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Sites of Interest
This log features roleplay that occurred before the change from Blood of Dragons 1.0 to Blood of Dragons 2.0 on 01-07-2013 in order to accommodate the new canon information from The World of Ice and Fire. Because of this, there may be details in this log that no longer apply to the current iteration of the game. For example, some characters may have been altered or even written out of the family trees and some events may have been changed. This message is displayed with all Blood of Dragons 1.0 logs and does not indicate that this particular log is certain to feature outdated details.
Land and Sea and Air Part II: Tales of Vengeance
IC Date: Day 1 of Month 6, 164 AC. (about 12 pm)
RL Date: January 27, 2013.
Participants: Ammon Massey, Bors (emitted by Ammon), Brynden Tully, Cleyton Waxley, Dagur Saltcliffe, Dermett Corbray, Donnet (emitted by Theonald), Eon Hunter (emitted by Ammon), Jan Marbrand, Jory (emitted by Brynden), Josmyn Reyne, Lennos (emitted by Elrone), Marc (emitted by Jan), Olin (emitted by Victor), Orson Baratheon, Randyl (emitted by Ammon), Pyp (emitted by Humfrey), Robb (emitted by Elrone), Ryckon Westerling, Theonald Locke, and Victor Reyne.
Locations: King's Landing: Rosby Road.
Comments: This scene was part of the third of three events pitting the Crackclaw and Kingswood Companies against each other. Due to the scope of the third event, it was split into two sub-events. This scene covers the preliminary attack by the Crackclaw Company against the Kingswood Company while the attack at sea was taking place, and what took place following the landing of the Crackclaw reinforcements upon the shore. The related scene is named “Kingswood vs Crackclaw: Land and Sea and Air; Part I: The Eye of the Storm.“ Order of Battle: Crackclaw Company: Land Force: Ammon Massey, called Ammon Blackhand, commanding; Donnet; Jory; Lennos; Olin; Randyl; Robb. Sea Force: Eon Hunter, commanding; Brynden Tully; Theonald Locke; Victor Reyne. Kingswood Company: Jan Marbrand, commanding; Cleyton Waxley; Dermett Corbray; Josmyn Reyne; Marc; Orson Baratheon; Pyp; and Ryckon Westerling Also, note that in the first part of the battle, Orson was posing using his bow, but we used the melee system to make it fair.

Summary: Splitting his forces to catch the Kingswood Company in a pincer movement, Ammon Massey commits his troops to attack while help comes to the Kingswood men from an unexpected quarter; the mood of the victors is subdued after the battle due to an unexpected message.

There is a place along the coast north of King’s Landing, near to the Rosby lands though not quite within them, which is rough and rocky with swirling seas and high bluffs. There are many hidden coves here, the kind smugglers and pirates favor, with steep trails leading up the cliffs, and rocky shoals jutting out to sea. It is here, in one of these coves, that the Kingswood Company makes their last stand.

For they have taken one of these coves for their own, to have and to hold against the Crackclaw forces. And even now, the men arrayed against them are drawing up in the trees above the bluffs. Yet the do not attack. It would seem their leader, Ammon Massey, is up to one of his tricks.

At the battle on the hills, the Blackhand attacked aggressively. During the ambush in the Kingswood, the Blackhand held until the trap was sprung and then attacked aggressively. But now he waits, holding his forces out of bow shot. A few of his men have lit a bonfire upon the bluff.

Thick smoke billows into the air from the wet wood, trailing high into the clear, blue sky.

The Kingswood men have split their forces, for now: At the top of the bluff, Ser Orson Baratheon lies, hidden, in the foliage of the trees, bow in hand and joined by a handful of archers. Nearby, Sers Jan Marbrand and Cleyton Waxley lie hidden as well, but on the ground, so as to protect Orson and his men. The archers’ position gives them a decent vantage point not only over the top of the bluff but any approach to the coves, whether by land or sea, once the distance is close enough.

Inside one of the coves, Sers Ryckon Westerling, Dermett Corbray, and Josmyn Reyne stand guard with the rest of the men. The entrance to the cove is lined with discrete traps: covered nets laid over a shallow ditch. Some of the men have been pouring water down the path leading up to the cove, to make the trek up more difficult. And some hastily constructed barricades are also erected along the path, to shuttle any attackers into a single path of approach.

Atop the bluff, Jan sees the smoke; he holds one finger to his lips with his other arm raised in the air.

If Ser Dermett Corbray is still feeling the effects of his recent injury, he is not showing it. Dressed from head to heel in iron chainmail and plate - complete with a surcoat of white (the Corbray ravens resplendent upon it) - the man seems to be in good spirits; why, in keeping with the event, he has even braided his hair beneath his conical half-helm in the manner of those barbarous warriors in the east.

Limping around the Kingswood defences within the cove itself, he reaches down to take a drink from his wineskin. Those with a keen eye for such things, however, will know that Ser Dermett is inebriated with something a little more potent than ale or wine. He looks strangely, serenely happy as he paces around amongst the other Kingswood men, offering quiet words of encouragement and motivation.

The wineskin is returned to its place upon his belt and the Corbray pulls out the blunted blade he has brought especially for the event. Whereas his normal steel is of exquisite quality, this blade is of thick, cruel iron; heavier than his usual sword but wholly more intimidating to look upon.

He chuckles to himself as he replaces the thing back into his scabbard, then shifts to take up his shield from the floor. There are no painted arms across the front; the thick, oak wood is fresh from the armoury, complete with a studded, iron border. He pulls it on with a smirk and turns to Ser Ryckon and Ser Josmyn nearby, speaking to the two Westermen in hushed tones. “Let us be /mean/ to these Cracklaw cunts. Sounds like we are quite outnumbered and the odds of victory are heavily stacked against us; let Ser Dagur’s men leave these shores /knowing/ they have been in a fight, whether we are victorious today or not.”

Litle Pyp, ah, if ever there was a misnomer. Lttle Pyp—son of big Pyp is a third generation serjeant. At three inches above six feet, he towers above most of the men, indeed most of the knights of the Kingswood Company. Although Pyp is also quite thin indeed, he is a dirk of a man. At one-and-fifty years, his face is covered in gray stuble. He looks to the archers in the trees. Archery is the sport of young men with good eyes, though the aged serjeant still possesses broad shoulders and strong arms. In his left hand a scarred oak shield, in his right a wicked flanged mace the handle wrapped in sweat stained leather—he nods to his Commander Ser Jan of House Marbrand and hefts his mace with an arm that resmbles nothing so much as the knarled roots of an aged pine.

Resplendent in his fine armour and determined to prove himself with his new companions against his old is Ser Josmyn Reyne, who just so happens to find himself in close quarters with the young Westerling and the Corbray. “We will be victorious, Corbray.”, he assures the other man with a smirk, “They are swollen with false pride now and it will be their downfall. We should lure them into these traps and they’re out before the fight has even begun…” He points at the nearby traps they arranged in front of their hidey-hole.

Just like another hunt. Hidden in the foliage, with a bow in hand as he takes a blunted arrow off his quiver. The tip is wadded, so as to prevent any unfortunate incidents. Orson’s hair is pulled back. He’s only wearing chain mail. No helmet, no metal greaves, nothing except chain mail. He has to climb in and out of trees quickly as well as pick anyone off before they got to other archers. Orson told them that on Jan’s signal, they notch arrows. Quietly, he looks to the other trees and hopes that the rest of the archers do the same and they start getting ready. Upon Jan’s signal, they will notch and draw.

From above, Orson hears Ser Dermett say that he’s going to be mean to the Cracklaw, making Orson almost laugh, but he’s still looking out at the vantage point. The knight has a way of getting into good spirits as well as getting everyone else into it as well. Orson’s sight is good enough, looking down from the trees, and remains quiet.

Donnet looks like a common man of the Cracklaw Company. From head to toe he is a Crownlander, dark brown hair and deep blue eyes are easily found behind his conical helm. The man has an average height, but a rahter athletic build that shows some experience in battle, which is covered by a chain mail today.

He stands closer to his group, a smile on his face as he feels the incoming battle. The man has a gloved hand on a blunted sword, and eager eyes that scan the field in search of any sign of a Kingswood man.

A young lad of what looks to be ten and seven, Marc, baby-faced with a shaggy mop of black locks atop his head, hides out with the Kingswood men on top of the bluff. His sweaty forehead and nervous tittering belie that he must not have nearly as much experience as those who fight beside them. He reaches out to adjust his helm, a little too large for his head. He looks to Jan and nods with an overexcited vigor, wiping a sweaty palm upon his chain mail as he waits for the fighting to begin.

A spear is clutched in a white-knuckled hand that trembles ever so slightly. The man - boy, really- who clutches this spear is named Olin, until recently a dyer’s apprentice. His hands bear the signs of his craft- mottled red-and-green. His eyes are frightened, dancing wildly; he is only seven days a man. His hair hangs lank, obscuring his dull blue eyes. He joined the Crackclaw company for the glory and - yes, the wenches - not the battle. He is attired in soiled homespuns, his only armor a crudely made brigandine.
He stands close to the other men, as if seeking to absorb some of their experience, some of their bravery, through simple proximity, waiting, waiting.

An older man of the Crackclaw forces, present at the last two ‘friendly’ battles of the King’s forces, lingers next to his Massey officer, twirling a horn in one worn hand. Lennos has made something of a name for himself for his strong hand in the previous fights, taking down several of the Kingswood officers, including Jan Marbrand himself in a vicious and ungentlemanly brawl of a fight. He grins cheerfully, looking eager enough despite his age, though he is also patient as he waits for orders.

Not too far off, a young, green lad new to Ser Dagur’s forces is anxiously shifting from side to side with a frown on his face, eyes flicking from officer to officer as he tries and fails to find anything useful to do other than wait. For Robb has much to prove, as a new man to the company, and at the last battle he survived more on luck than anything resembling skill… and certainly not on his ability to ride.

A ship, a great war galley, comes into view around a point of land—the ‘Eye of the Storm.’ There was word that the Crackclaw Company had expanded, and these training exercises are proof of that. There was word that the Crackclaw Company was working closely with the Sea Watch and here, again, the proof was made plain.

The ship plows through the choppy waves, sending spray high into the air, and comes steadily closer. There is a cheer from some of the Crackclaw men, and another after a moment. Even at this distance, the eye can see movement on the deck as the ship’s longboats begin to be readied. There are armed men aboard the ‘Eye of the Storm,’ many of them—and they are coming.

But then, from the shelter of a neighboring cove, two smaller ships glide across the surface of Blackwater Bay. Their sails are black as pitch, save for a golden kraken emblazoned upon them. They are longships of the Iron Fleet, of the Iron Embassy, and they move with all haste to intercept the cumbersome Sea Watch Galley.

No help will come to the Crackclaw Company from that quarter, for the nonce.

Ammon Massey, standing as he is atop the bluff, watches impassively as the Ironborn descend upon the Sea Watch vessel. “When they are engaged, sound the advance,” he says to the scarred veteran beside him. That is done soon enough, and when it is the Blackhand dons his helm, his shield, draws his blunted sword, and moves to his place in the van.

Beside the Blackhand is a lad named Bors. He is green, and untrained in the arts of war—but his eyes are keen. For the sun has caught Orson’s chain, and given away his position. “There!” shouts Bors, pointing. “In the trees!”

Massey looks that way. “‘ware the trees, lads!” he shouts—but he and his men come on regardless.
Dagur has partially disconnected.

Ryckon Westerling is as young as the youngest warriors present, but not nearly so anxious. He is more experienced than any of them, and a knight at that, and he might seem almost relaxed were it not for his shoulders, already tensed and raised in preparation for battle. “Right. It wouldn’t take much more than standing in front of the traps and shouting at them to lure them in, I think, though if we… overdo it they might suspect something.”

“I hope Ser Ammon leads the assault this way; the man has a certain admirable talent for finding himself inside copious amounts of ‘hidey holes’. Today, that shall be his undoing.” Ser Dermett grins at the Reyne knight and gives him a playful slap on the back.

He turns to Ser Ryckon and nods, finding sense in his words. The movement of the ships off in the distance goes unremarked upon for the nonce. “My cousin is right,” the Corbray muses, while scratching at a sprouting of dark brown curls upon his chin. “Though I would wager if we all stand here doing nothing, they’ll suspect something too. Though we can’t really leave this position and go goading them back up towards the cove. If it’s a pain for them to climb, it will be a pain for us to climb. What do you think, Ser Josmyn?” he asks, hand shifting to the pommel of his blade.

Josmyn shrugs a little. “You could step outside and make some funny faces at them.”, he suggests to Dermett, “They might just take you for a lone nutter and once they advance upon you, Ryckon and I will move in. Either they will fall into the traps, or they will notice them and this will cause them to stop and figure out how to cross them. We can use that moment of surprise to our advantage and attack.”

Lennos raises the horn of the Crackclaw Company to his lips and sounds the charge, sending men around him again into battle with the Kingswood Company. “Onward, lads!” he calls to some of the new recuits, Robb included, as he exchanges horn for blade. “Remember, today they are smugglers- treat them like it!” And Lennos is off, following Ammon toward the imminent fray.

Pyp stands behind the knights in naught but aged albeit well kept mail. He looks to Ser Ryckon, then Ser Dermett, lastly to Ser Josmyn—keen gray eyes measure these highborn lords but he does not speak, rather he waits looking across the cove. His eyes squint as he makes out the crest of the Seawatch upon the Eye of the Storm. The grizzled serjeant supresses a shudder at the sight of the golden Kraken of House Greyjoy: a sight that has made many an seasoned knight and serjeant weak at the knees. “Mayhaps the Ironman will hold Ser Brynden and the Seawatch at bay.”

Jan locks eyes with Cleyton, and then Orson, holding his finger to his lips the entire time. But the silence of their hiding is broken not once, but twice. First, by the cheer of the Cracklaw men, and Jan swivels his head to see a ship approaching. Seeing it’s the Eye of the Storm, he curses ever-so-slightly under his breath. And then, even more alarmingly, he hears the voice of Massey. “Well, that’s that,” he says quietly, dropping his arm.

At that, the archers loose their bows, and the men atop the bluff emerge from the bushes, weapons raised alike. Jan finds the man who had the gall to ruin their best-laid trap, Massey, swinging his blunted sword at his ribs. Marc lets out a high-pitched yelp at the signal and charges forward, mirroring Jan but attacking the green-looking lad next to him with an awkward jab.

Jan attacks Ammon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Marc attacks Bors with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!

Ryckon nods, keeping his eyes on the treeline. “Right. Sounds like a plan, I think. Let them be ambushed for once. Hopefully our archers up there will be taking care of it all the while, and if not… well, it is not as though we cannot fight them.” He gets into position and signals for Josmyn to do the same.

He sees the ships. House Greyjoy, with their kraken, will handle things with the Sea Watch. He sees them and the arrow is drawn. Orson is quiet. His hair is braided like a dothraki and his sight is dead set on a green knight; The same green knight that unhorsed him. He’s looking at him intently and when the arrows start flying, het lets him get a little closer. As he sees him down the arrow, Orson pulls back a little tighter due to the nature of the wadding and he fires his arrow, quickly getting another arrow before the other one landed.

Orson attacks Robb with his bow…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!

Ser Cleyton Waxley lies in wait in the trees at the top of the bluff near his cousin and commanding officer Jan Marbrand. Today he favors a suit of mail with a breastplate and visored helm. He shifts a bit in his saddle as he waits for the signal to spring the ambush, his hand flexing around the hilt of his blunted blade. He glances to his cousin when the Crackclaw men sound their advance and then slams down his visor and charges forward at the advancing Crackclaw men. He closes in on the horn-blower and takes a strong swing towards the man’s ribs. He makes no taunts or war cries, his focus solely on the task at hand.

Cleyton attacks Lennos with his sword…
...and sees his blow go wild!

The shrill voice of a horn startles Olin into nearly dropping his spear. His cheeks burn as he recovers the weapon, doing his best to look unperturbed and not succeeding. He changes his grip on his spear; once, twice, thrice. They’re marching now, the men, and he has no choice but to march with them, keeping well behind the man in front of him - a quite expansive fellow - so that the poor bastard can take any flying pointy bits that come their way. The cove; they’re going to the cove. He tries to crane his head around to the side to sea, but - no use. Only a wall of flesh.

“Being short’s a terrible burden,” He mumbles under his breath. Then his shield steps aside, leaving Olin exposed…and nearly walking into a rather unfriendly-looking trap. He cursed under his breath and took a quick sharp step back, trying to think of what to do and not quite succeeding.

The attack is joined! Screaming men rush down upon them! There is a moment of panic—but not from Ammon Massey. There is no war cry, no startled surprise. Jan swings, the rocks are slick, and Ammon is not quick enough to dodge the blow—so he lets the blunted blade strike mail and leather. He moves with the strike, as best he can, and swings his own blade down towards Jan’s shoulder.

Near to the Blackhand, Bors is less settled. He is visibly jumpy—but it works to his advantage. He slips, almost loses his feet, but it is enough that Marc only /just/ grazes him. Training takes over, and Bors cuts out with his own blunted blade.

Ammon attacks Jan with his sword…
...and misses by a narrow margin!

Bors attacks Marc with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!

As for the rest of the Crackclaw men, they follow the Blackhand’s orders and begin their descent. Amongst them is another young lad, green as so many of these new recruits are. He is Randyl, and he uses his spear to keep his balance as he descends the slick trail.

Donnet starts to move towards the cove, sword out of the scabbard as he walks, attentive eyes scan the area for any signal of the enemy. This young man is ready to engage anyone in his vicinity.

“Throwing me to the wolves, eh, Ser Josmyn?” Ser Dermett laughs, before turning and nodding in agreement with the nearby serjeant. But then there is a commotion above and the Corbray heir’s hand slips instinctively to his blade. “Right, let us make them bleed,” he growls, eyeing all about for a Cracklaw foe to make an appearance. He limps and skips around the entrance of the cove, looking ready to follow Ser Josmyn’s idea.

And then the foe make their appearance, a number of them almost falling into their traps. “Fuck, let us just hit the bastards,” Ser Dermett barks, launching himself down the hill towards a young looking lad with a spear, his cruel iron blade swinging hard at the man’s collarbone.

Dermett attacks Olin with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Little Pyp charges fast behind his Commander, Ser Jan. As the knight of Marbrand and Ammon Blackhand clash—he continues to charge, swinging at any foeman who pass him. Then he catches sght of the boy leaning heavily upon his spear. Pyp swings his flanged tourney mace at the youth in an effort to knock him into the dirt

Pyp attacks Randyl with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Josmyn laughs a little nervously at Dermett’s suggestion and nods in agreement. “Yea, let’s!”, he calls out and draws his sword out quickly to hurry after the Corbray, attacking whoever has the misfortune to be in his path. Which happens to be the lad called Jory.

Josmyn attacks Jory with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!

Robb’s attempt at a charge is paused by the sudden clip of an arrow against his arm, which cuts a neat divet into the protective leather there. “Auugghh.” He groans as he looks about the trees for his assailant, still for a long moment before regaining his composure and jogging after the other Crackclaw men on the bluff to offer them support.

A quick step back and a lean more agile than his years would suggest him capable of takes Lennos out of the path of Cleyton’s sword- and just in time, for it just barely clears the chainmail over his ribs. He clenches his teeth and heaves his own blade back at Cleyton, aiming for the shoulder of his shield arm.

Lennos attacks Cleyton with his spear…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Which connects with a sickening *THWAP*, much to young Olin’s detriment. The lad cries out in pain and takes a wheeling step back, a hand flying to his collarbone. Forgetting what scant training he has, he strikes out blind and wild with his spear.

Olin attacks Dermett with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!

The lad’s wild blow scrapes swiftly across Ser Dermett’s exposed cheek, a slender scar marking itself upon his face. Blood creeps out and dribbles down to his chin. Ser Dermett merely laughs at this, gripping his shield tighter, before feinting forward and unleashing another heavy swing aimed at Olin’s wounded collarbone.

Dermett attacks Olin with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Olin is rocked back in the saddle by Dermett’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!

To see the elder man bearing down on him is apparently the last thing young Randyl expected. Strange, that, being in a fight and all! The mace crashes down upon him, and is nearly his undoing, but he recovers. In a panic, he stabs out wildly with his spear!

Randyl attacks Pyp with his sword…
...and merely strikes a glancing blow!

Arrows hiss through the air as Jan lands his first blow, then nimbly sidesteps Massey’s counter. “Beware the ships, lads! They should be landing at some point!” But he has no chance to look behind and check their progress. “Have to get this over quickly, then,” Jan says, bringing his sword back to Ammon’s side, now exposed after his previous blow

Jan attacks Ammon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Marc is less fortunate, and Bors strikes him in the shoulder. Marc yelps and slips himself, which, fortuitously, sends him tumbling into Bors, almost resembling a purposeful attempt at tackling the Cracklaw lad.

Marc attacks Bors with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

That connects again, just as hard as the first. Olin drops his spear, nearly falling; but he recovers, barely, kneeling swiftly to take up his fallen weapon and striking out at the Corbray with an upswing with his rising.

Olin attacks Dermett with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!

Ryckon follows behind his cousins Dermett and Josmyn and charges past the barricades at the approaching Crackclaw force. He swings his mace wide, fast, and hard at the first Crackclaw man he comes across, Donnet.

Ryckon attacks Donnet with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Cleyton’s just barely misses his foe, and he’s too slow on his recovery from the swing. The Crackclaw man’s sword strikes true upon Cleyton’s left shoulder drawing a loud grunt from the young knight. His retaliation comes quickly though, a feint to the head and then a downward strike to the sword arm.

Cleyton attacks Lennos with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Jory follows his companions into the melee, though their formation doesn not last long. He is quite surprised when Ser Josmyn Reyne appears, swinging his weapon. The Crackclaw man is struck quite soundly in the ribs. “Ow! You are a right bastard, you are!” Jory complains, and though his return blow is likely slowed, he swings at Josmyn’s shoulder nonetheless.

Jory attacks Josmyn with his spear…
...and sees his blow go wild!

Seeing his commander hit with a truly hard blow, Robb picks up speed and heads for him. “Ser! Coming ser!” Surprise attacks have clearly not yet been part of his training, but he is there all the same, running up to Jan’s side and cleaving a plain mace toward the Marbrand’s hip.

Robb attacks Jan with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!

The boy’s reply elicits a grunt from the aged serjeant, but Little Pyp’s does not relent. He raises his mace and swings down upon the boy’s helm making as if to ring it. “You are green as summer grass, lad! Welcome to the Stranger’s land!” The blow is swift, despite Pyp’s age and hard as a mason’s hammer strike.

Pyp attacks Randyl with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!

Randyl is driven from the saddle!

“Running somewhere?” Orson whispers as he notches the arrow and draws, aiming at the green knight once again. He feels like he’s chasing down a hare before killing it on just another hunt of his. He sees the young knight looking for him, but Orson smiles as he aims down the sight. Robb starts to jog, his armor slowing him down to his full speed. Orson aims down the arrow and takes slow, languid breaths. Just like the practice ring, he looses the arrow, watching it sail at what he hopes is Robb.

Orson attacks Robb with his bow…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!

Josmyn laughs into the face of the complaining youngster and manages to sidestep the attack on him. “You gotta do better than that, kid!”, he jeeres and steps around the trap to get a better chance for a frontal attack on Jory, swinging his sword to hit him in the side and ideally knock him over into the trap.

Josmyn attacks Jory with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!

Olin’s rising strike jabs Ser Dermett swiftly across the jaw, another bit of his face unprotected bit of flesh. Another bloody cut and the Corbray heir is eyeing his foe irritably. He feints once more and swings his thick iron blade hard at the lad’s cheek.

Dermett attacks Olin with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Olin is driven from the saddle!

Grizzled veteran or not, Cleyton’s blow earns a squealing grunt from Lennos as the man struggles to hang on to his sword. He almost drops to a knee out of the pain- but clearly he has been in such a position before, and simply dips to a lower stance that allows him to spring up from the knee and slam the hilt of his sword toward Cleyton’s chin.

Lennos attacks Cleyton with his spear…
...and misses by a narrow margin!

And Jan strikes again! Ammon lets his breath out in a grunt. Two precise strikes upon his ribs. The Blackhand lunges out with his shield, attempting to force Jan back and give himself some space.

Ammon attacks Jan with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Jan’s shield.

Bors lets out a cry as Marc hits him, and the two tumble together into the dirt—but Bors is no stranger to brawls. He brings his closed fist hurtling towards Marc’s forehead, the pommel of his sword aimed at the boy’s temple.

Bors attacks Marc with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

And Randyl? If he was surprised to be attacked by Pyp, he is doubly so to have his bell rung! With a great CLANG, the boy’s eyes roll up into his head, and he crumples to the dirt.

Donnet is caught by Ryckon, receiving a good blow on his upper back as he moves to get the man into his reach. The Cracklaw man attempts to slash the Westerling knight in a diagonal blow, starting from his left shoulder.

Donnet attacks Ryckon with his mass weapon…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!

In the wild chaos of the melee, Donnet and Ryckon are carried apart from one another.

Jory is struck again, though he gives a little ground. “They said we weren’t trying to kill each other.” the lad complains again. Still, he tries to defend himself, swinging again at the Reyne knight’s right knee.

Jory attacks Josmyn with his spear…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!

The full force of the strike catches Olin in his unprotected skull, and with the dull collision of steel and slesh his eyes glaze over and - after a stumbling step forward- he slumps bonelessly on the ground, his spear rolling ignobly away.

Ouch. Josmyn hops a little when he is suddenly hit in the knee like that. “Yea, well, don’t kill my knee, jackass!”, he hisses and needs a second before the red mist of pain is gone and he can attack again, swinging his sword with a load roar at Jory’s left shoulder.

Josmyn attacks Jory with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Jory is driven from the saddle!

Ryckon is not so far into Donnet’s reach that he cannot quickly leave it again. He takes a step back from the Crackclaw man and avoids his blow, and then charges forward once again with a swing at the center of his chest.

Ryckon attacks Donnet with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!

Donnet is driven from the saddle!

Cleyton’s blow strikes true on the opposing man’s sword arm. Lennos tries to slam him in the chin, but Cleyton manages to move out of the way just in time. Pressing his attack he swings low, trying to catch his opponent in the knee and make him lose his footing.

Cleyton attacks Lennos with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

As his foe falls to the floor, Ser Dermett smirks, kicking a pile of dirt and sand and rocks after the lifeless lad in a show of utter contempt. “Be CRUEL, men; they want to take our fucking GOLD!” Clearly caught up in the theme of the contest, the heir to Heart’s Home gazes around him, eager to find a new opponent.

Donnet didn’t seem to expect that, Ryckon blow easily makes the man lose his balance and fall to the ground. He winces in pain as he touches the area damaged by the mace.

Jory stares dumbfounded a moment as he managed to strike such a fine blow on a fine knight. Unfortunately, in that moment Ser Josmyn responds with his own fine attack and Jory doesn’t defend himself. He is struck hard in the shoulder and pushed back into the trap the Reyne knight had intended to shepherd him into anyway. Jory falls in, and is still.

Little Pyp actually wnces when his blow rings the boy’s helm—he shakes his head “Get up, and perchance you will be a man, someday.” The aged serjeant looks about the field and spares Ser Ryck’s gallant son a grin as the man sends another of Ser Ammon Blackhand’s men sprawlng. His gray eyes cut across the cove looking for a man to smash with his mace. “Fight me!”

Lennos does loose his footing and actually drop to a knee this time, but again he tries to use the bend to his advantage even as his winces in pain. He swings from below and to the side at Cleyton’s knee in return- an eye for an eye, so it seems.

Lennos attacks Cleyton with his spear…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Cleyton is rocked back in the saddle by Lennos’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!

Jan absorbs a blow from Robb and, with gritted teeth, meets Ammon’s shield with his own. His longer reach allows him to make contact closer to Massey’s body than his own, and he hopes that that surprise leaves Ammon open to a swing of the sword with his other helm, at Ammon’s helm.

Jan attacks Ammon with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!

As for Marc, the two boys tumble in the dirt, and Bors strikes him the temple. Marc lets out another high-pitched yelp, and yanks on Bors’s hair, kneeing him in the stomach for good measure.

Marc attacks Bors with his mass weapon…
...and merely strikes a glancing blow!

“Fucking hells!” Robb shrieks as another arrow clips him. “I’m going to get that fucker.” But there is another he must clear from the way first, and Jan takes the brunt of the boy’s rage as he turns and swings like he’s wielding and anvil toward the back of the man’s thigh- and fortunate, too, as his commander seems locked in a hopeless struggle with the man.

Robb attacks Jan with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!

“Sounds like they could use a hand up there,” Ser Dermett says, waving a hand above at the bluffs. “Serjeant, Ser Josmyn; remain here and secure the cove. Ser Ryckon and I shall climb to help the others.”

That said, Ser Dermett turns to begin a laboured ascent.

Josmyn frowns as the Corbray suddenly thinks he can take charge. “Seven Hells, Corbray, I’m not staying here like a coward!”, he barks and glares at the other man, following him and Ryckon up the rock, “Nobody here to steal anything anyway…”

But the Blackhand has settled into the fight now, the first few blows exchanged. He brings his blade up, deftly parries Jan’s, and reverses into a punch at Jan’s own helm.

Ammon attacks Jan with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Jan is driven from the saddle!

Bors is a slippery one! The hair pull hurts him for sure, how not when a tuft is left dangling from Marc’s fist, but he rolls aside from the knee. He brings his spear down towards his foe as if it were a club.

Bors attacks Marc with his sword…

...and strikes him with a swift blow!

Pyp looks up the hill and catches sight of Ser Cleyton Waxley smashing at another aged veteran, the Master-at-Arms, Ser Lennos. When the Bestan’s heir voices his command, The serjeant lifts his flanged tourney mace in a salute and takes up a defensive position with a handful of the men of the Kingswood. Pyp peers across the cove to the battle ocurring upon the decks of the Eye of the Storm. “We will be in for a fight if Brynden’s men best the Ironborn.”

Ryckon nods back at Pyp distractedly as he makes sure that Donnet is down, and blinks as he hears Dermett’s orders. “Shall we? I suppose so.” And so he follows Dermett up the hill to the rest of the men without bothering to look back at their previous position, which Josmyn is surely defending as per his orders.

With strange dexterity of a boy far younger than four and thirty, Orson jumps from one branch to a tree adjacent to it, and turns to see the green knight attack Ser Jan. Quietly he notches another arrow and he draws, seeing the green boy in full. “If you don’t go down from this, you’re getting a drink from me.” Orson whispers as he draws a bit tighter than usual and loosens the arrow.

Orson attacks Robb with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!

Cleyton’s blow drops his opponent to his knee, but he pushes in too eagerly this time and catches a blow to his own leg which brings him down to one knee as well with a sharp pained exclamation. He jams his shield into the other man’s face and swings his sword hard to his ribs.

Cleyton attacks Lennos with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!

“There’s fucking ships over yonder,” Ser Dermett grumbles as the Reyne knight opts to follow him. “If they land and take our gold, I’ll have your balls.” His tone is entirely playful as he climbs, eager for a fight.

Josmyn rolls his eyes at Dermett. “By the time the ships reached the shore, we’ll be down again easily. If you’re so worried about the gold, go and fucking guard it yourself, Corbray.”, he grunts as he climbs up the last bluff and tries to get an idea of what’s going on.
Elmer has connected.

“You! Fuck!” Another arrow drives Robb to fury, and this time there is no man between him and the archer menacing him. He marches toward the tree Orson is lurking in. “Get down here and fight like a man!” And, unaware of the troops approaching from below, he slams his mace into the tree to try and shake down the archer. “Get! Down!”

Seeing his fellow Valeknight Ser Cleyton Waxley having some difficulty with a Cracklaw man-at-arms, Ser Dermett charges forth. He raises his crude iron high above his head and swings it down hard towards Lennos’ head with a sickening ferocity.

Dermett attacks Lennos with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!

Ryckon scowls as he arrives on the bluffs to see Jan fall, but then his scowl turns to a grin as he spies the opponent to whom he fell, Jan’s Crackclaw counterpart, open and (hopefully) off guard. He weaves through the trees as quickly as his admittedly lacking agility will allow and then charges out at Ammon, swinging for his shoulder.

Ryckon attacks Ammon with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Jan, so single-mindedly engaged with Ammon, lets his attention slip from Robb, which turns to be a crucial mistake. Robb strikes him hard in the thigh, causing his legs to buckle - and at the same time, Ammon unleashes a punch to the temple. Together, they combine to send Jan crashing to the ground, his head hitting a rock for good measure. He doesn’t get up.

Marc’s head meets Bors’s spear, causing yet another yelp to emit from the lad. He shakes his head, punch-drunk, and tries to swing his sword right at Bors’s face.

Marc attacks Bors with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!

Bors is driven from the saddle!

Josmyn sees one of the Crackclaw men trying to shake their archer from the tree and runs over to where Robb is standing, sword drawn. “Hey, fight like a man!”, he yells and tries to stab his side lightly to get the man’s attention.

Josmyn attacks Robb with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Two blows this time, one pressing into his shield, and one scarcely parried with his sword, but still Lennos refuses to yield. Some low rumble is heard from the sea-worn area of his mouth, hidden by the safety of a battered helm, and then the tactics of knights are dropped entirely. He pushes up firmly from the legs and drives his helm into Cleyton’s own, hard head to hard head.

Lennos attacks Cleyton with his spear…
...and misses by a narrow margin!

Bors is over-extended, and cannot hope to protect himself from Marc’s attack. The flat of Marc’s blade catches him in square, bending the nose guard in and sending a torrent of blood over his lips and chin. With a grunt, Bors crumbles.

Jan falls at Ammon’s feet, felled by the punch to his helm, and Bors does as well. Ammon turns to Marc, sword raised over that man as he kneels in the dirt—and is caught in the shoulder by the Westerling knight! The Blackhand stumbles backwards, spins and catches himself with his outstretched hand. He teeters precariously upon the brink of that slick bluff, but his strength is enough. Ammon Massey does not fall.

Yet.

But he does come at Ryckon savagely, shield in front in an effort to force the young knight back. Room to move is needed here, and desperately!

Ammon attacks Ryckon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

“Urrraahgghh!” Robb is taken unawares by the Reyne knight and receives a mild prod with a sword for his lack of attention to the field. But, they say, this is how the green knights are meant to learn. And the young man is quite angry. He turns and swings his mace wildly toward Josmyn’s shoulder with the roar of a man not firmly in his manhood yet.

Robb attacks Josmyn with his mass weapon…
...and has his blow intercepted by Josmyn’s shield.

Orson grins as he sees the young man get riled up. “You’ll burst your heart out, lad!” Orson replies as he jumps to the tree where he was at first, slings his bow across his back and sees another knight makes his way to the green knight. His blow was meant to distract the knight and that was all that Orson needs. He takes his bow out and takes a deep breath. In a fluid motion, he notches an arrow, draws on it and lets it fly towards the green knight’s back. Let’s see if that would shut him up.

Orson attacks Robb with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!

Robb is driven from the saddle!

The roar is probably more of a squeak and Josmyn easily blocks the blow with his shield. And then there’s Orson, striking him down. “Sorry, kid!”, he grins, “But that’s how you learn, right?”

Cleyton manages to land his blow, and now Ser Dermett comes to his assistance, the tide may be turning against the Crackclaw man Lennos. The older man thrusts forward with a headbut which Cleyton narrowly avoids but is driven back a bit. As he stumbles back Cleyton swings an underhand strike towards his opponent’s groin.

Cleyton attacks Lennos with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Lennos is driven from the saddle!

Ryckon is unable to move quickly enough and so he takes the full force of Ammon’s shield, and he grunts as he is forced back. Ammon has the room he needs now but Ryckon attempts to regain it quickly, charging forward again at an angle and swinging at his side—he is not trying to knock him off the bluff, after all, just knock him down.

Ryckon attacks Ammon with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Ammon is driven from the saddle!

From atop the hill the men of the Kingswood rush to relieve their comrades. Pyp and the men-at-arms below beside the cove lift spears, maces, and blades and uproarous cheer rises from the baseborn huntsmen, men-a-arms, and serjeants of Ser Farin’s company. They shout their commanders name at the top of their lungs drowning out the groans of Blackhands fallen men “MARBRAND!!!” Other scream “KINGSWOOD!!!” and slam their weapons gainst their shields.

“Seven hells,” Ser Dermett grumbles, edging around the conflict as Ser Cleyton and Lennos continue to fight. He looks ready to pounce with a strike of his own before a strike to the heirmaker is enough to bring Lennos to a sudden stop. He laughs at this, shaking his head at Ser Cleyton, before turning to survey the field. The Blackhand is down and Ser Dermett raises a victorious sword in the air.

Finally, Robb is driven to the ground with a yelp, as the arrow actually does lodge in the back of his chain- painful enough, even if the point does not penetrate the leather underneath.

Lennos, too, is finally felled, as Cleyton utilizes the same brutal tactic Lennos had himself employed against Jan just a sevenday prior. He makes a noise that sounds rather like “HURK,” before he falls, clutching on to his manhood.

The young Westerling has a reputation, and it is well deserved! He strikes Ammon with enough force to knock him to a knee, even as Lennos falls nearby. “Fall back!” shouts the Blackhand, voice carrying over the din. “To the top of the bluff, fall back!” And the Crackclaw company does, slowly, grudgingly. But beaten.

Such ferocity! Every inch of ground is contested, every water-slicked foot of rock. But the Kingswood Company will not be moved, and their defensive strategy is working! They hold their ground, and push the Crackclaw men back up the bluffs. And a lull fals upon the field, for a few moments at least; the battle has broken apart.

Men on both sides stand panting, staring at each other across the void between them. Breath smokes on the cold air and, while these weapons are blunted, more than one groan cuts through the strange stillness.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

A horn’s clarion call, pure and clear in the morning sky. And again:

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

With the blasts, the Crackclaw men draw up into ranks. Ammon Blackhand is not a man prone to flowery words, or praise, or hope. It might be expected that his hoarse shout of “One more push, lads, and we’ll have them! One more push!” would fall flat.

There is a cheer from one man. And from another. And another. And soon the gathered men of the company are cheering. For upon the swirling waters of Blackwater Bay, the ships of the Iron Fleet have been repulsed, have turned their tails and begun their retreat. And even now the longboats are in the water, and oars pull hard for land. In moments, the Kingswood men will be caught between the Crackclaw pincers.

And so the last push of the Crackclaw Company begins with cheers.

Ryckon grins down at Ammon as he is knocked down and sent retreating with his company. As victory seems certain, he begins to shout, “KINGSWOOD-” but as the Sea Watch proves victorious and begins to approach the cove his shout turns into another one. “—fuck!” He rushes over to Jan to help him up, and hisses urgently, “The Sea Watch is coming, ser. Any commands?”

Perhaps it is the horn’s call, or perhaps it is the cheer of hiw own name as the Kingswood men drive their opponents back to the beach, where their reinforcements await. He places a hand to his helm and grimaces, blinking and looking around at his companions. “well done lads. No thanks to me,” he says with a sheepish grin. But before he can fully collect himself, the Sea Watch have begun their landing. And Ryckon is at his side, urging him to give commands. “Well, the ambush has been spring, the traps have been set. There’s no commands left to give but to fight. KINGSWOOD! One final stand, men! We’ve done it once before, we can do it again!”

Marc stands up and looks at Bors in surprise as his opponent is dispatched. Trembling, he sidles close to Jan, Ryckon, Cleyton, any older officer with more experience, and clutches his sword until his knuckles are white.

Ser Dermett roars at Ser Jan’s words with his sword once more pointed skywards. “Bragging rights for months to come; let us not disappoint Ser Farin. Marbrand! Kingswood!” Ser Dermett calls, charging eagerly back towards the cove, his limp all but disappeared… for the moment, anyway.

Josmyn is already looking rather pleased with himself, but his expression changes to giddy excitement when the Sea Watch lands. “Finally I can show Victor how well he trained me!”, he says and draws his sword. “He’s mine! VICTOR!”, he yells out, “I’m coming to get you!” And the younger Reyne charges after Dermett to get back to the cove and ready for the attack.

Orson grins when Robb fell, and he climbs down from the tree when Ammon fell as well. He slings his bow across his back and he joins in teh chants and it’s when he sees the Sea Watch victorious, he takes his sword out. He looks around to his fellow men and he heads to the side of Ser Dermett, seeing that his limp went away momentarily. Orson starts charging as well, eager to seal the victory!

Time for Theonald to get in action. The Locke knight moves on the cove, blunted sword ready to advance against any Kingswood men that might come across his path. The Northman wears a chain mail and a helm with nose protection.

Small Pyp looks across the bay at the Eye of the Storm. “They thrashed the Ironborn.” The serjeant spares the masts of Brynden Tully’s war galley a long hard stare and hefts his flanged tourney mace. A look to the Crackclaw men regrouping by the bluffs. He turns to another of the serjeants, a grizzled old veteren—perchance twenty years older than even the venerable Pyp. “Guard he beach, I’ll take a group of men and cover our flank ‘twixt the hill and the bluffs.” Pyp moves through the press of men-at-arms and huntsmen clapping men on the

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