lord Commander met his death with a stern and silent gaze. He put up a valiant fight, killing and wounding several before being surrounded and speared by a group of Dornishmen wearing Uller colours. Blood ran thick on the floor of the Red Keep, pooling below the steps to the Iron Throne. One man took his white cloak as a trophy, tying it to his spear in mimicry of a banner.
That left only the King.
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