Fallen before the might of the Stormlands army, the Tor has suffered the fate of all towns and holdfasts in time of war… It has been sacked. It’s riches, such as they are, have been plundered. Its women have become the playthings of the rampaging soldiery. Even now, they sit around drinking their leisure, taking comfort in the thought that their war is over. The men on the walls looking south and westward, laze in the night, drunk or asleep - few are at their task, looking for the Dornish army that will soon arrive.
In the harbor, Oakenfist’s ships sit in the shallow, still waters taking on what supplies the Stormlanders have taken from the city, what little has survived the journey from Godsgrace are also shipped over - mostly horses. And elsewhere in the ravaged town? Men about their gross deeds, taking every piece of wealth they can, terrorizing the inhabitants, taking their daughters and wives to rough beds. It’s an ugly time, the sort of time that good, strong Dornish red might make pass after…
And so, in the shadow of the silent walls of the Tor’s castle, where the Dornish garrison cowers, a company of men are methodically hunting through the looted buildings and warehouses, searching for secret cellars, for hidden rooms, and the like.” to Burton.
*REDO*
A young knight with scorpions on his shield, carrying a sword.
One of the Caron men who came to the campaign, the nightingale of Nightsong sewn onto the breast of his padded jack. A kettle hat is pulled low over his brow, and he has a gorget that protects his face. He carries a long-hafted halberd, and his brawny arms are able to swing it even from horse back.
“Anyone find anything, damn their eyes?!” calls a voice from a gutted building, kicking at the shattered remnants of a wine barrel. “Fucking good wine, all gone to waste, just dumped out here by some arse.” It’s the Caron man-at-arms, Harry, who’s decided to tag along with this ‘mission’ by three or four dozen men, scouring the town for wine and wealth at the direction of better men, the noble men of House Crakehall.
A youthful face peers out the door of a nearby house, an axe resting on his shoulder. “Nothing. Seems the whole street has been picked clean,” shouts Hew, as he steps out into the street. The moonlight illuminating the swan badge he wears above his heart.
A ferocious warrior, Ser Kevon carries a flail with a heavy, spiked head.
Mounted and in full armor, bearing the Brindled Boar emblem on their cloaks and shields, a group of Crakehall guardsmen make their way through the town, searching through the houses. Those men are on the same mission as the others, but somehow they are completely sober and seem to be more disciplined. They are led by Burton, the heir to old Lord Jonos. Clad in silvered chainmail and wielding a longsword of blued steel, the man, as always, rides his prized black destrier. Tymon the Brigand, his bodyguard, keeps close to him, like a dog keeps close to its master. He is, as always, armed with a lance, and has, somehow, a worried expression on his face. He whispers something into his superior’s ear. Burton considers something for a moment and answers, “Let them be. They need a good drink after all that happened…”
Riding on his destrier, peering in the dark towards one gutted building and then another in a desultory way, Ser Kevon comes nearer to Ser Elmer and says. “No luck, Ser Elmer,” the man says… and then turns his gaze eastward, to the looming walls of the castle, silent and gloomy on its hill. “Gods, what I wouldn’t give to have those gates open, and a chance to pick through the Jordayne treasury.”
The deep blue night sky is clear and cloudless, and the stars glitter. A cool breeze blows from the west. From high above, the waxing gibbous moon shines down on the landscape.
In the dark beyond the town - to the south - something stirs in the cloudless night, beneath the stars, beneath the moon.
“No luck either, boy?” the grizzled Caron man-at-arms asks Hew, as he grunts his way up atop his horse, an old hunter that’s seen better days, yet somehow managed to survive the expedition. The effort is made awkward by the polearm he carries, but once he seats his well-padded arse into the saddle, it all seems natural enough. “Fuck! Maybe if we tried nearer the south corner of the castle wall—the tanners and butchers kept shop there, and might be the stench has kept men away, leave us something worthwhile for our trouble.”
Elmer almost give the other knight a kick, but restrains himself and watches Ser Kevon with barely hidden contempt. “And they wonder why our army broke to pieces.” he grumbles. He makes his way towards his cousin. “Coz, there’s going to be trouble. I can smell it, and no it’s not the tanneries.” he says. His mailed hand shows the drunked disarray of an army. “if you were one of those Seven cursed vipers, would you have any hesitations in cutting through these?”
In the night the Tor is but a cluster of lights and shadow, every so often a scream is carried on the wind from the town to the Dornishmen who are even now moving into place to put the Westerosi invaders to the sword. Gerion is amoung those who hears those screams but unlike the others, he does not frown or curse but smiles. “Enjoy it whoresons,” he mutters to the Westerosi inside the walls. “Soon it will be your time to scream.”
Hew passes his axe to one of the other men and pulls himself back into his saddle. Hearing Elmer’s words he glances over angrily. “We earned this plunder riding through that bloody desert,” he remarks boldly to his better. “Besides, Stormbreaker did for the Duskies, at Broken Arm.”
“It’s time to ride,” Prince Rhodry says now, to the other men with him, commanders and men-at-arms alike. The Martell prince, the man who killed a king, is conspicuous in his copper armor and his bright robes, but the dark night helps hide him and a thousand other men. “The hour’s here. They’ll open the gates for us, as they said.”
Mounting lightly upon a sandsteed, he points a hand. “Ser Michael! Ride for the harbor, sweep them into the sea. Ser Jarvis, with me—we’ll sweep eastward, clear away any of the villains that might be trying to break into the castle, and aim to drive past them to approach the harbor from an unexpected direction.” And then some other knights are to drive west, to mirror his own movement. And with that, they ride, silently.
This lone village against the Greenblood has been entirely abandoned, and seems to have been left untouched and unmolested for months. All signs show a hasty abandonment, as if everyone suddenly vanished.
The village is haunted by ghosts, or so one would think as the wind whispers through wooden louvers set in windows surrounded by the mud brick of abandoned houses. Forty or fifty homes are here, ranged about a mud brick sept, and beside it an old holdfast with an unmortared wall and wooden door. The village itself is undefended, but for a dike around its length. Beyond the dike, there are fields of grain and orchards of olives, dates, and lemons, as well as pasturage for goats. The goats are all gone, but the fruits remain in great quantity, ready to be harvested. The docks by the river are solid enough, but there’s a crudely-carved sign nailed on one of the piles.
“Pillage and robbery! That’s how honorable knights turn into marauders!” Burton has joined his cousin and now stares in disgust at all that has happened around him. He looks disgusted, but does not do or order anything, and his men keep entering the buildings, looking through the different objects the houses contain and swearing as they fail to find anything valuable. Burton keeps silent and stares with a blank gaze. Suddenly, as if awakening, he shouts, “Everybody who raped or burgled today will be hanged tomorrow! My men, at least.” He does not seem to have heard his cousin’s question. He was clearly in a daze.
In the dark, beyond the walls a dust cloud rises on the horizon. It blocks out the stars.
“Pillage and robbery! That’s how honorable knights turn into marauders!” Burton has joined his cousin and now stares in disgust at all that is happening around him. He looks disgusted, but does not do or order anything, and his men keep entering the buildings, looking through the different objects the houses contain and swearing as they fail to find anything valuable. Burton keeps silent and stares with a blank gaze. Suddenly, as if awakening, he shouts, “Everybody who raped or burgled today will be hanged tomorrow! My men, at least.” He does not seem to have heard his cousin’s question. He was clearly in a daze.
“Good luck to your effort, ser,” says Ser Kevon to Burton, shaking his head. “The men’ll simply skulk off and commit their deeds elsewhere. An ugly sacking, after a long war—it’s hardly a shock.” He gives the Crakehall heir another look, and then turns his gaze to Ser Elmer. “Seems like just any other night to me, ser. The Dornish are content, I’ll wager, to see us go when we’re ready.”
Ser Jarvis swings himself up on a bay sandsteed that looks almost black in the darkness of the night, save for the white socks on its legs. The mare seems to understand the need for silence, but still takes the bit eagerly and he hardly needs to set heels to her side to follow as Rhodry gives the command to ride.
Elmer snorts loudly. “Did for the duskies? We fought them and won a hundred battles and theys till broke us. Where that snake Martell’s head then? or the Sand Dog’s? Or that bitch that the King let go when he had her. I bet she’s the one who had the idea to murder him cowardly.” He puts his hand on Mathin’s shoulder. “Lad, tell your father’s captains to keep alert. If the Dornish don’t attack, these scum will soon riot.”
“Scum?!” the Swan man-at-arms replies. Though he does not protest more than that, taking his axe, and riding to Harry’s side. “Bloody Crakehalls, drink all through the war, then suddenly when there’s a bit of sport, they’re as pious as King Baelor.”
“Ha’HAH!” a cry rings out in the dark beyond the Tor. A horn answers it. And another. And a third! The Dornish! The Dornish have come to reclaim the Tor! Someone is at the gates! They have opened them!
The Tor opens for the Dornishmen as they charge for the opening before them. The Speardancer shouts, “For Dorne! The Tor!” And Prince Rhodry shouts, “Sunspear!”
A thousand throats born on a thousand sandsteed open to echo the calls. Half charge straight for the docks, to drive the invaders into the sea! And the rest? They spread through the sacked town, hunting stray men-at-arms and knights wherever they find them, seeking to crush all opposition. And leading one such force? Prince Rhodry Nymeros Martell himself surrounded by a score of men, and more beyond, beneath the sun-and-spear of Dorne. His gaze turns in the darkness, black eyes searching, seeking some giant knight… and finding others, instead, not the same man, not the hated Stormbreaker, no, but these will surely do.
“No wonder the Dornishmen revolted, if our men behaved like this during their stay here…” Burton mutters. He takes out a wineskin, doing the thing he always does when he is nervous, shocked, indignant, or feeling some other strong emotion. He draws it from a bag attached to his saddle, but does not drink. He raises it a little, as if to take a gulp, and then continues speaking. “Lord Tyrell was actually nothing but a marauder, who behaved toward Dornish nobles as if they were shit, and got what he deserved… Soon we will leave this fucking country, our king dead and the whole realm lost, and all because of the damned Tyrell… What was it, eh?”
“That slut? Oh, if only the king had given _me_ the chance to put her to the question ... on my COCK!” shouts Harry, and he cackles gleefully, interjecting into the knights’ discussion. “Begging your pardon, ser, o’course. And I’d say it were that Uller, Mavros, who done it. Never trusted the man, no ser, never.”
Gerion is as silent as the desert wind as he rides along side Jarvis Sand. Then when the gates are thrown open and the charge begins, he shouts along with the others. “Dorne! And Prince Rhodry!”
A ferocious warrior, Ser Kevon carries a flail with a heavy, spiked head.
Elmer looks at the soldier who dares to comment on him, and he barely abstains from knocking the man off the saddle. he spit on the ground when shouts pierce the night. “Damn! Damn! I hate being right!” he swears and he yells. “Alarm. To your posts, or whoever the Dornish don’t kill I’ll butcher myself.” he yells to the rabble, then grabbing the reins of his horse mounts up quickly and sees that the Lannister contingent is indeed more alert, Mathin Lannister having arranged them in at least a semblance of order.
A last shake of his head, as Ser Burton grows maudlin, and that Caron man raucous. He shoots him a glare, in fact, and eyes the castle again ... when there’s a sound. A faint sound, at first, unclear. He frowns. And then ... a cry for Dorne carried on the night wind. “By the gods!” he says, and he’s hurrying to grab up his flail from where it hangs from the saddle. “We’re under attack! We’re under—”
And then they are, a Dornish troop sweeping around the corner, blood already on their blades as they killed straggling, fleeing looters ... and they slow, they slow to see so many men gathered here, looting. And now scrambling, pulling themselves onto their horses, shouting prayers and imprications!
His sword out and ready, thirsting for blood, Jarvis gallops in through the gates and down the streets, the bay mare leaping over a man already fallen in the street. Drunk, or dead? He doesn’t bother caring about that, taking aim instead for one who is on his feet and scrambling to reach a horse of his own. But too late, as he’s introduced to the edge of Jarvis’s sword at the back of his neck.
This lone village against the Greenblood has been entirely abandoned, and seems to have been left untouched and unmolested for months. All signs show a hasty abandonment, as if everyone suddenly vanished.
“Kill them all!” is Rhodry’s command, once he assess the quality of the invaders, the men hastily trying to mount their horses, some already turning tail to run ... but others are loyal to their lords, or simply courageous. His sword’s out, already red with some dead man’s blood, and it’s hungry me. And with that, his gilded spurs press, and his sand steed flies into action, the knights of Sunspear about him!
The first foe he meets slams the halberd he carries down with an exacting aim . . . but it *CRASHES* against the sun-and-spear of the prince’s round shield, and swift as a snake Rhodry’s sword flicks out to try and cut him down!
Burton attacks Jarvis with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Rhodry attacks Harry with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Elmer is rocked in the saddle by the axe that sinks into his shield, but as arrows begin to fly from behind the Lannister files whose long spears begin to lower against the attackers, Elmer swears. “I should have been drunk!” he groans, still helmetless, and stabs towards the Dornishman’s exposed chest.
Elmer attacks Gerion with his sword…
...and misses by a narrow margin!
Too young to know what he does, Hew sees only glory in the copper armoured form of Prince Rhodry. Spurring his mount the young man-at-arms surges forward raising his axe. “The Young Dragon!” he shouts as he swings to avenge his dead king.
Hew attacks Rhodry with his mass weapon…
...and sees his blow go wild!
Veering sideways to avoid a footman with an ax, and slamming his shield backwards against the man once past, Ser Jarvis finds his path blocked by another of the Crakehalls, and this one is out for him. He’s a fraction too late at turning aside this time, and a ringing blow is delivered to his head, making him reel in the saddle. He swings wildly with his own sword in response.
Jarvis attacks Burton with his sword…
...and sees his blow go astray!
Cries and screams echo, from the alleys and streets beyond, and most of all from the harbor, where the Dornish have made their chief thrust. But here’s Prince Rhodry with his men, and they’re locked in furious battle, cutting down some men as they run, but struggling mightily against those who stand and fight.
Snake quick Gerion twists out of the way of the Crakehall knight’s sword. “I’m going to fuck your little Lion when I’m done with you!” he shouts as he brings his axe back down in another sweeping arc.
Gerion attacks Elmer with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Bare-headed, Ser Kevon searches for an opening through the press of horses and fighting men—and then spurs his horse suddenly, yelling aloud. The flail whirls above his head, once , twice, thrice as he brings it smashing down at the first Dornish head he can reach. “DAERON! DAERON!” he cries.
Kevon attacks Ramon with his flail…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
The battle is getting thicker and the boar on Elmer’s shield is obliterated, as he trieds to keep in the saddle, ony his force helping him to stay ahorse. “Damned viper!” he screams between clenched teet and attempts another heavy blow at the man’s neck.
Elmer attacks Gerion with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Gerion is driven from the saddle!
Knocked hard by the prince’s blow, Harry’s kettle helm takes the worst for it. He curses aloud, tries to thrust the prince away with the spear haft, and then twists in the saddle to try and hook him with his halberd’s spike!
Harry attacks Rhodry with his polearm…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
“And once again we meet ,Jarvis!”- bellows Burton ,as he dodges the attack. He rises in his stirrups and swings the sword over his head ,aiming at the knights sword arm. At the same time he tries to batter him with his oaken shield-to break his nose or to get some teeth out,or,if lucky,even unsaddle the lad.
Burton attacks Jarvis with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
“Damn!” shouts the young man at arms as his axe swings and misses the treacherous Dornish prince, though still eager to win glory through killing Rhodry he rallies and swings again.
Elmer rides on and joins the Lannsiter rankes, where his squire throws him his helm. He takes a long swig from the wineskin hanging at his saddle before closing on his visor and picking up a new shield. Damn, this is desperate. He’s mad with anger at the sheer stupidity of it all. Maybe, just maybe, if…He steers his huge horse towards where Rhodry is fighting. “Martell!” he yells, not wanting to strike from behind.
Elmer attacks Rhodry with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Rhodry is rocked back in the saddle by Elmer’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
His own attack gone astray—no wonder, with him still dizzy from the first attack—Jarvis finds himself at the receiving end of yet another ferocious assault by that bad-tempered boar of a man. His arm is numbed by the heavy blow against it—though, his grip on his own sword does not falter—and the shield batters against him, rocking him in the saddle once more. “Fuck, go back to rooting in the dirt, pig!” he grunts, slashing down with his sword at Burton’s knee-joint.
Jarvis attacks Burton with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Landing a vicious blow against the Crakehall knight Gerion roars raising his axe again to finish off the knight, blinding himself to the return strike that takes him in the throat. He dies choaking on his own blood as he slides into the street.
That hook passes the warding steel of his sword, and manages to punch into the mail at Rhodry’s shoulder, and into the flesh beneath. “Fuck!” the prince curses, and then he’s slammed by a fresh attack that rocks him back in the saddle. A man at arms plunges in, and calling, “Prince Rhodry! Prince Rhodry!”, and he manages to drive the doughty warrior Harry back ...
And in that space, Rhodry writes himself, and with a snarl he spurs forward at the Crakehall knight, sword slashing!
Rhodry attacks Elmer with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Elmer is driven from the saddle!
Hew attacks Rhodry with his mass weapon…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Elmer is grinning with excitement at having landed such a blow on a famed knight, but then his world runs dark, and he’s thrown offf the saddle. The big knight lies in the mud, half his body numb. If there are any Dornish cutthroats ready, he’s toast, and that’s if he’s not run over by horses. Luckily the son of his liege lord ahsn’t forgot his being saved earlier, and two men run to carry Elmer to the relative safety behind Lannister spears.
Receiving a blow, Burton grunts, spins on his saddle and swears “Fucking bastard, you are the only pig around here…and I tried to be civil even with an enemy!” Then he spurs his horse violently, making it rush forward, and with force brings a overhead blow down on the Bastard,trying to split his helm and skull.
Old Harry manages to bring down the Dornish retainer who plunged into the battle in defense of the prince, halberd half-severing the man’s head from his shoulders. “Hah! Nightsong!” he cries. “Let the Dornish cunts have it!” And then he’s back, aiming himself at the worst of the lot, Rhodry Martell who’s battling away with the boy Hew. Coming at an angle, he holds back into the last moment and then lets loose a haymaker!
Harry attacks Rhodry with his polearm…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Burton attacks Jarvis with his sword…
...and sees his blow go astray!
The battle swirls fiercely beneath the walls of the castle, where there’s now activity and cries, and fresh alarms. And at the docks? The sounds of battle are fiercest of all there, as Speardancer nearly drives the stormlanders into the sea.
This time Jarvis succeeds in taking advantage of his horse’s deftness, setting her to nimbly dance out of the way of Burton’s destrier and the blow the Crakehall aims at him. Then he spurs her forward, and slashes out with a backhanded blow at Burton’s sword-arm. “Civil? Then mind your manners and get the fuck out of Dorne!”
Jarvis attacks Burton with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Burton is rocked back in the saddle by Jarvis’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
In the middle of the conflict, Ramon and Kevon trade blows. The Dalt knight, mounted on a dappled sandsteed, swings his heavy warhammer at the Westerosi knight.
Ramon attacks Kevon with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Hew’s thirst for glory has become red-rage as he misses the Dornish prince yet again! “Damn you to the Seven Hells!” he screams half-mad swinging again, desperate to land a blow against the Dornish prince.
His companions-in-arms busy or dead, Rhodry wards of not one but two fercoious men at once, slashing and hammering at him. The skill of his blade, the precision of his horsemanship, his swift reflexes—they’re all that keeps the infamous prince from an early grave! His shield’s half-battered into splinters, but he catches another blow on it, turns away Hew’s blow with his sword, and his back swing turns into a scything slash at Harry’s gut as he tries to extricate himself from an awkward position between both men!
Rhodry attacks Harry with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Luthor takes Hew.
Hew attacks Rhodry with his mass weapon…
...and merely strikes a glancing blow!
Elmer stands up and watchesthe battlefield. He places a hand on Mathin’s shoulder, speaking with a voice that shows his pain. “It;s a black day, and I had a black feeling. But I must return there. If I don’t come back, tell your brother that I’m glad he wasn’t here.” He climbs on a fresh horse, and he watches the battlefield. Burton is allright, but should that prince wrestle free….He’s got no choice, and it’s glory or death. Taking a few seconds to steady himself he gallops against Rhodry again. “The Young Dragon! and King BAelor!” he screams in his madcap attack, his sword coming in a heavy backhand towards the Dornish prince.
Burton snarls angrily,as the strike registers with his arm,making it bleed. “We will go…but will return! ” -building up speed,Burton slashes at Jarvis.This time the blade is not aimed at the helm The weapon flashes toward the Jarvis’s neck, cutting though the air.
Elmer attacks Rhodry with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Rhodry is rocked back in the saddle by Elmer’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
*SMASH*
Against his breastplate, the warhammer finds purchase, and Ser Kevon reels! He gasps for breath as he then lifts his oaken shield, thanking the gods he bothered to have it strapped to his horse’s saddle. It protects him from another low, and another ... and then he winds up the flail, and unleashes a swift heavy-handed blow!
Burton attacks Jarvis with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Jarvis is driven from the saddle!
Kevon attacks Ramon with his flail…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
The Dornishman grunts in pain as Kevon’s flail strikes him hard against the shoulder. He rattles in the saddle, but stays mounted. “Lemonwood!” He growls, seeking to bash Kevon’s skull with his hammer.
Ramon attacks Kevon with his mass weapon…
...and sees his blow go wild!
“Oof!” Harry cries, and there’s blood where the blade broke mail and cut the flesh beneath, but in the dark, it doesn’t seem so bad, it just stings like the very devil. “Ah, Ser Elmer! Kill the fucker!” he cries, as the Crakehall valiantly wades in, and it seems like they’ve a hope of success when he jabs his halberd’s spike at the prince, now beset on three sides!
Rhodry is rocked back in the saddle by Harry’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
Ser Kevon’s knees guide his horse away at just the right moment—Ramon’s blow goes wild, and his flail answers back!
Kevon attacks Ramon with his flail…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Ramon is driven from the saddle!
The retaliation from Burton is quick, too quick. Jarvis just manages to throw himself back enough that the sword does not cut his throat, but it does slam into his chest. Unbalanced already, he’s knocked over backwards, tumbling to the ground. The empty stirrups slap against the mare’s sides and she shies away.
Fortunately, not backwards, not where Jarvis lies, and the bastard son of Vaith manages to scramble to his feet, dash out of the way of another Westerland knight and grab a hold of his mount’s reins once again. Half-ways into the saddle he gallops away from Burton and towards where the prince is sorely beset by a number of foes.
Gods! Beset on all sides, it’s all that Rhodry can do to keep his seat, and he’s slammed again and again, his sword and his shield and his armor all that keeps him alive. Even so, blood comes from a split lip, and he’s his shield’s almost useless, nearly cut in half! Yet in the face of death ... a laugh is torn from him, a terrible thing. He plunges forward, sword wet with blood, and he tries to force his way past Harry’s waving halberd, and he slams his sword down just as his horse spins—an blow aimed at the man’s arms on the weapon!
Rhodry attacks Harry with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Harry is driven from the saddle!
Courage bolstered by even the barest success against Prince Rhodry. Hew roars a wordless cry bringing his axe down just as Ser Elmer re-enters the fray, and strikes the prince a powerful blow, followed soon after by Harry.
Hew attacks Rhodry with his mass weapon…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
The heir to Crakehall looks at his fallen adversary with a blank expression. “Fucking stupid bastard…,” he mutters, and raises his sword…And then Jarvis is once again mountnd and getting away! Burton damns his luck, grips the bridles of his steed and spurs its sides. In a second he gallops towards Rhodry Martell, joining his cousin in his attack on Prince .“Death to the Kingslayer,” he roars , and hacks with his gigantic sword…
Burton attacks Rhodry with his sword…
...and merely strikes a glancing blow!
Ser Jarvis has just found the saddle again when his mount bears down on one of Prince Rhodry’s assailants, and it is forgiveable that he swings his sword with more ferocity than precious as he hacks it down against the man’s shoulder.
Jarvis attacks Hew with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Elmer sees Harry fall as Martell is inded a warrior to be reckoned with, and his own side is witness to that, blood seeping through his mail, as the Crakehall knight gathers all his strength for another blow. Yet Burton comes to his help too, and he manages to laugh. “None so fierce!” as he attacks Rhodry again.
Elmer attacks Rhodry with his sword…
...and sees his blow go wild!
Hew cries out as the sword cuts through his jack-coat and draws blood. Cursing he turns his mount about and swings his axe wildly trying to kill the bastard who attacked him from behind!
Hew attacks Jarvis with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
The luck of the gods must be with Rhodry Martell, that, and the loyalty of the Bastard of the Red Dunes. The man drives at young Hew of the Marches, and it gives the prince a breath. His helm is spattered with blood, the blood that gushed from the severed forearm of Harry, the severed limb still clinging to the haft of the halberd even as he was carried away screaming by his horse! And then it’s on to another man, lungs heaving like bellows, black eyes searching through the slit—
Rhodry attacks Burton with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Burton is driven from the saddle!
Elmer cries in anguish as Burton is driven from the saddle. Rhodry is having a field day with Crakehalls, it seems, and His eyes are bloodshot. He doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep riding but he has to.” Putting all his force into his swordarm, he swings towards Rhodry’s side.
Hew’s axe slams into his side, but the blow is faster than it is heavu, and like the leopards that grace his shield Ser Jarvis shows his own claws once again. The sword slashes through the air, again striking at Hew’s arm, to disable the man as fast as possible.
Elmer attacks Rhodry with his sword…
...and merely strikes a glancing blow!
Jarvis attacks Hew with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Hew is rocked back in the saddle by Jarvis’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
Unsaddled by one of the Prince’s poweful blows, Burton remounts, assisted by Tymon the Brigand, who, his lance bloody as always, appears as if out of nowhere. Furious and covered by dirt, the heir to Crakehall once again charges, but this time not at Rhodry, but once again at Jarvis Sand who is attacking one of Rhodry’s assailants. His sword whistles through the air, as he tries to land the blow-aiming at one of the knight’s shoulderplates.
Burton attacks Jarvis with his sword…
...and sees his blow go wild!
Away in the distance, horns are sounding, horns of retreat, retreat to the docks! And at the castle ... the castle portcullis slowly, strenously, begins to open.
Hew’s world becomes pain as the leopard knight’s sword finds purchase in his flesh and nearly sends him flying from his saddle. Still, only by the grace of the gods, Hew keeps his seat and crying out in pain and rage is able to swing his axe again.
Hew attacks Jarvis with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Cutting down another Dornishman, Ser Kevon seems to get his wish—the gates are opening. A perfect chance to sweep in and take the treasures from the place, no? No. Not when battle’s around him, and the horns are calling, and in the distance he can see men: more Dornish horsemen starting to arrive, and there are men screaming and fleeing in terror!
The Dornish prince, though bruised and battered, has hacked down men, and with a wild laugh he seems intent to do more! “Are you a ghost?!” he cries, as Elmer Crakehall’s sword blow is turned by what remains of his shield. “Back to seven hells!”
Rhodry attacks Elmer with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Elmer’s shield.
That damned boar again! Narrowly Jarvis avoids the blow from Burton, but it brings him in Hew’s path more squarely. The blow from the axe rocks both man and horse this time, and for a moment Jarvis doubles over. But he sucks in air between his teeth, grinds them together and swings back at his last assailant.
Jarvis attacks Hew with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Hew’s shield.
Elmer doesn’t know how his shield gets in th e way of Rhodry’s blow. “Send me there, then snake! or can you only fight unarmed men?” He yells, hatred seething from him, and he pushes his horse into Rhodry’s lighter sandsteed, hoping to knock him off balance then attacking with a underhand blow.
Elmer attacks Rhodry with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
With a speed born of desperation Hew is able to block the Vaith bastard’s sword with the haft of his axe. Then swinging it around again brings the knotched half-moon head around aimed for the Dusky’s head.
Hew attacks Jarvis with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
“You will die today!,” Burton makes his destrier lurch forward, and then once again spurs it ferociously. He makes it collide with Jarvis’s steed and hacks and slashes at hi , attacking the knight from all directions. His aim is clearly his helm.
Burton attacks Jarvis with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Jarvis’s shield.
“‘Ware! The garrison’s coming out!” Ser Kevon calls, and he tries to gather such men there are as to try and stem the flow of Dornish knights about to come out of the gate. But the incessant horns are growing, if anything, louder. “Gods! The ships’ll leave us!” one man screams, and throwing down his weapon he flees north and west to the harbor, and others ... others start to do the same!
Jarvis may have accomplished his objective of drawing some attention away from the prince, but now he finds himself under furious assault. Is it quick thinking or pure luck that saves him? Surely a good helping of both, as he manages to twist away enough that the axe slams against his back and not his head and as the shield takes the blow from Burton. Only the good sense of his mare gives him the chance to retaliate against one of his foes, as she finds her footing and twists around with a kick and a squeal, clearing some room so that he can slash out with his sword against Hew.
Jarvis attacks Hew with his sword…
...and misses by a narrow margin!
A Dornish footman suddenly attack Burton, swinging his mace like a madman .” Looking for glory, eh?”,-the heir to Crakehall roars, and blocks with his wide shield. Spikes of the mace dig into the Brindled Boar emblem…and next moment the footman is pierced by Tymon’s lance. And Burton Crakehall is once again free to hammer at the Bastards helm.
Burton attacks Jarvis with his sword…
...and sees his blow go wild!
Hew flatens himself against the back of his mount and the bastard’s sword swings just above his head, then springing back up he grips the axe with both hands and swings with all his might.
The ring of steel on steel, the bellows-breaths of horses, the grunts and the curses—it’s all there, as men grow desperate in what might be their final hour. Prince Rhodry’s sand steed snaps at Ser Elmer’s horse, as the Dornishman’s wicked blade dances with the knight’s. The blows are swift, turned by armor, by shield, by sword, the battle swirling around them, a tide of Dornish steel beginning to pour from the gates of the Tor in overwhelming numbers!
Hew attacks Jarvis with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Jarvis is rocked back in the saddle by Hew’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
Rhodry attacks Elmer with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Elmer is rocked again, by the blow of this Dornishman who just won’t die. He know that he can’t take much more of this, and soon the Dornish will be upon them. But he can’t flee. He just can’t! HAd it been any other man, but this is the one who killed the king! His face is white as snow, as he tries his best to land a hit his sword feeling heavier in his hand.
Elmer attacks Rhodry with his sword…
...and sees his blow go astray!
No wonder that blow missed, but for that bit of bad luck Jarvis receives a favour in kind, as Burton’s sword fails to find its target. Alas, the same cannot be said for Hew’s axe, which once again slams into the Dornish knight, buckling steel beneath it and nearly forcing him from the saddle again.
Winded, gasping in pain, the Bastard of the Red Dunes reins his horse in and backs her up. With the garrison coming out of the Tor, is it time to see to his own safety? But no, not with the prince still there. And so he sets heels to his mare again, and drives his sword towards Hew.
Jarvis attacks Hew with his sword…
...and sees his blow go astray!
Burton’s grim face is covered with sweat. His only eye glitters behind the visor. “Don’t turn your back at me!”, he roars, and raises his sword high “None so fierce!” With those words, he slashes, once again trying to slit the knights breast open.
Burton attacks Jarvis with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
“Down to hell with you, Crakehall!” hisses the wicked prince, the blood of a king on his hands, as he snaps a brutal blow at the boar-knight’s weapon arm, chasing it after he tries to draw it back from going astray.
Rhodry attacks Elmer with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
His assault on Hew, executed with more courage than sense, fails. And then the boar is there again, goring him with his sword. Not so deep this time, but he’s a mass of bruises and cuts already. And yet, he swings back, determined not to fall back until the garrison is here.
Jarvis attacks Burton with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Elmer is driven back, as the prince lands blow after blow on him and his own strike go wild. But he stays in the saddle, as if by miracle. In a tourney he’d long have let himself fall and gone to enjoy a cup of wine, but this is a tourney and he cannot back away. Once more! And he can’t even speak, his teeth gnashing.
Elmer attacks Rhodry with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
The tide of Dornish knights sweeps away Ser Kevon’s attempt at a bulwark against him, and now more men are running for their lives, and Ser Kevon’s badly wounded after cutting down two men, only to have a third’s mace crush the skull of his helm. He bit his tongue, perhaps, in the fighting, as he swings wildly about and says in a strained voice, “Retreat! Retreat! Gods save us!” And now he’s cut his way free for a moment, and he’s spurring ... right west, for an alley way! “To me!” he calls! “Fly!”
Burton’s shoulderplate is now covered by blood-the Bastard of Red Dunes managed to get him. He masters the pain and throws away the shield—he isn’t able to hold it any more. Now he is exposed to the enemy, but the heir doesn’t care. Swearing, he brings his blued sword down in a quick cut against Jarvis.
The charge of the Crakehall is a fierce thing—none so fierce, isn’t that what they say?—but with fresh vigor, Prince Rhodry fights him to a stand still, their horses circling round, hoofs resounding against the cobbles, screams of dying men around them, and more Dornish are appearing, more Dornish!
Burton attacks Jarvis with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Jarvis is rocked back in the saddle by Burton’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
Rhodry attacks Elmer with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
Elmer is rocked back in the saddle by Rhodry’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
He may have landed another solid blow on that blasted boar, but like a wounded animal it seems to only increase Burton’s ferocity, and Jarvis is soon repaid in full for his successful assault. Once again he’s nearly unhorsed, and once again he clings on, fighting back like a man possessed.
Jarvis attacks Burton with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Burton is driven from the saddle!
Elmer is surrounded by Dornish now, and there’s no chance to escape. But his vison blurs, damn, this viper hits like a horse! He make shis horse dance back, just for a second, so that he can get a breth in, before he unges in the saddle, his long sword stabbing at the Prince’s chest.
Elmer attacks Rhodry with his sword…
...and sees his blow go astray!
And a spear thrown from horse back flashes, and Ser Kevon gasps out a last breath before collapsing. Yet his horse and falling body plows its way through a group of Dornishmen who try to stop him, scattering them like pins, clearing away to the safety of the alley!
Finally that cursed Crakehall goes down, but there’s no room for Ser Jarvis to make sure its permanent. Even with the Dornish reinforcements arriving, he and the remaining men with Rhodry—there’s not too many of them—are hard pressed until their foes finally decide to fall back. “We need to drive these bastards to the harbour with the rest!” he gasps, still halfways out of breath.
The Jordayne knights ride into the field, and they break much of the remaining resistance, and some of the knights cut through the square outside the gates to drive into the street, even as more Dornish come to join Rhodry’s forces. So it is that a rout commences, and those horns ... can someone glimpse, by moon and torch light, a tall mast beginningto drift away from the harbor? Gods! Ships are starting to leave, even as the wicked Prince Rhodry aims to leave more widows and grieving mothers!
Rhodry attacks Elmer with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Elmer is driven from the saddle!
Elmer is owned by Elmer
Hew had been caught behind the press of the Dornishmen, but he and some handful of others managed to win free, seeing the Crakehall knights fallen, Hew shouts. “You lot, to Burton! The rest,” he smiles grimly. “Let’s kill us a prince!” With that he charges forward, swinging his axe like a mad man, cutting away to the Crakehall knight down before the Dornish prince, and then with a mad shout throws himself at Rhodry. Meanwhile around him other men-at-arms cut through to Crakehall and one of them extends a hand to him to help on to his horse.
Hew attacks Rhodry with his mass weapon…
...and sees his blow go wild!
“Over _your_ dead body!” shouts Ser Jarvis as Hew covers the retreat of the Crakehalls by attacking Rhodry. He’s hardly in great shape to pose an obstacle to the knight, but its just a little while longer now that they need to hold on, and he gives it his best attempt.
Jarvis attacks Hew with his sword…
...and merely strikes a glancing blow!
Elmer is dragged off the battleground, and swears faintly as he can barely move. He watches Hew act so bravely and as his helmet is taken off, a trickle of blood flows from his mouth.
Burton Crakehall, with the help of the unknown warrior, limps onto his horse. His cloak is now torn, armor battered and sword covered by blood—alas, only by blood of common soldiers. His left arm is limp. His one-eyed gaze soon finds the Bastard of the Red Dunes, he raises his sword….and a random arrow ,buzzing through te air, pierces the horse’s neck. The knight jumps before the mount falls, and is not damaged.B ut now Crakehall is horseles and unable to fight the Bastard of Red Dunes. The heir to the boar lords scowls and shakes his fist in the air “Gods! I have always been a pious man….Why didn’t you let me defeat Jarvis Sand?”
Dornishmen are everywhere, riding down fleeing men, trapping the last belligerents and now hammering at them—throwing spears lash out, and longaxes and flails and swords hack and hew ... well, at the likes of Hew, as the Marcher youth bravely makes a last stand to cover the retreat of others! Rhodry Martell, fresh from defeating the heir to Crakehall, barely manages to evade the blow. He stands in the stirrups, leans over, and hacks a brutal blow at the man with a roar!
Rhodry attacks Hew with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Hew is driven from the saddle!
And with that, the battlefield’s lost. OF the scores of men prowling in the shadow of the castle, a mere handful survive, fled into an alleyway, the bodies of the dead choking it and distracting pursuit.
“Sers! Sers!” one man-at-arms cries, terrified. “Got to keep to the alleys, and pray to the gods we can get into the harbor!
Hew is nearly struck in two by the Dornish prince’s sword. His death is wordless as he falls from the saddle to the cobblestones below. Where he is crushed beneith the hooves of the Jordayne knight’s horses as they press forward in pursuit of the fleeing knights and men-at-arms.
Hew’s cut down, and Prince Rhodry turns, looking for his next foe ... and nothing. There’s none of the northrons standing. “On to the harbor!” he calls, not caring about pursuit or ransoms, wanting to join the assault upon the ships. The Dornish knights slowly peel off, riding north for the harbor, leaving the dead and gravely wounded behind.
And those who escaped into the alleyway? A harrowing journey, skulking in the shadows, racing across courtyards and squares, even killing when they had to—and then the harbor’s before them, a roil of battle, yet there’s a gap, a gap among the Dornishmen where the Baratheon banner dominates, and a last mad dash brings them to safety where they can board the ships!