Aha, Wyllam is still alive! I had a feeling that we might not have seen the last of him, but his "death" scene was so convincing that I had my doubts as well. Perhaps I was just hoping that this wasn't the last of him, because as brutally realistic as it would have been, his death would have ultimately been pretty embarrassing at the same time. I mean, after all he has been through, he would just drown in a river? I could have understand it though, because in retrospect, our decision might not have been the best.
That said, it eventually turned out to be a good one, because as much as he had to suffer so far, things seem to look up for him. That asshole Rylan is death, which is a very good thing for just about every single character in the Vale and Paytan Hunter returned as a big damn hero to save the day. This was a very satisfying read, as well as an unexpected turn of events. Man, whenever that jerk Qyle suffers a defeat, I feel a very smug satisfaction about this all. Now he is deprived of a prisoner and a valuable hostage, which only further adds to the humilitation he suffered in the most recent parts. That said, when it comes to Wyllam we clearly haven't seen the last of him and I am pretty sure that his suffering is not yet over, even if things might get a bit better for now. I am curious where you intend to lead him to from here on.
Wyllam
A gasp escaped his cold corpse as water was flushed out from his lungs onto the pebbles beside him, and an instant shiver crawled … moreover his numb pale skin. He was surrounded by shadows, looming over him with piercing glares, yet all Wyllam could concentrate on was his breathing. He was alive, barely.
“That’s right, get it all out,” a voice encouraged him, patting him on the back. It wasn’t long before Wyllam slightly came to his senses, turning to his saviours. His torturer knelt by him with a sickening grin, his dirty hand on Wyllam’s trembling shoulders. “Hello,” he greeted sinisterly through his grin, causing Wyllam’s instincts to kick in. He swiped the man’s hand from his shoulder, starting to crawl back, before his eyes landed on the glimmering wet steel of a blade placed at his throat.
“No further shit fingers,” he barked, digging the steel into Wyllam throat. “Get him in binds, we’ll start a fire and rest before we head … [view original content]
Aha, Wyllam is still alive! I had a feeling that we might not have seen the last of him, but his "death" scene was so convincing that I had my doubts as well. Perhaps I was just hoping that this wasn't the last of him, because as brutally realistic as it would have been, his death would have ultimately been pretty embarrassing at the same time. I mean, after all he has been through, he would just drown in a river? I could have understand it though, because in retrospect, our decision might not have been the best.
Barely, but more so now thanks to Paytan. Yes indeed, I didn't want to end his storyline just yet as I still have plans for him down the track, but the last choice had a lot of risks, and perhaps jumping into an icy river with a strong current wasn't the best one to take The other option would've been quite an interesting one, and a very different alternative in comparison to what we have here, whether that be better or worse.
That said, it eventually turned out to be a good one, because as much as he had to suffer so far, things seem to look up for him. That asshole Rylan is death, which is a very good thing for just about every single character in the Vale and Paytan Hunter returned as a big damn hero to save the day. This was a very satisfying read, as well as an unexpected turn of events. Man, whenever that jerk Qyle suffers a defeat, I feel a very smug satisfaction about this all. Now he is deprived of a prisoner and a valuable hostage, which only further adds to the humilitation he suffered in the most recent parts. That said, when it comes to Wyllam we clearly haven't seen the last of him and I am pretty sure that his suffering is not yet over, even if things might get a bit better for now. I am curious where you intend to lead him to from here on.
With Rylan's death, Wyllam definitely has no more immediate pain to suffer, and being in safe hands now means things are looking hopeful for Wyllam's healing process, though man he has taken quite a beating to get there. Well finally there was use for Paytan after all than just being a body in Strongsong Paytan's heroism felt quite fitting for his character, being so ambient and chivalrous, and also being quite an old friend to Wyllam through their advisement of Robar, so definitely a good sight on sore eyes. Qyle, oh man that guy's going to be feeling it right now. Not only has he lot his eldest son, but the hostage that would have potentially won him the war against the Royce's. That being said, the Corbray's still have the Arryn's backing them, but depending on who gets to Heart's Home first is the biggest issue.
Aha, Wyllam is still alive! I had a feeling that we might not have seen the last of him, but his "death" scene was so convincing that I had … moremy doubts as well. Perhaps I was just hoping that this wasn't the last of him, because as brutally realistic as it would have been, his death would have ultimately been pretty embarrassing at the same time. I mean, after all he has been through, he would just drown in a river? I could have understand it though, because in retrospect, our decision might not have been the best.
That said, it eventually turned out to be a good one, because as much as he had to suffer so far, things seem to look up for him. That asshole Rylan is death, which is a very good thing for just about every single character in the Vale and Paytan Hunter returned as a big damn hero to save the day. This was a very satisfying read, as well as an unexpected turn of events. Man, whenever that jerk Qyle suffers a defeat, I feel a very … [view original content]
Jarden cleared his throat, staring into the golden liquid of his ale. “I would agree to their terms,” Jarden admitted, though his tone felt unconvincing and awkward. Robar nodded, pouring himself a drink. “Then that is what I will do,” Robar decided determinedly as he took a seat, causing Jarden to raise an eyebrow.
“You would make the decision off a traveller’s opinion?” Jarden perplexed, but Robar shook his head. “You’re more than a mere explorer, Jarden Frost. What you did for me at Strongsong was a great service, and it showed great initiative,” Robar acknowledged with impression, further confusing Jarden.
“You approve of the arrangement?” Jarden asked, and Robar confirmed his question with a nod, but there was a hint of distress in his grey eyes. “We needed the Belmore’s, and you got us that alliance. That’s all that matters.” Jarden felt unconvinced with the heavy frown on Robar’s face.
“What is it?” Jarden finally asked with a touch of concern, which Robar shrugged off casually. “Nothing. Heavy lies the crown,” Robar mumbled quietly, before catching Jarden’s gaze. “I fear that Wyatt’s forces alone will not be able to help us repel the Andal’s in entirety. For that we will need more men,” Robar announced. Jarden sighed, downing the remainder of his ale.
“Well with the Belmore’s now, we have united most of the Fingers,” Jarden observed blatantly, and Robar nodded. “We will need to extend our reach further than just the Fingers,” Robar informed him, causing Jarden to raise an eyebrow. “Where?” he asked, and Robar sighed.
“I don’t know,” he admitted as he ran a hand through his hair. “The Darklyn’s are struggling with civil conflict, the Mudd’s are powerless and I doubt the Lannister’s would ride to our aid. That only leaves the North, which from what I’ve heard, King Theon is taking the fight to Andalos,” Robar frowned, but there was still hope in Jarden’s eyes.
“What about the Neck?” Jarden thought, causing Robar to raise an eyebrow. “The Crannogmen?” Robar asked, and Jarden nodded. “They’ve been relatively unaffected by the Andal’s, and when I crossed the Neck I stayed at Greywater Watch, I know Lord Roran.” The proposition was one which clearly appeared tempting in Robar’s eyes, but he was reserved, or held back by something.
“We will need to discuss this in the court,” Robar decided, and Jarden looked at Robar strangely. “We?” he asked, and Robar nodded with a chuckle. “Yes, we. Or do you not recall I put you on my war court before you left?” Jarden scratched his head awkwardly, it had felt like a long time since he departed the Redfort. Robar stood from the table, finishing his drink. “Let’s gather the war council.”
-
The council was relatively small, consisting of King Robar, Lord Barrock and his son Cedrick, as well as some faces which Jarden had been briefly introduced to. Lord Harlan Hunter was a tall gentleman, with looks much like his son, only difference being his beard and hair was starting to grey. Lord Myke Coldwater was the other, who had a stern cold face with short dark brown hair and deep blue eyes.
Joining the court was also Lexia Belmore, who held an equally stern and cold look on her silver eyes, if not more menacing than that of Lord Myke. Cedrick flashed Jarden a look of worry before Robar commenced the council. “I’ve called you all here to inform and discuss the events planned,” Robar announced, and received a mix of looks from the members around the table.
“Jarden has returned from his mission at Strongsong with the promise of a Belmore alliance, which will give us a strong advantage over the Corbray’s when we march on Heart’s Home. Our issue is getting there, the Ironoaks stands in our way.” There were murmurs among the council, and Jarden could see the bitterness in Lexia’s eyes.
“We should go around, my King,” Lord Myke suggested, but was quickly shut down by Lord Barrock with a slam of the table. “If the bastards are going to stand in our way, we’ll show them firsthand what awaits for the Andal’s that are doing the same,” Barrock declared, and Lexia clearly showed her approval, however Harlan shook his head.
“I’ve known Lord Waynwood since I was a boy, King. We should negotiate, I’m sure we can make him see reason,” Harlan tried to persuade, but Myke shook his head. “Negotiations will take time, which is something we have little of,” he stated clearly, causing Harlan to chuckle. “If going around were quicker than we wouldn’t have a problem, would we?” Harlan jested, causing Myke to roll his eyes.
“Which is why we shouldn’t fuck around.” Barrock grumbled, crossing his arms. “The men are eager for a fight, not a longer walk, and not to sit on their arses for any longer either. Frost has given us this alliance, and we need to use it,” Barrock stated strongly, and his son nodded. “I agree, the sooner we arrive at Heart’s Home, the better. Lord Ethon doesn’t have much time left.” Lexia sent a scowl towards Cedrick, which he tried hard to ignore.
“A fight will lead to pointless death among our own blood, and I’d rather add the Waynwood’s to our forces than fight them. We will negotiate,” Robar decided, and received a nod of agreement from Harlan, while the other members seemed less convinced of his choice. “I’ve decided to agree Wyatt’s proposal,” Robar announced, and Barrock showed his clear disapproval.
“A stupid decision, King. That greedy midget is no use to us, he’ll only meddle with our plans and sell us to the Andal’s when he has something of worth. He allowed Andal’s into his lands for fuck sake!” Barrock spat with disgust, but Robar shook his head. “The issue still stands, we need more men, and Jarden has given me an idea of where we can get some.” All the eyes of the council turned on Jarden, who gulped with the attention, before opening his mouth to speak.
“The Crannogmen of the Neck,” Jarden stated quickly, and Barrock raised an eyebrow. “The Neck? How the fuck can we get forces from the Neck in time?” Barrock asked with some impatience, but Harlan’s eyes widened in realisation. “You said my boy is still at Strongsong, yes?” Harlan asked, and Jarden nodded. Harlan turned his gaze to Robar. “Send a raven to Paytan, he can negotiate with Lord Roran,” Harlan thought, but Lexia rolled her eyes.
“Not bloody likely. Your son won’t be leaving Strongsong until we see Wyllam.” Harlan’s cheeked reddened with anger, his hands clenching into fists. “You keep my son locked away like a dog! I expected better of Lord Ethon!” he cursed, to which Lexia immediately retaliated. “And I thought higher of the great King Robar, who can’t even find the corpse of my brother, the only son and heir to my father!” she screamed, and had it not been for the other members of the council the two would have been at each other’s throats.
“Enough!” Robar yelled, his voice booming through the room. “Lady Belmore, we are working hard to find your brother. Believe me, the man was like a brother to me as well, and finding him is of great importance to me, but we are at war, and the lives of more than just your brother hang off that. Will you really be so selfish to let the lives of all our people fall just for one?” The expression on Lexia’s face soured before mellowing down into a frown. “No,” she mumbled. “Though I will return to Strongsong. I have nothing here,” she said as she flicked a glance to Jarden, causing him to gulp. Robar nodded formally.
“Very well, I will not let you go alone though,” he stated, his eyes scanning over the council. Jarden cleared his throat. “I’ll volunteer,” Jarden announced, but Robar simply shook his head. “No, I want you by my side. Anyone else?” Jarden felt a pain in his chest from the rejection, and the relieving look on Lexia’s gaze didn’t help in easing it.
“I’ll go,” Cedrick said, putting his name forward, but Barrock shook his head. “No, I believe more caution needs to be played here, my King. What’s stopping her from running to the Andal’s? Allow me to escort Lexia with my guards, I might be able to talk some sense into Lord Ethon as well,” he grumbled, and Cedrick rolled his eyes.
“She’s a patriot to the core, father. We’ll be fine,” he sighed, but Barrock shook his head. “I will not risk my only son’s life by sending him over the mountains again!” he yelled, clearly startling Cedrick in the process. Robar let out a sigh. “It appears we’re at an impasse. Lords, what do you think?” Robar asked, looking to Harlan and Myke.
“I believe Barrock should go,” Harlan confessed, rubbing his hands awkwardly. “We’ll need a strong commander in the north if we are to succeed with our siege on Heart’s Home.” Lexia scoffed in offense, and Myke shook his head. “My King, we need numbers and commanders here. Send the boy, they’ll get there quicker too,” he argued, causing Robar to frown. He turned his gaze to Jarden.
“What are your thoughts, Jarden?”
[Send Cedrick with Lexia] [Send Lord Barrock with Lexia]
Barely, but more so now thanks to Paytan. Yes indeed, I didn't want to end his storyline just yet as I still have plans for him down the track, but the last choice had a lot of risks, and perhaps jumping into an icy river with a strong current wasn't the best one to take The other option would've been quite an interesting one, and a very different alternative in comparison to what we have here, whether that be better or worse.
What can I say, it really seemed like the better option back then, sort of to throw them off his trail. I severely underestimated the danger this river posed, but I hope I won't make such a mistake again. Now I am curious about this alternative route, can you say anything about that?
With Rylan's death, Wyllam definitely has no more immediate pain to suffer, and being in safe hands now means things are looking hopeful for Wyllam's healing process, though man he has taken quite a beating to get there. Well finally there was use for Paytan after all than just being a body in Strongsong Paytan's heroism felt quite fitting for his character, being so ambient and chivalrous, and also being quite an old friend to Wyllam through their advisement of Robar, so definitely a good sight on sore eyes. Qyle, oh man that guy's going to be feeling it right now. Not only has he lot his eldest son, but the hostage that would have potentially won him the war against the Royce's. That being said, the Corbray's still have the Arryn's backing them, but depending on who gets to Heart's Home first is the biggest issue.
Well, good riddance then, I'm certainly glad Rylan is gone now. He was the third-biggest piece of shit in all of Heart's Home, after Qyle and Jorrhen (though I am not sure which of these two is the worst. Jorrhen probably). Paytan is a hero now and though he probably didn't do it for that, I am sure he's going to be rewarded handsomely. And Qyle, it seems another thing I underestimated is just how valuable Wyllam has been as a hostage if he could have decided the war potentially. This makes me even more curious why he was allowed to escape. It seems Qyle's defeat is being orchestrated right there and I wouldn't even be all that surprised if Marvion's death was also a part of this plan. The question is, what's to gain from Qyle's defeat? Maybe the plan is to put the more gullible Jaime onto the throne, but in that case, I considered Marvion to be the more naive, with how easily he was convinced to turn againt Darren.
Aha, Wyllam is still alive! I had a feeling that we might not have seen the last of him, but his "death" scene was so convincing that I had … moremy doubts as well. Perhaps I was just hoping that this wasn't the last of him, because as brutally realistic as it would have been, his death would have ultimately been pretty embarrassing at the same time. I mean, after all he has been through, he would just drown in a river? I could have understand it though, because in retrospect, our decision might not have been the best.
Barely, but more so now thanks to Paytan. Yes indeed, I didn't want to end his storyline just yet as I still have plans for him down the track, but the last choice had a lot of risks, and perhaps jumping into an icy river with a strong current wasn't the best one to take The other option would've been quite an interesting one, and a very different alternative in comparison to what we have here, whether that be better or wors… [view original content]
Oh man, it seems I just now realize just how much stands and falls with Wyllam. Robar's alliances seem fragile at the very best without him and I am sure that news of his survival and safe arrival at Strongsong (if he arrives safely after all), will be good for the First Men here. Since I kind of root for Robar in this conflict, I am glad that this all happened, even aside from my personal feelings about Wyllam's situation and Qyle. Also, man, poor Jarden seems to almost certainly not get the girl Her reaction to Robar's refusal to send him with her must have really hurt, poor guy.
Now, the choice was surprisingly hard come to think of it, but I ultimately decided to [Send Lord Barrock with Lexia]. Thing is, what convinced me is that thre might indeed be a good commander needed in the north. Robar' host has good commanders, such as Robar himself, so Barrock might be needed elsewhere. Meanwhile, I strangely enough see him as more expendable than Cedrick as well. He's a bit of a troublemaker, not easy to deal with, so if anything happens on the way, then his death might not be all bad. Meanwhile, Cedrick's death might drive Barrock to refuse to help Robar any further, given that he wanted to go intea and not risk his son. So, I can see some advantages of sending him. The only reason I still get a bit of a bad feeling about this is that Barrock is not the kind of guy whom I'd like to be around Lexia, whom I quite like. Cedrick might be the more pleasant travelling companion for her, but well, ultimately Barrock feels like the more pragmatic option.
Jarden
Jarden cleared his throat, staring into the golden liquid of his ale. “I would agree to their terms,” Jarden admitted, though his … moretone felt unconvincing and awkward. Robar nodded, pouring himself a drink. “Then that is what I will do,” Robar decided determinedly as he took a seat, causing Jarden to raise an eyebrow.
“You would make the decision off a traveller’s opinion?” Jarden perplexed, but Robar shook his head. “You’re more than a mere explorer, Jarden Frost. What you did for me at Strongsong was a great service, and it showed great initiative,” Robar acknowledged with impression, further confusing Jarden.
“You approve of the arrangement?” Jarden asked, and Robar confirmed his question with a nod, but there was a hint of distress in his grey eyes. “We needed the Belmore’s, and you got us that alliance. That’s all that matters.” Jarden felt unconvinced with the heavy frown on Robar’s face.
“What is it?” Jarden finally as… [view original content]
[Send Cedrick with Lexia] Well, first of all I feel like Cedrick is diplomatically the wiser option here than Barrock, and I doubt Lexia has any plans to betray them. And like was brought up, great commanders like Barrock will be needed in the war.
Jarden
Jarden cleared his throat, staring into the golden liquid of his ale. “I would agree to their terms,” Jarden admitted, though his … moretone felt unconvincing and awkward. Robar nodded, pouring himself a drink. “Then that is what I will do,” Robar decided determinedly as he took a seat, causing Jarden to raise an eyebrow.
“You would make the decision off a traveller’s opinion?” Jarden perplexed, but Robar shook his head. “You’re more than a mere explorer, Jarden Frost. What you did for me at Strongsong was a great service, and it showed great initiative,” Robar acknowledged with impression, further confusing Jarden.
“You approve of the arrangement?” Jarden asked, and Robar confirmed his question with a nod, but there was a hint of distress in his grey eyes. “We needed the Belmore’s, and you got us that alliance. That’s all that matters.” Jarden felt unconvinced with the heavy frown on Robar’s face.
“What is it?” Jarden finally as… [view original content]
Jarden
Jarden cleared his throat, staring into the golden liquid of his ale. “I would agree to their terms,” Jarden admitted, though his … moretone felt unconvincing and awkward. Robar nodded, pouring himself a drink. “Then that is what I will do,” Robar decided determinedly as he took a seat, causing Jarden to raise an eyebrow.
“You would make the decision off a traveller’s opinion?” Jarden perplexed, but Robar shook his head. “You’re more than a mere explorer, Jarden Frost. What you did for me at Strongsong was a great service, and it showed great initiative,” Robar acknowledged with impression, further confusing Jarden.
“You approve of the arrangement?” Jarden asked, and Robar confirmed his question with a nod, but there was a hint of distress in his grey eyes. “We needed the Belmore’s, and you got us that alliance. That’s all that matters.” Jarden felt unconvinced with the heavy frown on Robar’s face.
“What is it?” Jarden finally as… [view original content]
Jarden
Jarden cleared his throat, staring into the golden liquid of his ale. “I would agree to their terms,” Jarden admitted, though his … moretone felt unconvincing and awkward. Robar nodded, pouring himself a drink. “Then that is what I will do,” Robar decided determinedly as he took a seat, causing Jarden to raise an eyebrow.
“You would make the decision off a traveller’s opinion?” Jarden perplexed, but Robar shook his head. “You’re more than a mere explorer, Jarden Frost. What you did for me at Strongsong was a great service, and it showed great initiative,” Robar acknowledged with impression, further confusing Jarden.
“You approve of the arrangement?” Jarden asked, and Robar confirmed his question with a nod, but there was a hint of distress in his grey eyes. “We needed the Belmore’s, and you got us that alliance. That’s all that matters.” Jarden felt unconvinced with the heavy frown on Robar’s face.
“What is it?” Jarden finally as… [view original content]
Jarden
Jarden cleared his throat, staring into the golden liquid of his ale. “I would agree to their terms,” Jarden admitted, though his … moretone felt unconvincing and awkward. Robar nodded, pouring himself a drink. “Then that is what I will do,” Robar decided determinedly as he took a seat, causing Jarden to raise an eyebrow.
“You would make the decision off a traveller’s opinion?” Jarden perplexed, but Robar shook his head. “You’re more than a mere explorer, Jarden Frost. What you did for me at Strongsong was a great service, and it showed great initiative,” Robar acknowledged with impression, further confusing Jarden.
“You approve of the arrangement?” Jarden asked, and Robar confirmed his question with a nod, but there was a hint of distress in his grey eyes. “We needed the Belmore’s, and you got us that alliance. That’s all that matters.” Jarden felt unconvinced with the heavy frown on Robar’s face.
“What is it?” Jarden finally as… [view original content]
Heyy everybody! Here comes a new set of character illustrations. This time we have Kira Tyrner, Vera Manderly, Wyatt Manderly, Torrhen Blackmont and Morgan Martell (in that order):
Kira and Torrhen! Aww yes, aww yes, this is great I am always happy to see your illustrations here and naturally, seeing some of mine among them is just the icing on the cake. And what wonderful illustrations they are! Now, let's start with Kira. Out of all of my characters, she is actually the one I had the least of a clear image in my head while creating her and it only slowly came as I read Stigz' writing about her. She's also one of my characters that have constantly risen in my own favour and no doubt, your drawing has made me even more happy that I submitted her, because this is certainly one of my favourite illustrations as well. That said, out of this bunch there's actually one I enjoyed even more, I'll get to that in a minute. Now, Vera and Wyatt, two Manderly's. I think I said it before, the Manderly storyline is rapidly growing on me and these two have actually been among my favourite aspects of it. I am so happy you decided to draw them and well, you truly did them justice there, I think. I cannot wait to see what's in store for them and as always, your illustrations made me even more fond of them. Next, we got another one of mine with Torrhen. The newest of the bunch here and one that I am amazed at how close your interpretation is to the image I had in my head. I love that expression on his face, that is just perfect for him. Truly, I cannot thank you enough for including him here! Now, finally there's Morgan, he's the abovementioned favourite illustration of this set and probably one of my Top 3 favourites in general. There's a certain dynamic about this drawing which I find absolutely amazing. The attire, the way he stands, the sword, the guy in general, that is outstanding work right there and I am in awe. Thank you for drawing this set, I so look forward for future work of yours there!
Heyy everybody! Here comes a new set of character illustrations. This time we have Kira Tyrner, Vera Manderly, Wyatt Manderly, Torrhen Blackmont and Morgan Martell (in that order):
I hope you like 'em!
Now, let's start with Kira. Out of all of my characters, she is actually the one I had the least of a clear image in my head while creating her and it only slowly came as I read Stigz' writing about her. She's also one of my characters that have constantly risen in my own favour and no doubt, your drawing has made me even more happy that I submitted her, because this is certainly one of my favourite illustrations as well.
It was definitely interesting to draw Kira because I already did Darren earlier, so I tried to had a sort of family resemblance there while also making Kira unique of course. And another challenge was that Kira had to be at the same time beautiful and modest, but I think I managed to make that work Anyway, I'm glad you like her!
Now, Vera and Wyatt, two Manderly's. I think I said it before, the Manderly storyline is rapidly growing on me and these two have actually been among my favourite aspects of it. I am so happy you decided to draw them and well, you truly did them justice there, I think. I cannot wait to see what's in store for them and as always, your illustrations made me even more fond of them.
Heh, drawing all these Manderly's has certainly helped me with getting more and more interested in them, as well as separating all the W's from each other Anyway, there will be more Manderly illustrations coming in the future
Next, we got another one of mine with Torrhen. The newest of the bunch here and one that I am amazed at how close your interpretation is to the image I had in my head. I love that expression on his face, that is just perfect for him. Truly, I cannot thank you enough for including him here!
Glad to hear you like him! It's a bit of a pity that I couldn't really show off his magnificent braid in this drawing, but no worries, there might be a portrait coming later Anyway, I personally really enjoyed making the shield with the Blackmont sigil. Though when I first had that idea I was a bit skeptical if that sigil would look good in a shield, but I think it works
Now, finally there's Morgan, he's the abovementioned favourite illustration of this set and probably one of my Top 3 favourites in general. There's a certain dynamic about this drawing which I find absolutely amazing. The attire, the way he stands, the sword, the guy in general, that is outstanding work right there and I am in awe. Thank you for drawing this set, I so look forward for future work of yours there!
Ah, Morgan might just be my own favorite out of these as well! I'm especially satisfied with how his attire turned out, so it's good to hear you like it as well And np, it's always a pleasure to do character illustrations. I'll be working on more of these, as well as ones for FoT
Kira and Torrhen! Aww yes, aww yes, this is great I am always happy to see your illustrations here and naturally, seeing some of mine among… more them is just the icing on the cake. And what wonderful illustrations they are! Now, let's start with Kira. Out of all of my characters, she is actually the one I had the least of a clear image in my head while creating her and it only slowly came as I read Stigz' writing about her. She's also one of my characters that have constantly risen in my own favour and no doubt, your drawing has made me even more happy that I submitted her, because this is certainly one of my favourite illustrations as well. That said, out of this bunch there's actually one I enjoyed even more, I'll get to that in a minute. Now, Vera and Wyatt, two Manderly's. I think I said it before, the Manderly storyline is rapidly growing on me and these two have actually been among my favourite aspects of it. I am so happy you decided to dr… [view original content]
Hey guys, so I thought I'd give you an update on the events of my life so far. I am alive as a couple of you are aware of through my activity in the PM's and I'm also right in the middle of my exams period, having just finished my second exam today. That leaves me with two more to go, which are in areas I'm a little more confident in, so I have some high hopes for them I've also had a lot of grand thoughts for the Invasion, and it's led to the creation of a semi-new storyline which I was unsure if I was going to show or not. It introduces a new PoV, Erza Nightwood, who is an Ironborn girl based on Bear Island.
I'd also like to publicly announce to those who are aware of my other story, the Northern Chill, I'm officially dropping that story due to a number of reasons, the predominant one being I simply cannot fit it into my plans for the sequels I have in mind for the Invasion. However this choice came with a lot of thought and some good decisions I believe. A lot of the characters that were submitted there, as well as some of the story ideas as well, will be transferred to the Invasion, and those who don't fit will go into the distant Invasion sequel Anyway, without further ado allow me to introduce Erza Nightwood
The cold winds of the North howled through the gullies of the steep harsh mountains of Bear Island. Sleet and water shot down from the dark grey skies above, turning the ground to mud and slush, and causing a distress amongst the animals. The Bay of Ice was a mess of whitecaps and five metre swells, causing the ships of the Iron Fleet to rock and chafe against the lines that desperately tried to hold them down.
Erza shivered in the cold as her hands clenched tightly onto the thick lines that had loosened from the Iron Thrall, the flagship of the Iron Fleet that was captained by Ravos the Raper, the last son of King Harrag Hoare. “Tie the fucking girl down!” Ravos shouted as the men and women of the Iron Islands heaved on the ropes, reaching for nearby sentinels and soldier pines to unload the tension onto. Erza gritted her teeth as the sharp sleet nipped at her numb face.
“Can’t this fucker tie down his own fucking boat?” she seethed, tugging at the line as the men around her heaved. She heard the forced chuckle from the younger man behind her, Artigas Pyke, the bastard of the Lord of Orkmont and at a ripe age of sixteen. Just a year younger than herself. “Maybe letting her go will teach him a lesson,” he suggested wryly, and received an irritated groan from the man behind him.
“Just shut up and heave, or he’ll have both of your heads.” Jarod Greyjoy was a man on his twenties, and a true model to the Ironborn customs, while also a loyal and respectable friend, one which Erza did not take for granted. Still, she rolled her eyes as she put her energy into another combined tug.
-
The sky was beginning to darken as the storm passed on to the Frozen Shores beyond the Wall. Erza sat between two boulders with her hands submerged in the icy water, it was a relieving feeling for the burns she had acquired from the tantrum of the Iron Thrall. A shiver coursed over her body, her pale skin covered with goose bumps. She gritted her teeth bitterly. Fucking Hoare’s. She stared into the rippling reflection between her hands, the girl that stared back at her was barely a familiar sight.
Her brown hair with blonde highlights was soaked wet from the lapping waves and downpour of ice and rain, while her clothes were torn and ripped, her eyes were a matching dark blue to the sea state. Perhaps the only recognisable part of her was the beauty mark under her right eye, and the bracelet around her left wrist. Her right wrist, along with the majority of her arm, was nothing but burnt scar tissue. She sighed, cupping some saltwater into her hands and splashing her face.
“Cold night,” a voice sounded from behind her, causing her to reach for the dagger tucked away in her boot. It took her a moment to recognise the gaunt, sickly facial features of Guthred Ghastly, the second son of Ravos Hoare. His short greasy blonde hair fell down to his brow, while his light blue eyes stared long and lustfully at areas which made Erza uncomfortable.
“Lord,” she mumbled, rising and bowing her head. Guthred chuckled, clasping his hands and putting on a warm smile. “Please, just Guthred will suffice,” he assured her, but Erza didn’t particularly care for what the man wished he was called. “I hope I haven’t interrupted you, I was actually looking to bathe myself,” he stated warmly, airing out his long sleeved shirt. Erza shook her head awkwardly.
“I was just heading back to the hall,” Erza stated in a weak attempt to escape, but Guthred shook his head. “Looking as dirty as you are now? Please, you would dishonour our host by stamping filth into his hall,” Guthred smirked, but Erza simply rolled her eyes. “I’m sure honour is the last concern on Lady Claire’s mind,” she mumbled nonchalantly. “Goodnight, Lord.” Erza reached down and grabbed her cloak, slinging it over her shoulders before starting back for the hall, until Guthred caught her arm.
“You would dare insult the memory of Lord Ursus by trotting mud into his keep? I don’t think so,” Guthred stated confidently, his eyes staring at Erza’s young breasts. Erza broke the grip from her arm, tucking it behind the safety of her cloak. “Let’s not pretend you actually care for the man you beheaded, or the wife that your father rapes each night. Go molest another little girl, Ghastly.” Without hesitation, Erza took her leave with haste, eager to meet the warmth of the hall, but more so just wishing to get away from the whoreson.
-
The wooden keep of the Woodfoot’s radiated with the warmth of the centre hearth, as well as the heat of the men and women who inhabited it. Erza sat at the same table as Artigas and Jarod, as well as Jarod’s fiancé: Arika Goodbrother. Arika was a stunning girl, and too good for Jarod without a doubt. Her dark brown hair complimented her pale skin tone, and her brown eyes were like the fertile soil of Westeros. That was how many described them anyway. Jarod had an arm around her shoulder, whispering love and other soft words into her ears. Jarod was reasonably handsome, with short black hair with a moustache and hazel eyes. However his true attraction came from his symmetrical muscular build he had obtained from years behind the lines of a ship.
Erza sat beside Artigas, who was of a similar build to Erza, being narrow and lean. Only difference that that Erza didn’t look ridiculous. Artigas had wavy blonde hair which reached his shoulders, and a light stubble that didn’t suit him. His brown eyes gave him a certain attraction however, more than Erza allowed herself to have anyway. Her eyes travelled around the hall, spotting the events occurring.
Edgar the Archer, the first son of Ravos Hoare, shot his third arrow into the rotting corpse of Ursus’ eldest son, a sickening grin spread across his face. Meanwhile, his younger brother: Guthred, talked to him with a hushed voice. When their eyes met contact, Erza shifted her attention elsewhere. Her gaze landed on Harlie Beserk, the younger sister of Ravos, who played the finger dance with Arika’s lord father. At the seat of the Woodfoot’s, Ravos sat with a grin spread across his face, and the widower of Lord Ursus on his lap. Erza frowned, returning her gaze to the table.
“How long until we raid the mainland again?” she asked with some boredom, taking a drink from her cup of ale. Jarod sighed, turning his gaze to Erza with some mild annoyance. “Do you think of anything else other than raiding? I ought to find you a good man,” Jarod muttered, and Artigas cleared his throat with a poor entry, causing the Greyjoy to chuckle. Erza rolled her eyes.
“We’ve taken this shit of an island, yet all we do is sit here and pick at the shores. We haven’t had a good raid in months! Erich the Eagle meanwhile controls half of the Riverlands!” Erza exclaimed, but Jarod simply smirked and winked at Artigas. “What?” Erza asked, but Jarod simply laughed it off and returned to Arika. Erza turned her gaze to Artigas, who fought hard to hold back a grin.
“You’re wired up pretty tight,” he suggested, causing Erza to groan in frustration before hitting him in the shoulder. “If you boys would stop thinking with your cocks, perhaps we’d actually have the North,” Erza grumbled, resting her cheek against her palm. This caused Jarod to sigh, pausing from his pecking at Arika’s neck. “We’re a small army against a united Northern army,” Jarod clearly stated, but Erza raised her eyebrows stupidly.
“Though we know they aren’t united! Why do we provoke them into potentially doing so?” she spat, but Jarod just shook his head, returning to Arika, who took her turn to answer. “Word spreads that the Hungry Wolf is taking his grand army to Andalos. We won’t strike until this is the case,” Arika informed her, pushing Jarod’s working lips down to her breasts. “Now, why don’t you go have some fun? You’ll have your raid soon, a few weeks at most,” Arika assured her as Jarod loosened her blouse. Erza rolled her eyes, standing from the table.
Her eyes scanned around the hall again, briefly checking the events running. Edgar had now ceased from shooting at the corpse, and he conversed deeply with Guthred. Harlie had just won her game of the finger dance unscathed, while Arika’s father was missing a few fingers. Erza sighed, crossing her arms and turning her gaze down to the bored Artigas. Maybe I do need to unwind, she thought with a frown.
Ah, Ironborn. So delightfully messed up, as some of them are. This part made me, once again, very happy that all this time ago, we chose for Alara not to face them, because I surely wouldn't want her to meet Ravos and his sons. Especially that Ghastly guy is kind of terrifying. I can see how he got his nickname All in all these were very interesting to read about. I also recognized Arika and Jarod from TNC, although Jarod was named Jared back then and a bastard, as far as I remember correctly. Nice to see our first TNC characters crossing over to the Invasion, I will keep an eye open for future appearances of characters with familiar names.
[Spend time with Artigas]
The finger dance is something I never quite understood, as I must admit. How could anyone want to regularly play a game that ends with one of the participants losing a couple of fingers? How does anyone on the Iron Islands still have fingers at all? Nah, let's not do that. Given that her participant would be the sister of Ravos, losing would be the best thing she could hope for, because what would happen if she'd win and cost Harlie a couple of fingers? Nah, let's play this save right here.
Erza
The cold winds of the North howled through the gullies of the steep harsh mountains of Bear Island. Sleet and water shot down from t… morehe dark grey skies above, turning the ground to mud and slush, and causing a distress amongst the animals. The Bay of Ice was a mess of whitecaps and five metre swells, causing the ships of the Iron Fleet to rock and chafe against the lines that desperately tried to hold them down.
Erza shivered in the cold as her hands clenched tightly onto the thick lines that had loosened from the Iron Thrall, the flagship of the Iron Fleet that was captained by Ravos the Raper, the last son of King Harrag Hoare. “Tie the fucking girl down!” Ravos shouted as the men and women of the Iron Islands heaved on the ropes, reaching for nearby sentinels and soldier pines to unload the tension onto. Erza gritted her teeth as the sharp sleet nipped at her numb face.
“Can’t this fucker tie down his own fucking boat?” she se… [view original content]
[Spend time with Artigas] Well this was a lot of characters introduced, but it's pretty nice to get more Ironborn PoVs to the story, as fucked up as they are And I agree with Liquid on the choice, let's not lose any fingers for no good reason.
Erza
The cold winds of the North howled through the gullies of the steep harsh mountains of Bear Island. Sleet and water shot down from t… morehe dark grey skies above, turning the ground to mud and slush, and causing a distress amongst the animals. The Bay of Ice was a mess of whitecaps and five metre swells, causing the ships of the Iron Fleet to rock and chafe against the lines that desperately tried to hold them down.
Erza shivered in the cold as her hands clenched tightly onto the thick lines that had loosened from the Iron Thrall, the flagship of the Iron Fleet that was captained by Ravos the Raper, the last son of King Harrag Hoare. “Tie the fucking girl down!” Ravos shouted as the men and women of the Iron Islands heaved on the ropes, reaching for nearby sentinels and soldier pines to unload the tension onto. Erza gritted her teeth as the sharp sleet nipped at her numb face.
“Can’t this fucker tie down his own fucking boat?” she se… [view original content]
Hey guys, so I thought I'd give you an update on the events of my life so far. I am alive as a couple of you are aware of through my activit… morey in the PM's and I'm also right in the middle of my exams period, having just finished my second exam today. That leaves me with two more to go, which are in areas I'm a little more confident in, so I have some high hopes for them I've also had a lot of grand thoughts for the Invasion, and it's led to the creation of a semi-new storyline which I was unsure if I was going to show or not. It introduces a new PoV, Erza Nightwood, who is an Ironborn girl based on Bear Island.
I'd also like to publicly announce to those who are aware of my other story, the Northern Chill, I'm officially dropping that story due to a number of reasons, the predominant one being I simply cannot fit it into my plans for the sequels I have in mind for the Invasion. However this choice came with a lot of thought and some good … [view original content]
Erza
The cold winds of the North howled through the gullies of the steep harsh mountains of Bear Island. Sleet and water shot down from t… morehe dark grey skies above, turning the ground to mud and slush, and causing a distress amongst the animals. The Bay of Ice was a mess of whitecaps and five metre swells, causing the ships of the Iron Fleet to rock and chafe against the lines that desperately tried to hold them down.
Erza shivered in the cold as her hands clenched tightly onto the thick lines that had loosened from the Iron Thrall, the flagship of the Iron Fleet that was captained by Ravos the Raper, the last son of King Harrag Hoare. “Tie the fucking girl down!” Ravos shouted as the men and women of the Iron Islands heaved on the ropes, reaching for nearby sentinels and soldier pines to unload the tension onto. Erza gritted her teeth as the sharp sleet nipped at her numb face.
“Can’t this fucker tie down his own fucking boat?” she se… [view original content]
They will! This was one of the redeeming reasons of this choice, since I really wanted to showcase the work that you submitted. While the majority of your younger characters will have a larger role in the sequel, we'll get to see the child variants of them, and some key moments in some of their backstories. You'll also get to see the younger versions of some of the older characters you submitted
Erza
The cold winds of the North howled through the gullies of the steep harsh mountains of Bear Island. Sleet and water shot down from t… morehe dark grey skies above, turning the ground to mud and slush, and causing a distress amongst the animals. The Bay of Ice was a mess of whitecaps and five metre swells, causing the ships of the Iron Fleet to rock and chafe against the lines that desperately tried to hold them down.
Erza shivered in the cold as her hands clenched tightly onto the thick lines that had loosened from the Iron Thrall, the flagship of the Iron Fleet that was captained by Ravos the Raper, the last son of King Harrag Hoare. “Tie the fucking girl down!” Ravos shouted as the men and women of the Iron Islands heaved on the ropes, reaching for nearby sentinels and soldier pines to unload the tension onto. Erza gritted her teeth as the sharp sleet nipped at her numb face.
“Can’t this fucker tie down his own fucking boat?” she se… [view original content]
Ah, Ironborn. So delightfully messed up, as some of them are. This part made me, once again, very happy that all this time ago, we chose for Alara not to face them, because I surely wouldn't want her to meet Ravos and his sons. Especially that Ghastly guy is kind of terrifying. I can see how he got his nickname All in all these were very interesting to read about. I also recognized Arika and Jarod from TNC, although Jarod was named Jared back then and a bastard, as far as I remember correctly. Nice to see our first TNC characters crossing over to the Invasion, I will keep an eye open for future appearances of characters with familiar names.
I wasn't sure if I was ever going to show the Ironborn perspective in this story, but after deciding to drop TNC I felt it necessary, especially to get an idea of Ravos the Raper as well, considering he is a listed foe to Theon after all. Each of the Hoare's have their own interesting traits, some admirable and some less so, as Guthred appears to be and you are correct with your observation, Jarod and Arika were from TNC, and Erza too (as well as the briefly mentioned Kober). However given that Erza was only briefly introduced through her interactions with another Greyjoy that Jared was associated with, I don't blame you if you don't remember her
Ah, Ironborn. So delightfully messed up, as some of them are. This part made me, once again, very happy that all this time ago, we chose for… more Alara not to face them, because I surely wouldn't want her to meet Ravos and his sons. Especially that Ghastly guy is kind of terrifying. I can see how he got his nickname All in all these were very interesting to read about. I also recognized Arika and Jarod from TNC, although Jarod was named Jared back then and a bastard, as far as I remember correctly. Nice to see our first TNC characters crossing over to the Invasion, I will keep an eye open for future appearances of characters with familiar names.
[Spend time with Artigas]
The finger dance is something I never quite understood, as I must admit. How could anyone want to regularly play a game that ends with one of the participants losing a couple of fingers? How does anyone on the Iron Islands still have fingers at all? Nah, let's not do that. … [view original content]
Alright, so I also have the next part ready since I couldn't be bothered studying. It's an Alara part, and the beginning journey to the chapter finale. The last time we saw Alara, you decided for her and Dromon to get things on, and this part takes place the morning after.
Edit: and I've got another part ready... I should probably study now I'ts a Dormund part. The last we saw Dormund Bolton, he had decided to find answers from Elena Rivers, the woman who revived him, but was alternatively left with more questions than answers. He eventually found himself in the courtyard, where he was met by Russel, the blacksmith of the Dreadfort. Russel showed Dormund the armour he had been working on for Dormund, a reforged variant of Ryden Frost's armour, as well as the Hammer of Hornwill. Dormund tested this beast on Russel, to which he approved of when opening up the black smith's skull. This part takes place a few hours after Alara's recent part.
A distant war horn pulled Alara from her restful slumber, yet there was a thudding in her head from her previous night. Alara squinted her eyes tiredly as she took a moment to recognise where she was. She lay alone under thick furs and a humid tent, an empty place beside her. He left? She thought with some disappointment, enough to make her frown. She let out a sigh, her eyes scanning for her gear.
Her leather armour was neatly piled in the corner of the tent, her blue cloak beneath it, as well as the small yellow tabard of House Caron. There were conflicted feelings with that sigil, ones which brought pain to her heart. Her mother was a kind and loving woman, but there was nothing she could do to stop her husband from his constant abuse towards Alara. Still, Alara had love for the man, even if he hadn’t been a good father, he had still moulded her into the person she was today. Even if she hated to admit it.
Yet it was her siblings which brought a smile to her lips in the end. Her beautiful sister, Bethany. She wondered if she still sang to the ravens and nightingales that flew over Nightsong, Alara longed to hear her sweet, melodic voice again. Then there was her brother Gareth, who was always supportive of her, and taught her how to shoot her bow. Though perhaps the warmest thoughts were of Ryman.
She brought her hand up to her cheek and wiped away the forming tears. It had been years since she had seen his face, heard his comforting tone, felt his hold. He was the saving grace to Nightsong. She reached forward and touched the banner, remembering what it was like to see Ryman riding gallantly atop his horse in full armour, and then remembering what it was like to ride under the open night sky with him along the Marches. Time had truly passed. Perhaps he is Lord of Nightsong now, Alara thought hopefully, but shrugged off the wishful thinking.
Maybe Dromon was right about heading south, it had been too long, and Alara longed to see Ryman and the others again. She pushed away her thoughts and slipped into her gear, clipping her cloak onto her shoulders and grabbing her sword. Steelbreaker. There was something primitive about the name, powerful but odd, precise but intimidating. I guess that’s what a sword is.
The cold breeze met her face with a harsh introduction as she pulled the tent flap open, and the morning eastern glare blinded her. It took her a moment to regain her vision, and when she did she noticed the bronze giant knelt by the water, a wet rag sliding up and down the bronze blade of his great sword.
“You’re still here,” Alara commented in surprise, causing the First Dragon to turn his attention to her, a coy smirk on his lips. “You think I’d abandon my tent when there’s a beautiful woman in there?” he winked, causing Alara to roll her eyes. She joined him by the Weeping Water, sitting beside him. Her thighs ached, and she had gained a few love bites from last night.
“I see why they call you the First Dragon,” she jested, punching his arm. Dromon grinned, wringing out his rag and starting to dry his blade. “I’m surprised you remember any of it. You made short work of my Arbor gold.” Alara blushed awkwardly, tying her hair back into a bun. “Did I say anything out of place?” she asked after a moment, and Dromon seemed to hesitate before answering. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he assured her, before rising and giving her a hand up.
“We should get moving, Theon’s calling in all of his forces,” Dromon announced, but Alara shook her head. She could see something was bothering him, even if he wasn’t wanting to admit it. “What did I say?” she asked with some worry, and Dromon frowned, sheating his great sword. “Is there someone else?” he bluntly asked, and Alara raised her eyebrows in shock.
“Someone else?” The question startled her, what had she said? Dromon nodded, his eyes focused on the cloudy sky. Alara gulped, angst consumed her, but she shook her head. “There’s no one else, I swear,” and she did, she hadn’t engage in any long term relations since her early days in the Freehold, and even then she wasn’t sure what she made of it. Dromon sighed, just giving her a nod and a weak smile.
“Alright,” he stated in some sense of defeat, like he didn’t believe her. “Alright?” Alara echoed, placing a hand on his armoured chest. His cold gauntlet covered it, softly clamping around her pale skin. “Alright,” he repeated warmly, “I trust you.” The words brought heat to her cheeks. She pulled him down and kissed him, before he lifted her off her feet and carried her back to the tent. “We shouldn’t keep Theon waiting,” Dromon stated nonchalantly, but Alara smirked and led him into the tent. “He’ll cope.”
-
A couple of dozen Andal ships were anchored out of the mouth of the Weeping Water, the majority already manned by Stark men, while few remained as ghost ships. Alara and Dromon immersed from the forest that surrounded the river, and met the conglomerate of sellswords standing before their contractor, the Hungry Wolf.
Theon stood up on a pedestal which stared to the ships that would take them across the Narrow Sea for vengeance. Beside him stood Prince Tobas Bolton, as well as General Daniel Glenmore. Alara and Dromon snuck into the crowd as Theon was mid-speech. Alara’s eyes caught the gaze of Athena, who held a bitter glare. “Where the fuck have you been?” she whispered with frustration, but Dromon’s presence gave enough of an answer for her to shake it off.
“You haven’t missed much,” another voice muttered, which Alara noticed to be Bautistant. The young Stormlander’s black hair was swept back with the breeze in his face. “His voice is carried by the wind but his emotions are hidden by the sun. I don’t trust a man who hides his face,” his friend, Bautian muttered, crossing his arms. Bautistant let out a dry chuckle. “You don’t trust anyone, Bautian. So long as he pays then I’m happy.” Bautian simply rolled his eyes.
“-all will receive glory and wealth from this great journey!” Theon yelled, and received a cheer from most of the men. “A wolf hungers for fame,” claimed the raspy voice of Lillith of Lorath. Alara noticed Kasia and Chet Tully following in behind her, their hands around each other. “He hungers for pointless blood,” Kasia muttered angrily, while Chet gently rubbed her waist. “No more than the bloodbath of my homeland,” Chet sighed, and a sympathetic frown replaced Kasia’s ireful expression.
“At least we’re finally leaving this place,” Dromon groaned in relief, moving his armoured hand around Alara’s waist. In his other hand he held his famed dragon helm. “Good riddance,” Athena muttered in agreeance, and Chet nodded with them. “These Andal’s are honourable warriors, there should be a good fight ahead,” Chet stated bluntly, but Kasia rolled her eyes.
“There’s no honour in pointless bloodshed,” she grumbled, causing Bautistant to chuckle. “You’re not the brightest one, are you?” he jested, and Bautian quickly interrupted before Kas caught the wrong footing. “There’s gold in it, and that’s why we’re all here,” he stated diplomatically, but Kasia shook her head.
“No amount a gold will make me throw away my morals,” she vowed, causing Athena sneer. “Then leave. We don’t need hesitation on the battlefield,” she spat, and Kasia turned her pleading gaze to Chet, who just frowned. “I need the coin,” he muttered disappointedly, causing Kasia to glower. “You hide behind your shield of honour all you like, I’m going into this for you, don’t make me regret it,” she warned him, and Alara could feel Dromon’s tension on her, he remained for the same reason.
“Now let us head forward! To glory, to blood, to revenge!” Theon cheered, and the crowd rose their arms and voices in response. Theon disappeared from his pedestal, followed by Tobas and Daniel, and the crowd started to move towards the ships. Athena followed on, and Bautistant’s sellsword company followed after him and Bautian. Before long only the five of them remained.
“We won’t get the same treatment as the Stark soldiers,” Kasia stated informatively, “we’ll be expected to take care of ourselves,” Kasia acknowledged, and Lillith nodded. “A girl has been alone for many years,” she stated grimly, and Alara raised an eyebrow. “What about Boash?” she taunted, but the Lorathi only smirked in response.
“We should stick together,” Chet suggested finally, taking Kasia’s hand in his own, “watch each other’s backs on the battlefield.” Kasia showed her agreeance to this with a firm nod, and after a moment, Lillith nodded as well. “Bautistant and Bautian as well, they’d be good allies to have by our side,” Dromon stated, and Alara nodded. “Athena too,” she stated, causing Lillith to scoff.
“A girl is too focused on vengeance,” Lillith muttered, but Alara shook her head. “We can trust her, I promise,” Alara swore, but the Lorathi seemed unconvinced. Still, she shrugged and followed after the crowd. Kasia frowned, turning her gaze to Alara. “We can’t lose who we are over there, this war will be nothing as Theon describes it,” Kasia stated, and Dromon nodded.
“Like the burning of legions,” he muttered, rubbing Alara’s waist, but Kasia shook her head. “If things go south, I need to trust that you guys will back me, no matter what. Can you do that?” she asked, and Chet gave her a definite, solemn answer. “Of course,” he said warmly, but Kasia’s question was clearly directed to Dromon and Alara.
Dromon gave her a stern but slow nod, but Alara felt herself unable to give a clear answer. The best she could do was give an unconfident nod, which seemed to disappoint the Sisterwoman, but she accepted it regardless. “Thank you,” she mumbled, before dragging Chet after the crowd. Dromon sighed, turning his gaze to Alara.
“I’m following you, Nightingale,” he stated nonchalantly, and she nodded in response. Turning her attention to the quickly shifting crowd, the thought of sailing back to Essos intimidated her, but she was glad to finally be leaving the Dreadfort, for better or worse.
That's good to hear, since some time already I lost any hope to see them in the written by you form. Lots of time passed since I submitted them and many things changed as well.
They will! This was one of the redeeming reasons of this choice, since I really wanted to showcase the work that you submitted. While the ma… morejority of your younger characters will have a larger role in the sequel, we'll get to see the child variants of them, and some key moments in some of their backstories. You'll also get to see the younger versions of some of the older characters you submitted
Haha, I completely understand, and fret not, they've not been forgotten. They'll have quite a big storyline in Book 3, and they'll be more grown to their submission ages in the Invasion sequel
That's good to hear, since some time already I lost any hope to see them in the written by you form. Lots of time passed since I submitted them and many things changed as well.
Alara
A distant war horn pulled Alara from her restful slumber, yet there was a thudding in her head from her previous night. Alara squin… moreted her eyes tiredly as she took a moment to recognise where she was. She lay alone under thick furs and a humid tent, an empty place beside her. He left? She thought with some disappointment, enough to make her frown. She let out a sigh, her eyes scanning for her gear.
Her leather armour was neatly piled in the corner of the tent, her blue cloak beneath it, as well as the small yellow tabard of House Caron. There were conflicted feelings with that sigil, ones which brought pain to her heart. Her mother was a kind and loving woman, but there was nothing she could do to stop her husband from his constant abuse towards Alara. Still, Alara had love for the man, even if he hadn’t been a good father, he had still moulded her into the person she was today. Even if she hated to admit it.
Yet it was her sib… [view original content]
The sea breeze streamed up the rocky cliff face and streamed through Dormund’s short black hair as he stared off to the horizon of the Narrow Sea. Two dozen Stark vessels could still be seen sailing east, and on one of them was his brother, at the mercy of the Hungry Wolf. Dormund glared at the ships as he fingered the head of his hammer.
Beside him stood Catlina Glover, a distressed look on her sea blue eyes, and the infamous Rechar Greenwood with a bored look on his brown eyes. He let out a sigh, running his fingers through his slicked brown hair. “Well, I hope you got to say your final goodbyes, Princess,” he stated nonchalantly, causing Catlina to raise her eyebrows.
“What do you mean by that?” her shaky voice mumbled, and Rechar let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms. “Your prince isn’t coming back. None of them are,” Rechar muttered casually, and Dormund grasped the shaft of his hammer tightly. “Shut your mouth, Greenwood,” Dormund warned, helping himself up from the ground.
“I don’t know why you’re complaining, when Tobas passes you’ll be next in line for-” Dormund’s left hand fastened around Rechar’s neck, his grip tight and powerful, and he lifted the adolescent off the ground with ease. Rechar tried to fight, but his arms struggled to reach Dormund, and his will to be released diminished when Dormund hovered him over the side of the cliff.
“You think you’re in control around here?” Dormund mocked, loosening his grip around Rechar’s neck enough for him to respond. “Fuck you!” he spat, clenching onto Dormund’s forearm, and causing Dormund to roll his eyes. “Fuck me?” Dormund laughed, lifting his hammer and observing its finely forged steel. “Those are big words from a man about to fall from a cliff,” Dormund jested, and Rechar raised his eyebrows before bashing his fists against Dormund’s wrist.
“You wouldn’t fucking dare, Rogar would kill you!” Rechar screamed, only encouraging Dormund to chuckle more. “He already has,” Dormund replied with a sterner tone, showing off his thick scar on his neck. Rechar gulped, staring with a fearful gaze. “Why should Rogar give one shit about you?” Dormund continued, and Rechar looked at him with confusion and disbelief.
“Put me down!” he yelped, but Dormund shook his head. “Answer me.” Catlina gasped in awe as she watched, covering her mouth. “My lord,” she moaned with her muffled voice, but Dormund ignored her petty words. His glare remained on Rechar. “The Stark’s murdered my family, Bolton. I want revenge just as much as you do!” Rechar assured him with a pleading tone, but Dormund scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“Prove it,” Dormund tested him, and Rechar’s eyes widened, “bend down and kiss my feet. Pledge yourself to me and I’ll give you the vengeance that we both lust for, the vengeance my father will never give you,” Dormund stated calmly, but Rechar raised an eyebrow in protest, “and if I don’t?” he asked cautiously, causing Dormund to chuckle.
“Don’t piss yourself on the way down,” Dormund grinned as he started to release his grip, causing Rechar to squirm at his mercy. “OKAY!” he screamed in angst, clutching onto Dormund’s arm. “I’ll do it! Please!” he pleaded, but Dormund shook his head. “This is a big decision, are you sure you’re up to it?” he toyed with him, loosening his grip further. Rechar gave a firm and rushed nod, causing Dormund’s grin to widen. He brought Rechar back onto land, releasing him, and taking the Hammer of Hornwill into his hands.
“Do you pledge yourself to me?” Dormund asked again, and the bewildered Rechar took a moment to contemplate what he was doing, before inevitably falling to his knees and nodding. “Yes,” he muttered miserably, making Dormund smirk. “Then you may kiss my feet!” Dormund quipped, stroking the head of his hammer. Rechar was reluctant, but showed obedience for what seemed like the first time in his pathetic life.
“Good boy,” Dormund teased, rubbing Rechar’s cheek with the cold steel head of his hammer, before pulling the young man onto his feet. “Now, taking Lady Catlina back to the Dreadfort for me, you’re at her mercy now,” Dormund stated, and Rechar’s eyes widened. “Her mer-” he was unable to finish his sentence before Dormund gut punched him, making him fall to his knees again.
“Shall I get you to lick my boots this time?” Dormund japed, but Rechar disappointed him in shaking his head. “Then take Lady Catlina back to the Dreadfort, and do as she says,” he ordered, and reluctantly, Rechar arose and obeyed. When they had started their descent down the hill, Rechar turned his gaze back to the horizon. The white sails of the Stark’s had nearly disappeared into the distant waters, the sun setting behind them. Safe travels, brother, Dormund wished him, before turning and following Rechar down. It was time to march.
-
A hundred Bolton soldiers stood in formation by the gates of the Dreadfort, clad in their new iron armour and weaponry they had looted from the Andal’s. At the head of them sat the kingsguard, Carver, on his horse, as silent as the grave. His kingsguard armour was dinted and scratched, showing the wear it had endured over the years of use.
Dormund wore the armour of his old friend, Ryden Frost, armour of a similar flayed design to Carver’s. He stood by his black destrier, tying the Hammer of Hornwill to the carry bags on the saddle. It wasn’t long before his father came to disturb his peace, accompanied with the witch and the coward.
“Dormund,” Rogar muttered, stopping a few feet away from him. Dormund reluctantly turned his gaze to meet his father’s glare, as well as the eyes of Rechar Greenwood and Elena Rivers. “I trust you understand the importance of this mission?” he grumbled, causing Dormund to sigh impatiently and nod.
“Pull the Frost’s into line, be it any means possible. It’ll be done,” Dormund assured him, returning to tying his hammer down. The frail hand touching his shoulder caught Dormund off guard, and a rush of feelings flooded his head. Anger, disappointment, joy of acknowledgement. He held a stern expression as he turned his gaze to meet his father’s.
Rogar was a narrow man, weak in stature and gaunt in the face. More so than the Hungry Wolf, Rogar had earned the name: the Starved Leech, up until he earned his more recent title. His age made him appear wearier than he already was, his face lightly wrinkled and his eyebrows a greying dark brown. His head was bald, a curtesy to his foul receded hairline, but he still maintained a decent beard, however that had fully greyed. A frown beared heavy on his face, exposing his evident wrinkles, and arising more.
“This is a big task I ask of you, and I don’t trust another man with it,” Rogar stated, but Dormund could easily tell the man was lying with his sudden sympathy for his only remaining son. Still, he remained silent, just to make it harder for Rogar to remain in his act. The old man cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling Rechar to his side.
“This is Rechar Greenwood, he was the second son of the late Lord Gaben Greenwood, but the Theon saw to the end of his family, including his step-brother, Bael Stark. He’s informed me he’d be quite eager to join you on your mission, isn’t that right, Rechar?” Rogar asked, and the quite Rechar nodded hesitantly. “What do you say?” his father asked with a forced warm tone, making Dormund sick. Did he really want to take the coward? His eyes briefly met the gaze of Elena, who smirked at him. Or the witch?
[Take Rechar with you] [Suggest taking Elena with you instead]
Dormund
The sea breeze streamed up the rocky cliff face and streamed through Dormund’s short black hair as he stared off to the horizon o… moref the Narrow Sea. Two dozen Stark vessels could still be seen sailing east, and on one of them was his brother, at the mercy of the Hungry Wolf. Dormund glared at the ships as he fingered the head of his hammer.
Beside him stood Catlina Glover, a distressed look on her sea blue eyes, and the infamous Rechar Greenwood with a bored look on his brown eyes. He let out a sigh, running his fingers through his slicked brown hair. “Well, I hope you got to say your final goodbyes, Princess,” he stated nonchalantly, causing Catlina to raise her eyebrows.
“What do you mean by that?” her shaky voice mumbled, and Rechar let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms. “Your prince isn’t coming back. None of them are,” Rechar muttered casually, and Dormund grasped the shaft of his hammer tightly. “Shut your mouth, Gree… [view original content]
So Lady Caron has left the Dreadfort at last. I am certainly relieved by that, because no matter what's going to happen, that place has been fucked up and filled with dangerous people. Surely, Theon's army is not much better, but at least this part has shown that she indeed considers moving south in the future. The seeds have been sown, now all that needs to happen is for her to get this final push. Maybe meeting her half-brother, if he finds her, will be this push. A man can only hope. But well, for now I am truly glad she has left that place behind. Good riddance, Dreadfort!
And she really seems to be happy with Dromon! That is a good thing, a very good thing, I hope. He seems to be the fiercely loyal, yet jealous type, which can be good or bad depending on the situation. I am happy that she's happy, though at the same time, it's my job to be concerned still. I doubt Dromon is just playing with her though, unless he is a really good actor. He seems to have genuinely fallen for her, probably even since their fighting days in the Freehold. However, I have to wonder, just what did she say during the night? Like, we know there is no other man in her life, so was it something he misunderstood? I am curious about that. Or maybe he is just a generally jealous type, which would be bad. Let's just hope they remain happy for as long as possible despite the obstacles that are surely about to come in the future.
Alara
A distant war horn pulled Alara from her restful slumber, yet there was a thudding in her head from her previous night. Alara squin… moreted her eyes tiredly as she took a moment to recognise where she was. She lay alone under thick furs and a humid tent, an empty place beside her. He left? She thought with some disappointment, enough to make her frown. She let out a sigh, her eyes scanning for her gear.
Her leather armour was neatly piled in the corner of the tent, her blue cloak beneath it, as well as the small yellow tabard of House Caron. There were conflicted feelings with that sigil, ones which brought pain to her heart. Her mother was a kind and loving woman, but there was nothing she could do to stop her husband from his constant abuse towards Alara. Still, Alara had love for the man, even if he hadn’t been a good father, he had still moulded her into the person she was today. Even if she hated to admit it.
Yet it was her sib… [view original content]
There are several reasons for me to take this. If the Stark host wouldn't have left already, I would have chosen Rechar simply so that he won't be part of the Northern army. I am glad that at least he won't be there in Andalos, that place is already enough of a hellhole without his putrid presence. However, even though that is off the table quite definitely, I see two big reasons. First of all, as Wildling said, I'm having a bit of a hard time rooting for a Bolton. Dormund might still be better than his father, but it's clear that this resurrection did something with him and he's becoming more and more concerning in his behaviour. I'd rather give him the less useful companion so that he might not succeed entirely. On top of that, I utterly loathe Rechar. It has been wonderful seeing him put into his place at last. Maybe taking him will mean that he is going to die, even if I still hope this honour will go to Steffon. At the least, it'll put him into the presence of a man he is clearly terrified of and I find a terrified, pathetic Rechar to be far less insufferable than the smug monster he used to be before this part. And well, I still don't trust Elena. I don't think her influence is good for Dormund and I doubt her plans are all that good, so let's better leave her behind and hope that Dormund will recover without her.
Dormund
The sea breeze streamed up the rocky cliff face and streamed through Dormund’s short black hair as he stared off to the horizon o… moref the Narrow Sea. Two dozen Stark vessels could still be seen sailing east, and on one of them was his brother, at the mercy of the Hungry Wolf. Dormund glared at the ships as he fingered the head of his hammer.
Beside him stood Catlina Glover, a distressed look on her sea blue eyes, and the infamous Rechar Greenwood with a bored look on his brown eyes. He let out a sigh, running his fingers through his slicked brown hair. “Well, I hope you got to say your final goodbyes, Princess,” he stated nonchalantly, causing Catlina to raise her eyebrows.
“What do you mean by that?” her shaky voice mumbled, and Rechar let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms. “Your prince isn’t coming back. None of them are,” Rechar muttered casually, and Dormund grasped the shaft of his hammer tightly. “Shut your mouth, Gree… [view original content]
Erza
The cold winds of the North howled through the gullies of the steep harsh mountains of Bear Island. Sleet and water shot down from t… morehe dark grey skies above, turning the ground to mud and slush, and causing a distress amongst the animals. The Bay of Ice was a mess of whitecaps and five metre swells, causing the ships of the Iron Fleet to rock and chafe against the lines that desperately tried to hold them down.
Erza shivered in the cold as her hands clenched tightly onto the thick lines that had loosened from the Iron Thrall, the flagship of the Iron Fleet that was captained by Ravos the Raper, the last son of King Harrag Hoare. “Tie the fucking girl down!” Ravos shouted as the men and women of the Iron Islands heaved on the ropes, reaching for nearby sentinels and soldier pines to unload the tension onto. Erza gritted her teeth as the sharp sleet nipped at her numb face.
“Can’t this fucker tie down his own fucking boat?” she se… [view original content]
Dormund
The sea breeze streamed up the rocky cliff face and streamed through Dormund’s short black hair as he stared off to the horizon o… moref the Narrow Sea. Two dozen Stark vessels could still be seen sailing east, and on one of them was his brother, at the mercy of the Hungry Wolf. Dormund glared at the ships as he fingered the head of his hammer.
Beside him stood Catlina Glover, a distressed look on her sea blue eyes, and the infamous Rechar Greenwood with a bored look on his brown eyes. He let out a sigh, running his fingers through his slicked brown hair. “Well, I hope you got to say your final goodbyes, Princess,” he stated nonchalantly, causing Catlina to raise her eyebrows.
“What do you mean by that?” her shaky voice mumbled, and Rechar let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms. “Your prince isn’t coming back. None of them are,” Rechar muttered casually, and Dormund grasped the shaft of his hammer tightly. “Shut your mouth, Gree… [view original content]
Dormund
The sea breeze streamed up the rocky cliff face and streamed through Dormund’s short black hair as he stared off to the horizon o… moref the Narrow Sea. Two dozen Stark vessels could still be seen sailing east, and on one of them was his brother, at the mercy of the Hungry Wolf. Dormund glared at the ships as he fingered the head of his hammer.
Beside him stood Catlina Glover, a distressed look on her sea blue eyes, and the infamous Rechar Greenwood with a bored look on his brown eyes. He let out a sigh, running his fingers through his slicked brown hair. “Well, I hope you got to say your final goodbyes, Princess,” he stated nonchalantly, causing Catlina to raise her eyebrows.
“What do you mean by that?” her shaky voice mumbled, and Rechar let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms. “Your prince isn’t coming back. None of them are,” Rechar muttered casually, and Dormund grasped the shaft of his hammer tightly. “Shut your mouth, Gree… [view original content]
Alright, so I will bring this vote to a close. Erza will spend time with Artigas. So this in the introduction to (hopefully) the last new PoV character of this chapter, and one which will introduce a very interesting standpoint of the North/Ironborn war to come.
Erza
The cold winds of the North howled through the gullies of the steep harsh mountains of Bear Island. Sleet and water shot down from t… morehe dark grey skies above, turning the ground to mud and slush, and causing a distress amongst the animals. The Bay of Ice was a mess of whitecaps and five metre swells, causing the ships of the Iron Fleet to rock and chafe against the lines that desperately tried to hold them down.
Erza shivered in the cold as her hands clenched tightly onto the thick lines that had loosened from the Iron Thrall, the flagship of the Iron Fleet that was captained by Ravos the Raper, the last son of King Harrag Hoare. “Tie the fucking girl down!” Ravos shouted as the men and women of the Iron Islands heaved on the ropes, reaching for nearby sentinels and soldier pines to unload the tension onto. Erza gritted her teeth as the sharp sleet nipped at her numb face.
“Can’t this fucker tie down his own fucking boat?” she se… [view original content]
Well not everyone has voted yet, but the lead vote appears to be the one to stay, so I think I will close the vote. Dormund will take Rechar with him. I was quite curious as to which you guys would choose here, as neither Rechar nor Elena are very liked characters are the moment Though as many of you aren't siding with the Bolton's for obvious reasons, I can see from a tactical perspective why you chose Rechar
Anyway, I have the next part ready, and it goes to Steffon before we return to the Westerlands. In case you forgot, the last time we saw Steffon, he was accompanying Martena Rivers to putting Tristram Stark to bed. For a while the two talked, and Steffon gained some information on who her father was. Later, Steffon found himself in the Great Hall with Queen Helia, to which they both drank and talked about the war coming. Helia soon convinced him that they needed an alliance with the Barrowlands in order to survive this Ironborn encounter, to which she left Steffon with the choice of either seeking help from her family at Barrowton or the bastard of King Dustin: Emma Snow, at the Rills. You chose for Steffon to go to the Rills, and this part takes place a few hours later, when the morning has come.
Oh and also some news on my life. I've officially finished exams! Yay! This means I'll have more time to write with that pressure off my shoulders, but I still have three weeks left until term break, so I'll still be a bit preoccupied until then
Dormund
The sea breeze streamed up the rocky cliff face and streamed through Dormund’s short black hair as he stared off to the horizon o… moref the Narrow Sea. Two dozen Stark vessels could still be seen sailing east, and on one of them was his brother, at the mercy of the Hungry Wolf. Dormund glared at the ships as he fingered the head of his hammer.
Beside him stood Catlina Glover, a distressed look on her sea blue eyes, and the infamous Rechar Greenwood with a bored look on his brown eyes. He let out a sigh, running his fingers through his slicked brown hair. “Well, I hope you got to say your final goodbyes, Princess,” he stated nonchalantly, causing Catlina to raise her eyebrows.
“What do you mean by that?” her shaky voice mumbled, and Rechar let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms. “Your prince isn’t coming back. None of them are,” Rechar muttered casually, and Dormund grasped the shaft of his hammer tightly. “Shut your mouth, Gree… [view original content]
An aura of light flashed across his strained eyes, yet the urge to sleep had left him. The sunrise sat behind the eastern gate, casting a great shadow over the castle. Steffon however sat atop his horse at the western side of Winterfell, the Hunter’s Gate beaming with activity as Stark guards watched closely for suspicious activity. After Andal spies had murdered the royal family of the Barrow kingdom, the Stark’s had upped their security, and even more so as Barrowland spies had snuck into Winterfell.
Wulfgar Snow sat beside him on his grey destrier, a stern look on his old eyes. The two were to split paths, Steffon heading through the Wolfswood and then south to the Rills, while the small Stark army headed north to meet the Whitehill’s, and then west to Deepwood Motte. Steffon let out a frustrated groan.
“How much longer must I wait?” he muttered impatiently, causing Wulfgar to chuckle. “Easy now, General. The Queen insisted you take that nomad lord with you for negotiations, I hear Lord Teran is an excellent tactician,” Wulfgar stated with a sarcastic tone, causing the sellsword, Gareth, to chuckle.
“And a coward,” he added, to which he received a glare from Steffon. “What? That’s what I heard?” he insisted innocently, causing Steffon to shake his head. “If that boy isn’t here when the sun rises above that gate, then we leave,” Steffon muttered decisively, to which Gareth gave a nod of approval. There was a touch of disappointment that the sellsword had volunteered to join him, but he had little reason to complain. At least he’s on time, Steffon thought bitterly, and Wulfgar could see his thoughts eating away at him.
“Once we join with the Whitehill army, we’ll set up our armies north of Deepwood Motte. There are barges there which will take us across to Bear Island,” Wulfgar stated nonchalantly, but Steffon raised an eyebrow. “Barges? Against the Iron Fleet?” The thought of it made him want to throw up, or perhaps a lack of sleep made him feel the urge. Still, taking on a renowned formidable fleet with some wooden barges was a suicide mission. Wulfgar only chuckled.
“We’d be crossing in the cover of night,” he assured him, but still Steffon felt unconvinced with the plan. “We will wait a week for word of your negotiations, if you’re not back by then we’ll presume you dead, and in which case we’ll be warring with both the Ironborn and the Barrowlands. Precisely why this is a shit idea,” Wulfgar spat ignorantly, but Steffon shrugged it off.
“You were the one to suggest it,” Steffon reminded him, only causing the old man to shake his head. “I suggested riding to Barrowton,” he corrected, “where the Amber’s are in control. Emma Snow is a crazy bitch, and her brother Edrick is no better,” he stated, causing Steffon to raise an eyebrow. “How do you know this?” he questioned, to which Wulfgar chuckled aloud.
“They’re the bastards of a king that threw away his name because he had so many bastards. You can’t get much madder than that,” Wulfgar smirked, but before Steffon could reply, Wulfgar interrupted. “Looks like yours truly has arrived,” Wulfgar teased, causing Steffon to roll his eyes. “Take care of my army,” Steffon muttered as Wulfgar spurred his horse towards the main gates of Winterfell.
“Don’t worry,” he shouted back with a witty tone, “it’s only led by a jealous bastard and a Beast,” he boomed with laughter while Steffon forced a smile on as Lord Teran arrived. He was tall, with a slim build coated in a nice attire consisting of a green tunic and black pants. His hair was as black as the night sky, and his eyes just as dark. An apologetic look resided on his face.
“Apologies my Lords,” he mumbled as he came closer, steering his horse between Steffon and Gareth. “I was held up with the Queen, there was something urgent,” he assured them, but Gareth let out a sarcastic laugh. “Had trouble getting it up?” he mocked, to which Teran’s cheeks instantly blushed red in embarrassment or shock. “I-” he mumbled to interject, but Steffon simply rolled his eyes.
“Can we get a move on?” he asked impatiently, and the embarrassed look on Teran’s eyes showed a decisive agreement. “Yes, let’s,” he urged, causing Gareth to smirk. “Lead on, soft cock,” he teased, slapping the hind of the young Lord’s horse, moving Teran faster than he wished. Gareth turned his gaze to Steffon now. “After you, my Lord,” he grinned, but Steffon didn’t give the man the attention he lusted for. He followed after Teran.
-
The Wolfswood was an array of darkness once they rode further in, and it took a talented eye to navigate through the unpathed forest, which was one of the arguing points Queen Helia had put forth to convincing Steffon in taking the nomad lord. It was likely a good thing too, since Steffon’s pounding headache wasn’t particularly allowing for strenuous conversation, especially from the likes of Gareth.
“So, Woodmill. Is your cock as limp as they say?” Gareth quipped from the rear of the convoy, and silence resided from the head of the group, only fuelling Gareth’s energy. “I heard you’ve got issues down there, something about you not being able to please a woman?” Gareth persisted, causing Teran to sigh.
“You seem to have a lot of interest in my cock,” he muttered with some frustration, to which Gareth smirked. “Not really, I just get sick of the complaints from the women I pleasure,” Gareth teased, to causing Teran to turn his horse around. Steffon could see the anger in Teran’s eyes as he unsheathed his bronze short sword.
“Teran,” Steffon warned as his hand gravitated towards the hilt of his own blade, but a furious glare shifted onto Steffon. “Why do we have to take this fucker with us? What good is he to us?” Teran seethed, but before Steffon could answer, the sellsword spoke for himself. “I actually know how to use that thing,” Gareth mocked, staring at the bronze sword, before his eyes lowered to Teran’s pants, “and that thing,” he teased, but to Steffon’s surprise, the nomadic lord sheathed his blade, returning to the front of the group.
“You’re not worth it,” he muttered to himself, loud enough only for Steffon to hear. Though Steffon dealt with a completely different world. His head ached with a degree of pain that was becoming unbearable, and the light auras started to flood his vision.
In the distance, within the darkness of the forest, he swore he could see a small figure. Like that of a child, whispering to him. It was a girl. She was a girl. Her hair was auburn, falling to her shoulders in a messy clump, and her eyes a pastel green. Lights danced around his vision, this girl magnifying in the focus of his gaze, until he realised her face. “Nalia?” he gasped, he felt weak in her gaze, is body shook uncontrollably. Come home, father, he sweet voice whispered, come home.
Steffon’s grip on the reins failed, his vision clouded in and his head thudded painfully. Gravity pulled him from his horse and onto the hard ground beneath, his sight completely obscured. His hearing faded in and out, the neighing of a horse, the cursing of a sellsword, the soft whispers of a daughter. Come home.
Oh man, Steffon is in a really bad place right there. I wonder where his headache comes from, it seemed to have started just after they left Winterfell and were already in the Wolfswood. That is odd, but at the same time makes me assume that it might not have been an entirely natural cause. Whatever it is, it's quite a bit concerning that he has started to hallucinate now. I already got this impression from him before though, that he might actually want to die after losing his daughter. Hopefully he can get his hands on Rechar before that though.
I must also admit, I really don't like Gareth. As in, he is a strong contender for one of my least favourite characters. True, he's not Qarlton or Jorrhen, but could someone please cut out his tongue? He'd be a lot less annoying if he couldn't speak. I do wonder why they keep up with him though. Unlike the others, it doesn't really seem as if he adds anything of particular value to this mission. Quite the contrary, I see him as a liability. Just imagine he tells one of his incredibly unfunny jokes to Emma or anyone else whom he better shouldn't anger. Actually, I'd like that, come to think of it, because that'd probably mean death for him.
Steffon
An aura of light flashed across his strained eyes, yet the urge to sleep had left him. The sunrise sat behind the eastern gate, c… moreasting a great shadow over the castle. Steffon however sat atop his horse at the western side of Winterfell, the Hunter’s Gate beaming with activity as Stark guards watched closely for suspicious activity. After Andal spies had murdered the royal family of the Barrow kingdom, the Stark’s had upped their security, and even more so as Barrowland spies had snuck into Winterfell.
Wulfgar Snow sat beside him on his grey destrier, a stern look on his old eyes. The two were to split paths, Steffon heading through the Wolfswood and then south to the Rills, while the small Stark army headed north to meet the Whitehill’s, and then west to Deepwood Motte. Steffon let out a frustrated groan.
“How much longer must I wait?” he muttered impatiently, causing Wulfgar to chuckle. “Easy now, General. The Queen insiste… [view original content]
Steffon
An aura of light flashed across his strained eyes, yet the urge to sleep had left him. The sunrise sat behind the eastern gate, c… moreasting a great shadow over the castle. Steffon however sat atop his horse at the western side of Winterfell, the Hunter’s Gate beaming with activity as Stark guards watched closely for suspicious activity. After Andal spies had murdered the royal family of the Barrow kingdom, the Stark’s had upped their security, and even more so as Barrowland spies had snuck into Winterfell.
Wulfgar Snow sat beside him on his grey destrier, a stern look on his old eyes. The two were to split paths, Steffon heading through the Wolfswood and then south to the Rills, while the small Stark army headed north to meet the Whitehill’s, and then west to Deepwood Motte. Steffon let out a frustrated groan.
“How much longer must I wait?” he muttered impatiently, causing Wulfgar to chuckle. “Easy now, General. The Queen insiste… [view original content]
Oh man, Steffon is in a really bad place right there. I wonder where his headache comes from, it seemed to have started just after they left Winterfell and were already in the Wolfswood. That is odd, but at the same time makes me assume that it might not have been an entirely natural cause. Whatever it is, it's quite a bit concerning that he has started to hallucinate now. I already got this impression from him before though, that he might actually want to die after losing his daughter. Hopefully he can get his hands on Rechar before that though.
The guy is pretty sleep deprived, I mean, y'all have been draining it from him with your choices for a few parts now, it's only natural that sleep will come back to haunt him Perhaps a bit of a migraine chucked in there as well. Though yes, the hallucinations are pretty concerning, especially as it shows just how raw the death of his daughter still is. I mean, it's only been maybe a week since she passed in-story, but it doesn't look like there's any signs of recovery anytime soon for poor Steffon.
I must also admit, I really don't like Gareth. As in, he is a strong contender for one of my least favourite characters. True, he's not Qarlton or Jorrhen, but could someone please cut out his tongue? He'd be a lot less annoying if he couldn't speak. I do wonder why they keep up with him though. Unlike the others, it doesn't really seem as if he adds anything of particular value to this mission. Quite the contrary, I see him as a liability. Just imagine he tells one of his incredibly unfunny jokes to Emma or anyone else whom he better shouldn't anger. Actually, I'd like that, come to think of it, because that'd probably mean death for him.
Hahaha, the Merc with a mouth as I like to think of him we will find that he has his uses, and I haven't shown all the sides to him yet, but I can see where you're dislike for him comes from
Oh man, Steffon is in a really bad place right there. I wonder where his headache comes from, it seemed to have started just after they left… more Winterfell and were already in the Wolfswood. That is odd, but at the same time makes me assume that it might not have been an entirely natural cause. Whatever it is, it's quite a bit concerning that he has started to hallucinate now. I already got this impression from him before though, that he might actually want to die after losing his daughter. Hopefully he can get his hands on Rechar before that though.
I must also admit, I really don't like Gareth. As in, he is a strong contender for one of my least favourite characters. True, he's not Qarlton or Jorrhen, but could someone please cut out his tongue? He'd be a lot less annoying if he couldn't speak. I do wonder why they keep up with him though. Unlike the others, it doesn't really seem as if he adds anything of particular value to this mission. Qui… [view original content]
Congrats on exams. Now u can rain parts and speed up with the story. If you feel like of course. ☺️
Ahhh thank you so much, Mathea I do plan to pump out parts at a quicker rate now, despite my teachers reminded me of overdue assignments though I am super eager to get back into it, I've had a lot of ideas and no time to write them, so now that I've got it I'm really excited
Comments
Aha, Wyllam is still alive! I had a feeling that we might not have seen the last of him, but his "death" scene was so convincing that I had my doubts as well. Perhaps I was just hoping that this wasn't the last of him, because as brutally realistic as it would have been, his death would have ultimately been pretty embarrassing at the same time. I mean, after all he has been through, he would just drown in a river? I could have understand it though, because in retrospect, our decision might not have been the best.
That said, it eventually turned out to be a good one, because as much as he had to suffer so far, things seem to look up for him. That asshole Rylan is death, which is a very good thing for just about every single character in the Vale and Paytan Hunter returned as a big damn hero to save the day. This was a very satisfying read, as well as an unexpected turn of events. Man, whenever that jerk Qyle suffers a defeat, I feel a very smug satisfaction about this all. Now he is deprived of a prisoner and a valuable hostage, which only further adds to the humilitation he suffered in the most recent parts. That said, when it comes to Wyllam we clearly haven't seen the last of him and I am pretty sure that his suffering is not yet over, even if things might get a bit better for now. I am curious where you intend to lead him to from here on.
Barely, but more so now thanks to Paytan. Yes indeed, I didn't want to end his storyline just yet as I still have plans for him down the track, but the last choice had a lot of risks, and perhaps jumping into an icy river with a strong current wasn't the best one to take
The other option would've been quite an interesting one, and a very different alternative in comparison to what we have here, whether that be better or worse.
With Rylan's death, Wyllam definitely has no more immediate pain to suffer, and being in safe hands now means things are looking hopeful for Wyllam's healing process, though man he has taken quite a beating to get there. Well finally there was use for Paytan after all than just being a body in Strongsong
Paytan's heroism felt quite fitting for his character, being so ambient and chivalrous, and also being quite an old friend to Wyllam through their advisement of Robar, so definitely a good sight on sore eyes. Qyle, oh man that guy's going to be feeling it right now. Not only has he lot his eldest son, but the hostage that would have potentially won him the war against the Royce's. That being said, the Corbray's still have the Arryn's backing them, but depending on who gets to Heart's Home first is the biggest issue.
Jarden
Jarden cleared his throat, staring into the golden liquid of his ale. “I would agree to their terms,” Jarden admitted, though his tone felt unconvincing and awkward. Robar nodded, pouring himself a drink. “Then that is what I will do,” Robar decided determinedly as he took a seat, causing Jarden to raise an eyebrow.
“You would make the decision off a traveller’s opinion?” Jarden perplexed, but Robar shook his head. “You’re more than a mere explorer, Jarden Frost. What you did for me at Strongsong was a great service, and it showed great initiative,” Robar acknowledged with impression, further confusing Jarden.
“You approve of the arrangement?” Jarden asked, and Robar confirmed his question with a nod, but there was a hint of distress in his grey eyes. “We needed the Belmore’s, and you got us that alliance. That’s all that matters.” Jarden felt unconvinced with the heavy frown on Robar’s face.
“What is it?” Jarden finally asked with a touch of concern, which Robar shrugged off casually. “Nothing. Heavy lies the crown,” Robar mumbled quietly, before catching Jarden’s gaze. “I fear that Wyatt’s forces alone will not be able to help us repel the Andal’s in entirety. For that we will need more men,” Robar announced. Jarden sighed, downing the remainder of his ale.
“Well with the Belmore’s now, we have united most of the Fingers,” Jarden observed blatantly, and Robar nodded. “We will need to extend our reach further than just the Fingers,” Robar informed him, causing Jarden to raise an eyebrow. “Where?” he asked, and Robar sighed.
“I don’t know,” he admitted as he ran a hand through his hair. “The Darklyn’s are struggling with civil conflict, the Mudd’s are powerless and I doubt the Lannister’s would ride to our aid. That only leaves the North, which from what I’ve heard, King Theon is taking the fight to Andalos,” Robar frowned, but there was still hope in Jarden’s eyes.
“What about the Neck?” Jarden thought, causing Robar to raise an eyebrow. “The Crannogmen?” Robar asked, and Jarden nodded. “They’ve been relatively unaffected by the Andal’s, and when I crossed the Neck I stayed at Greywater Watch, I know Lord Roran.” The proposition was one which clearly appeared tempting in Robar’s eyes, but he was reserved, or held back by something.
“We will need to discuss this in the court,” Robar decided, and Jarden looked at Robar strangely. “We?” he asked, and Robar nodded with a chuckle. “Yes, we. Or do you not recall I put you on my war court before you left?” Jarden scratched his head awkwardly, it had felt like a long time since he departed the Redfort. Robar stood from the table, finishing his drink. “Let’s gather the war council.”
-
The council was relatively small, consisting of King Robar, Lord Barrock and his son Cedrick, as well as some faces which Jarden had been briefly introduced to. Lord Harlan Hunter was a tall gentleman, with looks much like his son, only difference being his beard and hair was starting to grey. Lord Myke Coldwater was the other, who had a stern cold face with short dark brown hair and deep blue eyes.
Joining the court was also Lexia Belmore, who held an equally stern and cold look on her silver eyes, if not more menacing than that of Lord Myke. Cedrick flashed Jarden a look of worry before Robar commenced the council. “I’ve called you all here to inform and discuss the events planned,” Robar announced, and received a mix of looks from the members around the table.
“Jarden has returned from his mission at Strongsong with the promise of a Belmore alliance, which will give us a strong advantage over the Corbray’s when we march on Heart’s Home. Our issue is getting there, the Ironoaks stands in our way.” There were murmurs among the council, and Jarden could see the bitterness in Lexia’s eyes.
“We should go around, my King,” Lord Myke suggested, but was quickly shut down by Lord Barrock with a slam of the table. “If the bastards are going to stand in our way, we’ll show them firsthand what awaits for the Andal’s that are doing the same,” Barrock declared, and Lexia clearly showed her approval, however Harlan shook his head.
“I’ve known Lord Waynwood since I was a boy, King. We should negotiate, I’m sure we can make him see reason,” Harlan tried to persuade, but Myke shook his head. “Negotiations will take time, which is something we have little of,” he stated clearly, causing Harlan to chuckle. “If going around were quicker than we wouldn’t have a problem, would we?” Harlan jested, causing Myke to roll his eyes.
“Which is why we shouldn’t fuck around.” Barrock grumbled, crossing his arms. “The men are eager for a fight, not a longer walk, and not to sit on their arses for any longer either. Frost has given us this alliance, and we need to use it,” Barrock stated strongly, and his son nodded. “I agree, the sooner we arrive at Heart’s Home, the better. Lord Ethon doesn’t have much time left.” Lexia sent a scowl towards Cedrick, which he tried hard to ignore.
“A fight will lead to pointless death among our own blood, and I’d rather add the Waynwood’s to our forces than fight them. We will negotiate,” Robar decided, and received a nod of agreement from Harlan, while the other members seemed less convinced of his choice. “I’ve decided to agree Wyatt’s proposal,” Robar announced, and Barrock showed his clear disapproval.
“A stupid decision, King. That greedy midget is no use to us, he’ll only meddle with our plans and sell us to the Andal’s when he has something of worth. He allowed Andal’s into his lands for fuck sake!” Barrock spat with disgust, but Robar shook his head. “The issue still stands, we need more men, and Jarden has given me an idea of where we can get some.” All the eyes of the council turned on Jarden, who gulped with the attention, before opening his mouth to speak.
“The Crannogmen of the Neck,” Jarden stated quickly, and Barrock raised an eyebrow. “The Neck? How the fuck can we get forces from the Neck in time?” Barrock asked with some impatience, but Harlan’s eyes widened in realisation. “You said my boy is still at Strongsong, yes?” Harlan asked, and Jarden nodded. Harlan turned his gaze to Robar. “Send a raven to Paytan, he can negotiate with Lord Roran,” Harlan thought, but Lexia rolled her eyes.
“Not bloody likely. Your son won’t be leaving Strongsong until we see Wyllam.” Harlan’s cheeked reddened with anger, his hands clenching into fists. “You keep my son locked away like a dog! I expected better of Lord Ethon!” he cursed, to which Lexia immediately retaliated. “And I thought higher of the great King Robar, who can’t even find the corpse of my brother, the only son and heir to my father!” she screamed, and had it not been for the other members of the council the two would have been at each other’s throats.
“Enough!” Robar yelled, his voice booming through the room. “Lady Belmore, we are working hard to find your brother. Believe me, the man was like a brother to me as well, and finding him is of great importance to me, but we are at war, and the lives of more than just your brother hang off that. Will you really be so selfish to let the lives of all our people fall just for one?” The expression on Lexia’s face soured before mellowing down into a frown. “No,” she mumbled. “Though I will return to Strongsong. I have nothing here,” she said as she flicked a glance to Jarden, causing him to gulp. Robar nodded formally.
“Very well, I will not let you go alone though,” he stated, his eyes scanning over the council. Jarden cleared his throat. “I’ll volunteer,” Jarden announced, but Robar simply shook his head. “No, I want you by my side. Anyone else?” Jarden felt a pain in his chest from the rejection, and the relieving look on Lexia’s gaze didn’t help in easing it.
“I’ll go,” Cedrick said, putting his name forward, but Barrock shook his head. “No, I believe more caution needs to be played here, my King. What’s stopping her from running to the Andal’s? Allow me to escort Lexia with my guards, I might be able to talk some sense into Lord Ethon as well,” he grumbled, and Cedrick rolled his eyes.
“She’s a patriot to the core, father. We’ll be fine,” he sighed, but Barrock shook his head. “I will not risk my only son’s life by sending him over the mountains again!” he yelled, clearly startling Cedrick in the process. Robar let out a sigh. “It appears we’re at an impasse. Lords, what do you think?” Robar asked, looking to Harlan and Myke.
“I believe Barrock should go,” Harlan confessed, rubbing his hands awkwardly. “We’ll need a strong commander in the north if we are to succeed with our siege on Heart’s Home.” Lexia scoffed in offense, and Myke shook his head. “My King, we need numbers and commanders here. Send the boy, they’ll get there quicker too,” he argued, causing Robar to frown. He turned his gaze to Jarden.
“What are your thoughts, Jarden?”
[Send Cedrick with Lexia] [Send Lord Barrock with Lexia]
What can I say, it really seemed like the better option back then, sort of to throw them off his trail. I severely underestimated the danger this river posed, but I hope I won't make such a mistake again. Now I am curious about this alternative route, can you say anything about that?
Well, good riddance then, I'm certainly glad Rylan is gone now. He was the third-biggest piece of shit in all of Heart's Home, after Qyle and Jorrhen (though I am not sure which of these two is the worst. Jorrhen probably). Paytan is a hero now and though he probably didn't do it for that, I am sure he's going to be rewarded handsomely. And Qyle, it seems another thing I underestimated is just how valuable Wyllam has been as a hostage if he could have decided the war potentially. This makes me even more curious why he was allowed to escape. It seems Qyle's defeat is being orchestrated right there and I wouldn't even be all that surprised if Marvion's death was also a part of this plan. The question is, what's to gain from Qyle's defeat? Maybe the plan is to put the more gullible Jaime onto the throne, but in that case, I considered Marvion to be the more naive, with how easily he was convinced to turn againt Darren.
Oh man, it seems I just now realize just how much stands and falls with Wyllam. Robar's alliances seem fragile at the very best without him and I am sure that news of his survival and safe arrival at Strongsong (if he arrives safely after all), will be good for the First Men here. Since I kind of root for Robar in this conflict, I am glad that this all happened, even aside from my personal feelings about Wyllam's situation and Qyle. Also, man, poor Jarden seems to almost certainly not get the girl
Her reaction to Robar's refusal to send him with her must have really hurt, poor guy.
Now, the choice was surprisingly hard come to think of it, but I ultimately decided to [Send Lord Barrock with Lexia]. Thing is, what convinced me is that thre might indeed be a good commander needed in the north. Robar' host has good commanders, such as Robar himself, so Barrock might be needed elsewhere. Meanwhile, I strangely enough see him as more expendable than Cedrick as well. He's a bit of a troublemaker, not easy to deal with, so if anything happens on the way, then his death might not be all bad. Meanwhile, Cedrick's death might drive Barrock to refuse to help Robar any further, given that he wanted to go intea and not risk his son. So, I can see some advantages of sending him. The only reason I still get a bit of a bad feeling about this is that Barrock is not the kind of guy whom I'd like to be around Lexia, whom I quite like. Cedrick might be the more pleasant travelling companion for her, but well, ultimately Barrock feels like the more pragmatic option.
[Send Cedrick with Lexia] Well, first of all I feel like Cedrick is diplomatically the wiser option here than Barrock, and I doubt Lexia has any plans to betray them. And like was brought up, great commanders like Barrock will be needed in the war.
[Send Cedrick with Lexia]
[Send Cedrick with Lexia]
[Send Cedrick with Lexia]
Heyy everybody! Here comes a new set of character illustrations. This time we have Kira Tyrner, Vera Manderly, Wyatt Manderly, Torrhen Blackmont and Morgan Martell (in that order):
I hope you like 'em!
Kira and Torrhen! Aww yes, aww yes, this is great
I am always happy to see your illustrations here and naturally, seeing some of mine among them is just the icing on the cake. And what wonderful illustrations they are! Now, let's start with Kira. Out of all of my characters, she is actually the one I had the least of a clear image in my head while creating her and it only slowly came as I read Stigz' writing about her. She's also one of my characters that have constantly risen in my own favour and no doubt, your drawing has made me even more happy that I submitted her, because this is certainly one of my favourite illustrations as well. That said, out of this bunch there's actually one I enjoyed even more, I'll get to that in a minute. Now, Vera and Wyatt, two Manderly's. I think I said it before, the Manderly storyline is rapidly growing on me and these two have actually been among my favourite aspects of it. I am so happy you decided to draw them and well, you truly did them justice there, I think. I cannot wait to see what's in store for them and as always, your illustrations made me even more fond of them. Next, we got another one of mine with Torrhen. The newest of the bunch here and one that I am amazed at how close your interpretation is to the image I had in my head. I love that expression on his face, that is just perfect for him. Truly, I cannot thank you enough for including him here! Now, finally there's Morgan, he's the abovementioned favourite illustration of this set and probably one of my Top 3 favourites in general. There's a certain dynamic about this drawing which I find absolutely amazing. The attire, the way he stands, the sword, the guy in general, that is outstanding work right there and I am in awe. Thank you for drawing this set, I so look forward for future work of yours there!
It was definitely interesting to draw Kira because I already did Darren earlier, so I tried to had a sort of family resemblance there while also making Kira unique of course. And another challenge was that Kira had to be at the same time beautiful and modest, but I think I managed to make that work
Anyway, I'm glad you like her!
Heh, drawing all these Manderly's has certainly helped me with getting more and more interested in them, as well as separating all the W's from each other
Anyway, there will be more Manderly illustrations coming in the future 
Glad to hear you like him! It's a bit of a pity that I couldn't really show off his magnificent braid in this drawing, but no worries, there might be a portrait coming later
Anyway, I personally really enjoyed making the shield with the Blackmont sigil. Though when I first had that idea I was a bit skeptical if that sigil would look good in a shield, but I think it works 
Ah, Morgan might just be my own favorite out of these as well! I'm especially satisfied with how his attire turned out, so it's good to hear you like it as well
And np, it's always a pleasure to do character illustrations. I'll be working on more of these, as well as ones for FoT 
Hey guys, so I thought I'd give you an update on the events of my life so far. I am alive as a couple of you are aware of through my activity in the PM's
and I'm also right in the middle of my exams period, having just finished my second exam today. That leaves me with two more to go, which are in areas I'm a little more confident in, so I have some high hopes for them 
I've also had a lot of grand thoughts for the Invasion, and it's led to the creation of a semi-new storyline which I was unsure if I was going to show or not. It introduces a new PoV, Erza Nightwood, who is an Ironborn girl based on Bear Island.
I'd also like to publicly announce to those who are aware of my other story, the Northern Chill, I'm officially dropping that story due to a number of reasons, the predominant one being I simply cannot fit it into my plans for the sequels I have in mind for the Invasion. However this choice came with a lot of thought and some good decisions I believe. A lot of the characters that were submitted there, as well as some of the story ideas as well, will be transferred to the Invasion, and those who don't fit will go into the distant Invasion sequel
Anyway, without further ado allow me to introduce Erza Nightwood 
Erza
The cold winds of the North howled through the gullies of the steep harsh mountains of Bear Island. Sleet and water shot down from the dark grey skies above, turning the ground to mud and slush, and causing a distress amongst the animals. The Bay of Ice was a mess of whitecaps and five metre swells, causing the ships of the Iron Fleet to rock and chafe against the lines that desperately tried to hold them down.
Erza shivered in the cold as her hands clenched tightly onto the thick lines that had loosened from the Iron Thrall, the flagship of the Iron Fleet that was captained by Ravos the Raper, the last son of King Harrag Hoare. “Tie the fucking girl down!” Ravos shouted as the men and women of the Iron Islands heaved on the ropes, reaching for nearby sentinels and soldier pines to unload the tension onto. Erza gritted her teeth as the sharp sleet nipped at her numb face.
“Can’t this fucker tie down his own fucking boat?” she seethed, tugging at the line as the men around her heaved. She heard the forced chuckle from the younger man behind her, Artigas Pyke, the bastard of the Lord of Orkmont and at a ripe age of sixteen. Just a year younger than herself. “Maybe letting her go will teach him a lesson,” he suggested wryly, and received an irritated groan from the man behind him.
“Just shut up and heave, or he’ll have both of your heads.” Jarod Greyjoy was a man on his twenties, and a true model to the Ironborn customs, while also a loyal and respectable friend, one which Erza did not take for granted. Still, she rolled her eyes as she put her energy into another combined tug.
-
The sky was beginning to darken as the storm passed on to the Frozen Shores beyond the Wall. Erza sat between two boulders with her hands submerged in the icy water, it was a relieving feeling for the burns she had acquired from the tantrum of the Iron Thrall. A shiver coursed over her body, her pale skin covered with goose bumps. She gritted her teeth bitterly. Fucking Hoare’s. She stared into the rippling reflection between her hands, the girl that stared back at her was barely a familiar sight.
Her brown hair with blonde highlights was soaked wet from the lapping waves and downpour of ice and rain, while her clothes were torn and ripped, her eyes were a matching dark blue to the sea state. Perhaps the only recognisable part of her was the beauty mark under her right eye, and the bracelet around her left wrist. Her right wrist, along with the majority of her arm, was nothing but burnt scar tissue. She sighed, cupping some saltwater into her hands and splashing her face.
“Cold night,” a voice sounded from behind her, causing her to reach for the dagger tucked away in her boot. It took her a moment to recognise the gaunt, sickly facial features of Guthred Ghastly, the second son of Ravos Hoare. His short greasy blonde hair fell down to his brow, while his light blue eyes stared long and lustfully at areas which made Erza uncomfortable.
“Lord,” she mumbled, rising and bowing her head. Guthred chuckled, clasping his hands and putting on a warm smile. “Please, just Guthred will suffice,” he assured her, but Erza didn’t particularly care for what the man wished he was called. “I hope I haven’t interrupted you, I was actually looking to bathe myself,” he stated warmly, airing out his long sleeved shirt. Erza shook her head awkwardly.
“I was just heading back to the hall,” Erza stated in a weak attempt to escape, but Guthred shook his head. “Looking as dirty as you are now? Please, you would dishonour our host by stamping filth into his hall,” Guthred smirked, but Erza simply rolled her eyes. “I’m sure honour is the last concern on Lady Claire’s mind,” she mumbled nonchalantly. “Goodnight, Lord.” Erza reached down and grabbed her cloak, slinging it over her shoulders before starting back for the hall, until Guthred caught her arm.
“You would dare insult the memory of Lord Ursus by trotting mud into his keep? I don’t think so,” Guthred stated confidently, his eyes staring at Erza’s young breasts. Erza broke the grip from her arm, tucking it behind the safety of her cloak. “Let’s not pretend you actually care for the man you beheaded, or the wife that your father rapes each night. Go molest another little girl, Ghastly.” Without hesitation, Erza took her leave with haste, eager to meet the warmth of the hall, but more so just wishing to get away from the whoreson.
-
The wooden keep of the Woodfoot’s radiated with the warmth of the centre hearth, as well as the heat of the men and women who inhabited it. Erza sat at the same table as Artigas and Jarod, as well as Jarod’s fiancé: Arika Goodbrother. Arika was a stunning girl, and too good for Jarod without a doubt. Her dark brown hair complimented her pale skin tone, and her brown eyes were like the fertile soil of Westeros. That was how many described them anyway. Jarod had an arm around her shoulder, whispering love and other soft words into her ears. Jarod was reasonably handsome, with short black hair with a moustache and hazel eyes. However his true attraction came from his symmetrical muscular build he had obtained from years behind the lines of a ship.
Erza sat beside Artigas, who was of a similar build to Erza, being narrow and lean. Only difference that that Erza didn’t look ridiculous. Artigas had wavy blonde hair which reached his shoulders, and a light stubble that didn’t suit him. His brown eyes gave him a certain attraction however, more than Erza allowed herself to have anyway. Her eyes travelled around the hall, spotting the events occurring.
Edgar the Archer, the first son of Ravos Hoare, shot his third arrow into the rotting corpse of Ursus’ eldest son, a sickening grin spread across his face. Meanwhile, his younger brother: Guthred, talked to him with a hushed voice. When their eyes met contact, Erza shifted her attention elsewhere. Her gaze landed on Harlie Beserk, the younger sister of Ravos, who played the finger dance with Arika’s lord father. At the seat of the Woodfoot’s, Ravos sat with a grin spread across his face, and the widower of Lord Ursus on his lap. Erza frowned, returning her gaze to the table.
“How long until we raid the mainland again?” she asked with some boredom, taking a drink from her cup of ale. Jarod sighed, turning his gaze to Erza with some mild annoyance. “Do you think of anything else other than raiding? I ought to find you a good man,” Jarod muttered, and Artigas cleared his throat with a poor entry, causing the Greyjoy to chuckle. Erza rolled her eyes.
“We’ve taken this shit of an island, yet all we do is sit here and pick at the shores. We haven’t had a good raid in months! Erich the Eagle meanwhile controls half of the Riverlands!” Erza exclaimed, but Jarod simply smirked and winked at Artigas. “What?” Erza asked, but Jarod simply laughed it off and returned to Arika. Erza turned her gaze to Artigas, who fought hard to hold back a grin.
“You’re wired up pretty tight,” he suggested, causing Erza to groan in frustration before hitting him in the shoulder. “If you boys would stop thinking with your cocks, perhaps we’d actually have the North,” Erza grumbled, resting her cheek against her palm. This caused Jarod to sigh, pausing from his pecking at Arika’s neck. “We’re a small army against a united Northern army,” Jarod clearly stated, but Erza raised her eyebrows stupidly.
“Though we know they aren’t united! Why do we provoke them into potentially doing so?” she spat, but Jarod just shook his head, returning to Arika, who took her turn to answer. “Word spreads that the Hungry Wolf is taking his grand army to Andalos. We won’t strike until this is the case,” Arika informed her, pushing Jarod’s working lips down to her breasts. “Now, why don’t you go have some fun? You’ll have your raid soon, a few weeks at most,” Arika assured her as Jarod loosened her blouse. Erza rolled her eyes, standing from the table.
Her eyes scanned around the hall again, briefly checking the events running. Edgar had now ceased from shooting at the corpse, and he conversed deeply with Guthred. Harlie had just won her game of the finger dance unscathed, while Arika’s father was missing a few fingers. Erza sighed, crossing her arms and turning her gaze down to the bored Artigas. Maybe I do need to unwind, she thought with a frown.
[Play the finger dance] [Spend time with Artigas]
Ah, Ironborn. So delightfully messed up, as some of them are. This part made me, once again, very happy that all this time ago, we chose for Alara not to face them, because I surely wouldn't want her to meet Ravos and his sons. Especially that Ghastly guy is kind of terrifying. I can see how he got his nickname
All in all these were very interesting to read about. I also recognized Arika and Jarod from TNC, although Jarod was named Jared back then and a bastard, as far as I remember correctly. Nice to see our first TNC characters crossing over to the Invasion, I will keep an eye open for future appearances of characters with familiar names.
[Spend time with Artigas]
The finger dance is something I never quite understood, as I must admit. How could anyone want to regularly play a game that ends with one of the participants losing a couple of fingers? How does anyone on the Iron Islands still have fingers at all? Nah, let's not do that. Given that her participant would be the sister of Ravos, losing would be the best thing she could hope for, because what would happen if she'd win and cost Harlie a couple of fingers? Nah, let's play this save right here.
[Spend time with Artigas] Well this was a lot of characters introduced, but it's pretty nice to get more Ironborn PoVs to the story, as fucked up as they are
And I agree with Liquid on the choice, let's not lose any fingers for no good reason.
Uh, I hope some of my Northern Chill characters will be of use. :-(
[Spend time with Artigas]
They will! This was one of the redeeming reasons of this choice, since I really wanted to showcase the work that you submitted. While the majority of your younger characters will have a larger role in the sequel, we'll get to see the child variants of them, and some key moments in some of their backstories. You'll also get to see the younger versions of some of the older characters you submitted
[Spend time with Artigas] Safe to say that I agree with the others here. Better safe than sorry!
I wasn't sure if I was ever going to show the Ironborn perspective in this story, but after deciding to drop TNC I felt it necessary, especially to get an idea of Ravos the Raper as well, considering he is a listed foe to Theon after all. Each of the Hoare's have their own interesting traits, some admirable and some less so, as Guthred appears to be
and you are correct with your observation, Jarod and Arika were from TNC, and Erza too (as well as the briefly mentioned Kober). However given that Erza was only briefly introduced through her interactions with another Greyjoy that Jared was associated with, I don't blame you if you don't remember her 
Alright, so I also have the next part ready since I couldn't be bothered studying. It's an Alara part, and the beginning journey to the chapter finale. The last time we saw Alara, you decided for her and Dromon to get things on, and this part takes place the morning after.
Edit: and I've got another part ready... I should probably study now
I'ts a Dormund part. The last we saw Dormund Bolton, he had decided to find answers from Elena Rivers, the woman who revived him, but was alternatively left with more questions than answers. He eventually found himself in the courtyard, where he was met by Russel, the blacksmith of the Dreadfort. Russel showed Dormund the armour he had been working on for Dormund, a reforged variant of Ryden Frost's armour, as well as the Hammer of Hornwill. Dormund tested this beast on Russel, to which he approved of when opening up the black smith's skull. This part takes place a few hours after Alara's recent part.
Alara
A distant war horn pulled Alara from her restful slumber, yet there was a thudding in her head from her previous night. Alara squinted her eyes tiredly as she took a moment to recognise where she was. She lay alone under thick furs and a humid tent, an empty place beside her. He left? She thought with some disappointment, enough to make her frown. She let out a sigh, her eyes scanning for her gear.
Her leather armour was neatly piled in the corner of the tent, her blue cloak beneath it, as well as the small yellow tabard of House Caron. There were conflicted feelings with that sigil, ones which brought pain to her heart. Her mother was a kind and loving woman, but there was nothing she could do to stop her husband from his constant abuse towards Alara. Still, Alara had love for the man, even if he hadn’t been a good father, he had still moulded her into the person she was today. Even if she hated to admit it.
Yet it was her siblings which brought a smile to her lips in the end. Her beautiful sister, Bethany. She wondered if she still sang to the ravens and nightingales that flew over Nightsong, Alara longed to hear her sweet, melodic voice again. Then there was her brother Gareth, who was always supportive of her, and taught her how to shoot her bow. Though perhaps the warmest thoughts were of Ryman.
She brought her hand up to her cheek and wiped away the forming tears. It had been years since she had seen his face, heard his comforting tone, felt his hold. He was the saving grace to Nightsong. She reached forward and touched the banner, remembering what it was like to see Ryman riding gallantly atop his horse in full armour, and then remembering what it was like to ride under the open night sky with him along the Marches. Time had truly passed. Perhaps he is Lord of Nightsong now, Alara thought hopefully, but shrugged off the wishful thinking.
Maybe Dromon was right about heading south, it had been too long, and Alara longed to see Ryman and the others again. She pushed away her thoughts and slipped into her gear, clipping her cloak onto her shoulders and grabbing her sword. Steelbreaker. There was something primitive about the name, powerful but odd, precise but intimidating. I guess that’s what a sword is.
The cold breeze met her face with a harsh introduction as she pulled the tent flap open, and the morning eastern glare blinded her. It took her a moment to regain her vision, and when she did she noticed the bronze giant knelt by the water, a wet rag sliding up and down the bronze blade of his great sword.
“You’re still here,” Alara commented in surprise, causing the First Dragon to turn his attention to her, a coy smirk on his lips. “You think I’d abandon my tent when there’s a beautiful woman in there?” he winked, causing Alara to roll her eyes. She joined him by the Weeping Water, sitting beside him. Her thighs ached, and she had gained a few love bites from last night.
“I see why they call you the First Dragon,” she jested, punching his arm. Dromon grinned, wringing out his rag and starting to dry his blade. “I’m surprised you remember any of it. You made short work of my Arbor gold.” Alara blushed awkwardly, tying her hair back into a bun. “Did I say anything out of place?” she asked after a moment, and Dromon seemed to hesitate before answering. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he assured her, before rising and giving her a hand up.
“We should get moving, Theon’s calling in all of his forces,” Dromon announced, but Alara shook her head. She could see something was bothering him, even if he wasn’t wanting to admit it. “What did I say?” she asked with some worry, and Dromon frowned, sheating his great sword. “Is there someone else?” he bluntly asked, and Alara raised her eyebrows in shock.
“Someone else?” The question startled her, what had she said? Dromon nodded, his eyes focused on the cloudy sky. Alara gulped, angst consumed her, but she shook her head. “There’s no one else, I swear,” and she did, she hadn’t engage in any long term relations since her early days in the Freehold, and even then she wasn’t sure what she made of it. Dromon sighed, just giving her a nod and a weak smile.
“Alright,” he stated in some sense of defeat, like he didn’t believe her. “Alright?” Alara echoed, placing a hand on his armoured chest. His cold gauntlet covered it, softly clamping around her pale skin. “Alright,” he repeated warmly, “I trust you.” The words brought heat to her cheeks. She pulled him down and kissed him, before he lifted her off her feet and carried her back to the tent. “We shouldn’t keep Theon waiting,” Dromon stated nonchalantly, but Alara smirked and led him into the tent. “He’ll cope.”
-
A couple of dozen Andal ships were anchored out of the mouth of the Weeping Water, the majority already manned by Stark men, while few remained as ghost ships. Alara and Dromon immersed from the forest that surrounded the river, and met the conglomerate of sellswords standing before their contractor, the Hungry Wolf.
Theon stood up on a pedestal which stared to the ships that would take them across the Narrow Sea for vengeance. Beside him stood Prince Tobas Bolton, as well as General Daniel Glenmore. Alara and Dromon snuck into the crowd as Theon was mid-speech. Alara’s eyes caught the gaze of Athena, who held a bitter glare. “Where the fuck have you been?” she whispered with frustration, but Dromon’s presence gave enough of an answer for her to shake it off.
“You haven’t missed much,” another voice muttered, which Alara noticed to be Bautistant. The young Stormlander’s black hair was swept back with the breeze in his face. “His voice is carried by the wind but his emotions are hidden by the sun. I don’t trust a man who hides his face,” his friend, Bautian muttered, crossing his arms. Bautistant let out a dry chuckle. “You don’t trust anyone, Bautian. So long as he pays then I’m happy.” Bautian simply rolled his eyes.
“-all will receive glory and wealth from this great journey!” Theon yelled, and received a cheer from most of the men. “A wolf hungers for fame,” claimed the raspy voice of Lillith of Lorath. Alara noticed Kasia and Chet Tully following in behind her, their hands around each other. “He hungers for pointless blood,” Kasia muttered angrily, while Chet gently rubbed her waist. “No more than the bloodbath of my homeland,” Chet sighed, and a sympathetic frown replaced Kasia’s ireful expression.
“At least we’re finally leaving this place,” Dromon groaned in relief, moving his armoured hand around Alara’s waist. In his other hand he held his famed dragon helm. “Good riddance,” Athena muttered in agreeance, and Chet nodded with them. “These Andal’s are honourable warriors, there should be a good fight ahead,” Chet stated bluntly, but Kasia rolled her eyes.
“There’s no honour in pointless bloodshed,” she grumbled, causing Bautistant to chuckle. “You’re not the brightest one, are you?” he jested, and Bautian quickly interrupted before Kas caught the wrong footing. “There’s gold in it, and that’s why we’re all here,” he stated diplomatically, but Kasia shook her head.
“No amount a gold will make me throw away my morals,” she vowed, causing Athena sneer. “Then leave. We don’t need hesitation on the battlefield,” she spat, and Kasia turned her pleading gaze to Chet, who just frowned. “I need the coin,” he muttered disappointedly, causing Kasia to glower. “You hide behind your shield of honour all you like, I’m going into this for you, don’t make me regret it,” she warned him, and Alara could feel Dromon’s tension on her, he remained for the same reason.
“Now let us head forward! To glory, to blood, to revenge!” Theon cheered, and the crowd rose their arms and voices in response. Theon disappeared from his pedestal, followed by Tobas and Daniel, and the crowd started to move towards the ships. Athena followed on, and Bautistant’s sellsword company followed after him and Bautian. Before long only the five of them remained.
“We won’t get the same treatment as the Stark soldiers,” Kasia stated informatively, “we’ll be expected to take care of ourselves,” Kasia acknowledged, and Lillith nodded. “A girl has been alone for many years,” she stated grimly, and Alara raised an eyebrow. “What about Boash?” she taunted, but the Lorathi only smirked in response.
“We should stick together,” Chet suggested finally, taking Kasia’s hand in his own, “watch each other’s backs on the battlefield.” Kasia showed her agreeance to this with a firm nod, and after a moment, Lillith nodded as well. “Bautistant and Bautian as well, they’d be good allies to have by our side,” Dromon stated, and Alara nodded. “Athena too,” she stated, causing Lillith to scoff.
“A girl is too focused on vengeance,” Lillith muttered, but Alara shook her head. “We can trust her, I promise,” Alara swore, but the Lorathi seemed unconvinced. Still, she shrugged and followed after the crowd. Kasia frowned, turning her gaze to Alara. “We can’t lose who we are over there, this war will be nothing as Theon describes it,” Kasia stated, and Dromon nodded.
“Like the burning of legions,” he muttered, rubbing Alara’s waist, but Kasia shook her head. “If things go south, I need to trust that you guys will back me, no matter what. Can you do that?” she asked, and Chet gave her a definite, solemn answer. “Of course,” he said warmly, but Kasia’s question was clearly directed to Dromon and Alara.
Dromon gave her a stern but slow nod, but Alara felt herself unable to give a clear answer. The best she could do was give an unconfident nod, which seemed to disappoint the Sisterwoman, but she accepted it regardless. “Thank you,” she mumbled, before dragging Chet after the crowd. Dromon sighed, turning his gaze to Alara.
“I’m following you, Nightingale,” he stated nonchalantly, and she nodded in response. Turning her attention to the quickly shifting crowd, the thought of sailing back to Essos intimidated her, but she was glad to finally be leaving the Dreadfort, for better or worse.
No decision.
That's good to hear, since some time already I lost any hope to see them in the written by you form. Lots of time passed since I submitted them and many things changed as well.
Haha, I completely understand, and fret not, they've not been forgotten. They'll have quite a big storyline in Book 3, and they'll be more grown to their submission ages in the Invasion sequel
Aw, Alara and Dromon make a cute couple
And looks like the Hungry Wolf's campaign to Andalos finally begins! This will be great, can't wait 
Dormund
The sea breeze streamed up the rocky cliff face and streamed through Dormund’s short black hair as he stared off to the horizon of the Narrow Sea. Two dozen Stark vessels could still be seen sailing east, and on one of them was his brother, at the mercy of the Hungry Wolf. Dormund glared at the ships as he fingered the head of his hammer.
Beside him stood Catlina Glover, a distressed look on her sea blue eyes, and the infamous Rechar Greenwood with a bored look on his brown eyes. He let out a sigh, running his fingers through his slicked brown hair. “Well, I hope you got to say your final goodbyes, Princess,” he stated nonchalantly, causing Catlina to raise her eyebrows.
“What do you mean by that?” her shaky voice mumbled, and Rechar let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms. “Your prince isn’t coming back. None of them are,” Rechar muttered casually, and Dormund grasped the shaft of his hammer tightly. “Shut your mouth, Greenwood,” Dormund warned, helping himself up from the ground.
“I don’t know why you’re complaining, when Tobas passes you’ll be next in line for-” Dormund’s left hand fastened around Rechar’s neck, his grip tight and powerful, and he lifted the adolescent off the ground with ease. Rechar tried to fight, but his arms struggled to reach Dormund, and his will to be released diminished when Dormund hovered him over the side of the cliff.
“You think you’re in control around here?” Dormund mocked, loosening his grip around Rechar’s neck enough for him to respond. “Fuck you!” he spat, clenching onto Dormund’s forearm, and causing Dormund to roll his eyes. “Fuck me?” Dormund laughed, lifting his hammer and observing its finely forged steel. “Those are big words from a man about to fall from a cliff,” Dormund jested, and Rechar raised his eyebrows before bashing his fists against Dormund’s wrist.
“You wouldn’t fucking dare, Rogar would kill you!” Rechar screamed, only encouraging Dormund to chuckle more. “He already has,” Dormund replied with a sterner tone, showing off his thick scar on his neck. Rechar gulped, staring with a fearful gaze. “Why should Rogar give one shit about you?” Dormund continued, and Rechar looked at him with confusion and disbelief.
“Put me down!” he yelped, but Dormund shook his head. “Answer me.” Catlina gasped in awe as she watched, covering her mouth. “My lord,” she moaned with her muffled voice, but Dormund ignored her petty words. His glare remained on Rechar. “The Stark’s murdered my family, Bolton. I want revenge just as much as you do!” Rechar assured him with a pleading tone, but Dormund scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“Prove it,” Dormund tested him, and Rechar’s eyes widened, “bend down and kiss my feet. Pledge yourself to me and I’ll give you the vengeance that we both lust for, the vengeance my father will never give you,” Dormund stated calmly, but Rechar raised an eyebrow in protest, “and if I don’t?” he asked cautiously, causing Dormund to chuckle.
“Don’t piss yourself on the way down,” Dormund grinned as he started to release his grip, causing Rechar to squirm at his mercy. “OKAY!” he screamed in angst, clutching onto Dormund’s arm. “I’ll do it! Please!” he pleaded, but Dormund shook his head. “This is a big decision, are you sure you’re up to it?” he toyed with him, loosening his grip further. Rechar gave a firm and rushed nod, causing Dormund’s grin to widen. He brought Rechar back onto land, releasing him, and taking the Hammer of Hornwill into his hands.
“Do you pledge yourself to me?” Dormund asked again, and the bewildered Rechar took a moment to contemplate what he was doing, before inevitably falling to his knees and nodding. “Yes,” he muttered miserably, making Dormund smirk. “Then you may kiss my feet!” Dormund quipped, stroking the head of his hammer. Rechar was reluctant, but showed obedience for what seemed like the first time in his pathetic life.
“Good boy,” Dormund teased, rubbing Rechar’s cheek with the cold steel head of his hammer, before pulling the young man onto his feet. “Now, taking Lady Catlina back to the Dreadfort for me, you’re at her mercy now,” Dormund stated, and Rechar’s eyes widened. “Her mer-” he was unable to finish his sentence before Dormund gut punched him, making him fall to his knees again.
“Shall I get you to lick my boots this time?” Dormund japed, but Rechar disappointed him in shaking his head. “Then take Lady Catlina back to the Dreadfort, and do as she says,” he ordered, and reluctantly, Rechar arose and obeyed. When they had started their descent down the hill, Rechar turned his gaze back to the horizon. The white sails of the Stark’s had nearly disappeared into the distant waters, the sun setting behind them. Safe travels, brother, Dormund wished him, before turning and following Rechar down. It was time to march.
-
A hundred Bolton soldiers stood in formation by the gates of the Dreadfort, clad in their new iron armour and weaponry they had looted from the Andal’s. At the head of them sat the kingsguard, Carver, on his horse, as silent as the grave. His kingsguard armour was dinted and scratched, showing the wear it had endured over the years of use.
Dormund wore the armour of his old friend, Ryden Frost, armour of a similar flayed design to Carver’s. He stood by his black destrier, tying the Hammer of Hornwill to the carry bags on the saddle. It wasn’t long before his father came to disturb his peace, accompanied with the witch and the coward.
“Dormund,” Rogar muttered, stopping a few feet away from him. Dormund reluctantly turned his gaze to meet his father’s glare, as well as the eyes of Rechar Greenwood and Elena Rivers. “I trust you understand the importance of this mission?” he grumbled, causing Dormund to sigh impatiently and nod.
“Pull the Frost’s into line, be it any means possible. It’ll be done,” Dormund assured him, returning to tying his hammer down. The frail hand touching his shoulder caught Dormund off guard, and a rush of feelings flooded his head. Anger, disappointment, joy of acknowledgement. He held a stern expression as he turned his gaze to meet his father’s.
Rogar was a narrow man, weak in stature and gaunt in the face. More so than the Hungry Wolf, Rogar had earned the name: the Starved Leech, up until he earned his more recent title. His age made him appear wearier than he already was, his face lightly wrinkled and his eyebrows a greying dark brown. His head was bald, a curtesy to his foul receded hairline, but he still maintained a decent beard, however that had fully greyed. A frown beared heavy on his face, exposing his evident wrinkles, and arising more.
“This is a big task I ask of you, and I don’t trust another man with it,” Rogar stated, but Dormund could easily tell the man was lying with his sudden sympathy for his only remaining son. Still, he remained silent, just to make it harder for Rogar to remain in his act. The old man cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling Rechar to his side.
“This is Rechar Greenwood, he was the second son of the late Lord Gaben Greenwood, but the Theon saw to the end of his family, including his step-brother, Bael Stark. He’s informed me he’d be quite eager to join you on your mission, isn’t that right, Rechar?” Rogar asked, and the quite Rechar nodded hesitantly. “What do you say?” his father asked with a forced warm tone, making Dormund sick. Did he really want to take the coward? His eyes briefly met the gaze of Elena, who smirked at him. Or the witch?
[Take Rechar with you] [Suggest taking Elena with you instead]
Despite him being a massive dickhead, I have ro admit Dormund was pretty badass in this part
[Take Rechar with you] Well, I think Elena might be more useful, but the thing is... I'm not exactly rooting for Dormund here
So Lady Caron has left the Dreadfort at last. I am certainly relieved by that, because no matter what's going to happen, that place has been fucked up and filled with dangerous people. Surely, Theon's army is not much better, but at least this part has shown that she indeed considers moving south in the future. The seeds have been sown, now all that needs to happen is for her to get this final push. Maybe meeting her half-brother, if he finds her, will be this push. A man can only hope. But well, for now I am truly glad she has left that place behind. Good riddance, Dreadfort!
And she really seems to be happy with Dromon! That is a good thing, a very good thing, I hope. He seems to be the fiercely loyal, yet jealous type, which can be good or bad depending on the situation. I am happy that she's happy, though at the same time, it's my job to be concerned still. I doubt Dromon is just playing with her though, unless he is a really good actor. He seems to have genuinely fallen for her, probably even since their fighting days in the Freehold. However, I have to wonder, just what did she say during the night? Like, we know there is no other man in her life, so was it something he misunderstood? I am curious about that. Or maybe he is just a generally jealous type, which would be bad. Let's just hope they remain happy for as long as possible despite the obstacles that are surely about to come in the future.
[Take Rechar with you]
There are several reasons for me to take this. If the Stark host wouldn't have left already, I would have chosen Rechar simply so that he won't be part of the Northern army. I am glad that at least he won't be there in Andalos, that place is already enough of a hellhole without his putrid presence. However, even though that is off the table quite definitely, I see two big reasons. First of all, as Wildling said, I'm having a bit of a hard time rooting for a Bolton. Dormund might still be better than his father, but it's clear that this resurrection did something with him and he's becoming more and more concerning in his behaviour. I'd rather give him the less useful companion so that he might not succeed entirely. On top of that, I utterly loathe Rechar. It has been wonderful seeing him put into his place at last. Maybe taking him will mean that he is going to die, even if I still hope this honour will go to Steffon. At the least, it'll put him into the presence of a man he is clearly terrified of and I find a terrified, pathetic Rechar to be far less insufferable than the smug monster he used to be before this part. And well, I still don't trust Elena. I don't think her influence is good for Dormund and I doubt her plans are all that good, so let's better leave her behind and hope that Dormund will recover without her.
[Spend time with Artigas]
For pretty much the same reasons.
[Suggest taking Elena with you instead]
Perhaps, he could eventually get more information out of her.
[Take Rechar with you]
Alright, so I will bring this vote to a close. Erza will spend time with Artigas. So this in the introduction to (hopefully) the last new PoV character of this chapter, and one which will introduce a very interesting standpoint of the North/Ironborn war to come.
Well not everyone has voted yet, but the lead vote appears to be the one to stay, so I think I will close the vote. Dormund will take Rechar with him. I was quite curious as to which you guys would choose here, as neither Rechar nor Elena are very liked characters are the moment
Though as many of you aren't siding with the Bolton's for obvious reasons, I can see from a tactical perspective why you chose Rechar 
Anyway, I have the next part ready, and it goes to Steffon before we return to the Westerlands. In case you forgot, the last time we saw Steffon, he was accompanying Martena Rivers to putting Tristram Stark to bed. For a while the two talked, and Steffon gained some information on who her father was. Later, Steffon found himself in the Great Hall with Queen Helia, to which they both drank and talked about the war coming. Helia soon convinced him that they needed an alliance with the Barrowlands in order to survive this Ironborn encounter, to which she left Steffon with the choice of either seeking help from her family at Barrowton or the bastard of King Dustin: Emma Snow, at the Rills. You chose for Steffon to go to the Rills, and this part takes place a few hours later, when the morning has come.
Oh and also some news on my life. I've officially finished exams! Yay! This means I'll have more time to write with that pressure off my shoulders, but I still have three weeks left until term break, so I'll still be a bit preoccupied until then
Steffon
An aura of light flashed across his strained eyes, yet the urge to sleep had left him. The sunrise sat behind the eastern gate, casting a great shadow over the castle. Steffon however sat atop his horse at the western side of Winterfell, the Hunter’s Gate beaming with activity as Stark guards watched closely for suspicious activity. After Andal spies had murdered the royal family of the Barrow kingdom, the Stark’s had upped their security, and even more so as Barrowland spies had snuck into Winterfell.
Wulfgar Snow sat beside him on his grey destrier, a stern look on his old eyes. The two were to split paths, Steffon heading through the Wolfswood and then south to the Rills, while the small Stark army headed north to meet the Whitehill’s, and then west to Deepwood Motte. Steffon let out a frustrated groan.
“How much longer must I wait?” he muttered impatiently, causing Wulfgar to chuckle. “Easy now, General. The Queen insisted you take that nomad lord with you for negotiations, I hear Lord Teran is an excellent tactician,” Wulfgar stated with a sarcastic tone, causing the sellsword, Gareth, to chuckle.
“And a coward,” he added, to which he received a glare from Steffon. “What? That’s what I heard?” he insisted innocently, causing Steffon to shake his head. “If that boy isn’t here when the sun rises above that gate, then we leave,” Steffon muttered decisively, to which Gareth gave a nod of approval. There was a touch of disappointment that the sellsword had volunteered to join him, but he had little reason to complain. At least he’s on time, Steffon thought bitterly, and Wulfgar could see his thoughts eating away at him.
“Once we join with the Whitehill army, we’ll set up our armies north of Deepwood Motte. There are barges there which will take us across to Bear Island,” Wulfgar stated nonchalantly, but Steffon raised an eyebrow. “Barges? Against the Iron Fleet?” The thought of it made him want to throw up, or perhaps a lack of sleep made him feel the urge. Still, taking on a renowned formidable fleet with some wooden barges was a suicide mission. Wulfgar only chuckled.
“We’d be crossing in the cover of night,” he assured him, but still Steffon felt unconvinced with the plan. “We will wait a week for word of your negotiations, if you’re not back by then we’ll presume you dead, and in which case we’ll be warring with both the Ironborn and the Barrowlands. Precisely why this is a shit idea,” Wulfgar spat ignorantly, but Steffon shrugged it off.
“You were the one to suggest it,” Steffon reminded him, only causing the old man to shake his head. “I suggested riding to Barrowton,” he corrected, “where the Amber’s are in control. Emma Snow is a crazy bitch, and her brother Edrick is no better,” he stated, causing Steffon to raise an eyebrow. “How do you know this?” he questioned, to which Wulfgar chuckled aloud.
“They’re the bastards of a king that threw away his name because he had so many bastards. You can’t get much madder than that,” Wulfgar smirked, but before Steffon could reply, Wulfgar interrupted. “Looks like yours truly has arrived,” Wulfgar teased, causing Steffon to roll his eyes. “Take care of my army,” Steffon muttered as Wulfgar spurred his horse towards the main gates of Winterfell.
“Don’t worry,” he shouted back with a witty tone, “it’s only led by a jealous bastard and a Beast,” he boomed with laughter while Steffon forced a smile on as Lord Teran arrived. He was tall, with a slim build coated in a nice attire consisting of a green tunic and black pants. His hair was as black as the night sky, and his eyes just as dark. An apologetic look resided on his face.
“Apologies my Lords,” he mumbled as he came closer, steering his horse between Steffon and Gareth. “I was held up with the Queen, there was something urgent,” he assured them, but Gareth let out a sarcastic laugh. “Had trouble getting it up?” he mocked, to which Teran’s cheeks instantly blushed red in embarrassment or shock. “I-” he mumbled to interject, but Steffon simply rolled his eyes.
“Can we get a move on?” he asked impatiently, and the embarrassed look on Teran’s eyes showed a decisive agreement. “Yes, let’s,” he urged, causing Gareth to smirk. “Lead on, soft cock,” he teased, slapping the hind of the young Lord’s horse, moving Teran faster than he wished. Gareth turned his gaze to Steffon now. “After you, my Lord,” he grinned, but Steffon didn’t give the man the attention he lusted for. He followed after Teran.
-
The Wolfswood was an array of darkness once they rode further in, and it took a talented eye to navigate through the unpathed forest, which was one of the arguing points Queen Helia had put forth to convincing Steffon in taking the nomad lord. It was likely a good thing too, since Steffon’s pounding headache wasn’t particularly allowing for strenuous conversation, especially from the likes of Gareth.
“So, Woodmill. Is your cock as limp as they say?” Gareth quipped from the rear of the convoy, and silence resided from the head of the group, only fuelling Gareth’s energy. “I heard you’ve got issues down there, something about you not being able to please a woman?” Gareth persisted, causing Teran to sigh.
“You seem to have a lot of interest in my cock,” he muttered with some frustration, to which Gareth smirked. “Not really, I just get sick of the complaints from the women I pleasure,” Gareth teased, to causing Teran to turn his horse around. Steffon could see the anger in Teran’s eyes as he unsheathed his bronze short sword.
“Teran,” Steffon warned as his hand gravitated towards the hilt of his own blade, but a furious glare shifted onto Steffon. “Why do we have to take this fucker with us? What good is he to us?” Teran seethed, but before Steffon could answer, the sellsword spoke for himself. “I actually know how to use that thing,” Gareth mocked, staring at the bronze sword, before his eyes lowered to Teran’s pants, “and that thing,” he teased, but to Steffon’s surprise, the nomadic lord sheathed his blade, returning to the front of the group.
“You’re not worth it,” he muttered to himself, loud enough only for Steffon to hear. Though Steffon dealt with a completely different world. His head ached with a degree of pain that was becoming unbearable, and the light auras started to flood his vision.
In the distance, within the darkness of the forest, he swore he could see a small figure. Like that of a child, whispering to him. It was a girl. She was a girl. Her hair was auburn, falling to her shoulders in a messy clump, and her eyes a pastel green. Lights danced around his vision, this girl magnifying in the focus of his gaze, until he realised her face. “Nalia?” he gasped, he felt weak in her gaze, is body shook uncontrollably. Come home, father, he sweet voice whispered, come home.
Steffon’s grip on the reins failed, his vision clouded in and his head thudded painfully. Gravity pulled him from his horse and onto the hard ground beneath, his sight completely obscured. His hearing faded in and out, the neighing of a horse, the cursing of a sellsword, the soft whispers of a daughter. Come home.
No decision.
Oh man, Steffon is in a really bad place right there. I wonder where his headache comes from, it seemed to have started just after they left Winterfell and were already in the Wolfswood. That is odd, but at the same time makes me assume that it might not have been an entirely natural cause. Whatever it is, it's quite a bit concerning that he has started to hallucinate now. I already got this impression from him before though, that he might actually want to die after losing his daughter. Hopefully he can get his hands on Rechar before that though.
I must also admit, I really don't like Gareth. As in, he is a strong contender for one of my least favourite characters. True, he's not Qarlton or Jorrhen, but could someone please cut out his tongue? He'd be a lot less annoying if he couldn't speak. I do wonder why they keep up with him though. Unlike the others, it doesn't really seem as if he adds anything of particular value to this mission. Quite the contrary, I see him as a liability. Just imagine he tells one of his incredibly unfunny jokes to Emma or anyone else whom he better shouldn't anger. Actually, I'd like that, come to think of it, because that'd probably mean death for him.
Congrats on exams. Now u can rain parts and speed up with the story. If you feel like of course. ☺️
The guy is pretty sleep deprived, I mean, y'all have been draining it from him with your choices for a few parts now, it's only natural that sleep will come back to haunt him
Perhaps a bit of a migraine chucked in there as well. Though yes, the hallucinations are pretty concerning, especially as it shows just how raw the death of his daughter still is. I mean, it's only been maybe a week since she passed in-story, but it doesn't look like there's any signs of recovery anytime soon for poor Steffon.
Hahaha, the Merc with a mouth as I like to think of him
we will find that he has his uses, and I haven't shown all the sides to him yet, but I can see where you're dislike for him comes from 
Ahhh thank you so much, Mathea
I do plan to pump out parts at a quicker rate now, despite my teachers reminded me of overdue assignments 
though I am super eager to get back into it, I've had a lot of ideas and no time to write them, so now that I've got it I'm really excited 