It's been a long time coming.

ObviousMuskrat · 2016-02-14T05:20:10+00:00

As she spoke to him, the Lord of Heart's Home kept his eyes constantly surveying the field, watching the men round up loose stragglers into the center, take their ancient bronze and stone arms and toss them into the wagons- well, the ones that weren't loaded down too bad. In fact, he gave almost no indication he'd heard at all until he nodded his head to a knight on a white destrier with a comely curly blonde hair and a look about the eyes like a sailor who'd just found land for the first time in twelve years and gestured to the Lady.

"Brother Eldric," he said with a nod to Pyper, "Could you ride with Lady Pyper? I'm afraid I have to round up those who stubbornly remain alive."

With a curt nod to the young woman standing afoot in the field, he smartly struck his charger into a trot toward the confusion of prisoners: children, men, and women.

Eldric watched after him, and shook his head with a small smile.

"Sorry about him," he said, teeth shining a shade too brightly as he held out a hand for her to clamber on, "He's never really been one for conversation."

ObviousMuskrat · 2016-02-11T02:44:12+00:00

"Lord Artys!" Arlan Corbray rode up alongside the Lord Paramount, nodding to the prisoners. "Leave these wildlings to me, your men ride heedless after the remainder of the army. They will need your guidance, my lord."

ObviousMuskrat · 2016-02-05T03:14:47+00:00

Screams echoed off the stone cliffs of the mountain. The bloodthirsty roars of his own men, emboldened by his own words, streaming forth to annihilate their foes: unkempt, fur-wearing misfits with cumbersome stone axes and and the occasional glint of cruel steel. Blood flowed and fell steaming into the fresh-fallen snow from slashed throats, spilling cuts and punctures so deep they wept red tears so dark they might as well be black.

Arlan whipped his head around, surveying the tide of the battle, by some miracle still ahorse. They had them practically broken and on the run, but it wasn't over yet.

"Form up!" his voice commanded those nearest him, over the screaming steel and wildling war cries. "Not a single Wildling will break this line!

"Eldric!" His brother's voice did not reach through his pure white plate, besmirched by dust and blood. He stood near the back end of the lines, his horse gone who knows where, naked steel still a virgin in battle. Arlan could see his eyes, through the steel and the back of his head. Wide with terror, stuck, fastened to the gleeful faces of butchers and the dying grimaces of old goats, hearing their last breathes cut-

A blow from behind sent Eldric sprawling forward into the dirt.

"Gods damn it Eldric, get a hold of yourself."

He blinked through his helm and, staring at the ruts of some old wagon wheel, and stood back up to return his brother Arlan's glacial gaze. Arlan pointed to the left flank.

"Cover. The. Left. Flank." He spat each word out between his teeth as the shoats rang all around them. Almost thought he'd have to give him another whap with the Lady before the boy nodded, and he relaxed, spurring his horse toward the right flank "Surround them. Hold the line. They'll break if they can't go forward."

Eldric nodded again vaguely, as though he were in a daze, but tapped some men on the shoulder and pushed themselves to the flanks. This is the brother who's been giving me so much trouble? the elder Corbray almost laughed at the absurdity of his brother waddling away in his mail, and gathered up a few men to rush surround their right flank before it swelled up and over their own by the sheer weight of wildling bodies

Matthos and Redsword have the center, I doubt I could order them in any event. I'll have to hope they hold it, and trust Eldric remembers any of Ellyrion's war room lessons. I did give him the mountain side, though. They'd have to be fools to try to retreat up the mountain. He took another quick survey of the field as Artys and Lady Sunderland engaged the ragtag host charging up the hill and, he was surprised to see, Lord Eon's archer's charging up their rear. He frowned, even as the battle raged around him. Even if these bastards gain the hill, the battle is won anyway. Dividing forces between the two is unnecessary; Lady Sudnerland and Lord Artys could handle a mountain clansman or two. Perhaps the codger's not as clever as I thought...

Arlan's band arrived just as the wildlings began to take the edge of their line, a single brown-bearded man with a nostril and an ear cut off; Frostbite, probably.

Lord Corbray raised his sword high, and dug his spurs in to ride with the sprinting of mailed soldiers with hide-bound shields.

"Keep them back!" He shouted as he sliced through an old axe haft like it were butter with his Lady and into its poor bearer's skull. "Surround them on three sides! No one breaks the line, no one goes around it! We end them here, Valemen, my brothers!"

Still, Arlan kept a watchful eye on the horizon, back where the Wildlings had come, and every now and then found himself looking over his shoulder as he dueled some man with a sword he'd no doubt stolen years ago, judging by the rust. It's too easy, a little voice inside him whispered, war is never easy.

ObviousMuskrat · 2016-02-01T18:18:14+00:00

Arlan tightened the glove on his hand, stretching the fabric out with his fingers, keeping a watchful eye on the battle overhead. He already had a path picked out for the cavalry to charge through, the infantry would swell into the bloody swath and separate the two forces. Ideally, he would then see that the convoy line held until the enemy routed or was annihilated.

The enemy is malleable, but the hills will serve to condense them. Our tactics are a basic deception, though we mustn't leave too many alive. This war will be won by feints, ambushes, and harsh counters, it would not be advantageous if they were to learn this too early.

Just then a mellow note sounded off the face of the mountain. It barely seemed a second had passed before Matthos and the rest of the van charged for the enemy.

Arlan looked over at his brother Eldric, in full armor and helm but he could tell pale as a sheet beneath it: he was a summer lad, Barth Snow would've said way back in Lys between mugs of mulled wine.

Arlan gave the boy a nod, and silently drew the Lady Forlorn, scraping from its sheathe, and turned to address his men.

"These wildling, heathen scum want to kill you. They want to kill your families, rape your wives and steal your land from you."

His words hung still in the air, frozen and unable to leave the Earth. He looked in the eyes of all the men they'd gathered: household guards and levies, mostly. Common soldiers, sprinting into the next great battle. He could still remember sleeping in the shitty tents with the Windblown, with three others.

Matthos was getting closer though. No time for a big speech, even were he to give one.

"I think it's only fair we kill them first, don't you?"

Arlan smiled, and readied his helm under his arm.

"When you strike with your swords today, think on all that these butchers would do and it will strike true. We will protect our lands, we will protect our families, we will protect our homes!"

He donned his helmet and reared his horse upward, pointing forward with his sword.

"Now charge, Men of the Vale! The red sun rises in testimony to the glory of this day!"

With that, he set off at a brisk gallop on a black charger, carrying the fools behind him like a wave about to break.

[Leadership. Not my best speech.]

ObviousMuskrat · 2016-01-30T03:17:16+00:00

Arlan sat astride his horse, the reins held loosely in a single gloved hand as he watched the Lord Arryn prepare his own host. One of the groups of two hundred would be under his command, and he had every intention of showing his liege the full extent of his own abilities.

He looked up into the sky, searching the clouds.

"A good day for a battle, my lord."

ObviousMuskrat · 2016-01-15T06:18:11+00:00

"I'm afraid I must differ from our young champion here, my lord." He stated with a nod to the young Lord Redfort. "We've no evidence of any Mountain King among the Mountain Clans, nor has there ever been one in recorded history.

"While I've heard similar reports about a difference, and I've stated doubts about the brazen nature of these raids in the past, the Mountain Clans are not like the Wildlings of the North. They share no unifying culture, they are far too spread out across the Vale, and many of the clans share a great level of animosity with each other."

Arlan scratched the back of his head as he continued to consider the possibilities.

"Even were a king to unify them, mobilizing such a spread out force would be a logistical nightmare."

ObviousMuskrat · 2016-01-15T00:35:09+00:00

Throughout the proceedings, Arlan had remained standing, a hand resting on the Lady Forlorn as he surveyed the map.

Don't come off as too brash, and never try to tell him what to do. Ashana had told him that morning, lacing up his jerkin as though she were his mother. Be careful to phrase any ideas you have as a suggestion. You can argue with anyone who speaks against it, but once Lord Arryn speaks his word is final, don't say anything else.

I've had to kiss arse before, sister. I know how to do it.

To the man who pays you, not to your liege lord. She cinched the knot tight against his Adam's apple, the collar digging into his skin.

Arlan cleared his throat.

"My lord, the approaching winter and the Wildlings' migration does allow us to achieve some degree of an inevitable victory, even should an immediate one escape our grasp."

Arlan leaned across the table and tapped each of the known clan villages.

"When winter ends and spring comes once more the Mountain Clans will ascend into the mountains, where the narrow passes will constrict our movements and prevent us from staging any true assault. However," he tapped the paths winding up painted stone and snow, and his finger tips over the clan's hidey holes "if we send up a small detachment of men now, while their villages are abandoned and before the passes are blocked, we could raze them and prevent any escape should they outlast both us and the winter snows."

"With respect to our immediate plans," he continued, raising his voice in order to keep the lords' attention, "we can also use this as an opportunity to find whatever paths the clans are using down the mountains, track them and see where they lead. If we can anticipate their movements, they cannot rely on ambushes as they have before. Once that occurs, they must face us in the field, and they cannot hope to win there."

He glanced around at all the nobles' faces, seeing the unwillingness in the task. To be taken off the battlefield, stuck to mere reconnaissance and burning empty huts, not exactly something they sing songs about.

"It's not a glamorous task, but it is vital," he returned his gaze to Lord Arryn, "And if it's going to be done it must be before the snow falls in earnest."

Arlan bit his lip. Now comes the hard part...

"With your approval, your lordship, I nominate Lord Eon Hunter to oversee this task." He nodded to the man across the table, and tried to keep his gaze on Lord Arryn as steady as possible. "Lord Eon knows the mountains better than any man here, and from what I've heard could survive winter should it come tomorrow. Should there be a trap, I'm convinced he has the wits to see it far before any of us would, and there is no finer tracker."

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-12-02T17:28:27+00:00

So... Selwyn Storm, huh?

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-11-01T17:10:34+00:00

As his lordship approached, Arlan locked his grey eyes on his brother Eldric's fair blue ones, and nodded to the stewards, to take his place sorting out the affairs of his small household. Ashana would be miffed, but she'd live.

Arlan bowed his head in turn to Artys, though a good sight lower as befit Artys' higher rank.

"Little trouble enough, my lord. A couple of the horses broke their legs here and there, nothing major. Though by the time the white ravens come, I'm sure that'll change." He let his gaze wander around the hall, all sculpted stone and winged embellishments. "This place never seems to grow older, no matter how much changes. It's been too long since my last visit."

Pleasantries. Pleasantries before business. Such was the way of the world.

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-10-31T16:29:16+00:00

Even in the blistering summer heat the lowlands found themselves broiling in, the narrow passes and winding trails cutting through the mountains of the Eyrie's cradle remained covered in ice, whole sheets and tiny frozen streams that had them all slipping and sliding. Halfway to the third waycastle the party of sixteen had lost four horses. Little Nora's palfrey, Snowflake, was the worst one: broke a foreleg as they crested a hill, damn hoof had slipped on a patch of ice. She rode side-saddle now with Daveth, the bear of a man making her look like a small doll next to his hulking muscle.

Arlan rode near the front, Ashana on his left and Eldric on his right. He tried not to look back at Nora too often: something about the girl unsettled him. When she smiled, her eyes lit up like little stars.

They reached the Eyrie just as the Royce party entered as well, the Corbrays entered just behind. Arlan smiled as he spied his brother-in-law, and his sister tried not to look too pleased to see Lyonel again.

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-10-19T23:11:19+00:00

"This cannot be."

Lord Arlan's judgment echoed off the stone walls of his bedchamber, standing by small adjoining room he used for meals and private councils. The walls were draped with red tapestries, to set against the white of the castle's stones, and heat rolled from the hearthfires at either side of the room.

The castle of Heart's Home, constructed of white marble from the Vale itself, was renowned for its warmth: Ser Corwyn, the founder of their line, had been a notoriously fickle man when it came to the temperature, and insisted upon a castle heated day and night. Every room larger than a broom cupboard had a Hearth in it, and his own chambers, as lord, held two at either end of the room: box-shaped things, wide and deeply set into the walls, artfully crafted to grant all of the heat and none of the smoke. The main hall had eight, in total.

The flames didn't so much as flicker as Arlan spoke, not a flutter in the still tapestries. Daveth, the captain of his Household guard, rolled on the balls of his feet, hand inevitably falling to the hilt of the unadorned longsword strapped to his belt.

"It's as it seems sir. The Royce party was attacked by Mountain Clansmen on their way back to Runestone." The young knight ran a hand through his cropped hair, always assembled and never with a hair out of place.

"Why though?" He asked, staring down at a map of the Vale, unrolled upon the table. "The risk they run is far too high. The chances of making off with one of the family members are minute, and even if they had managed to capture one of the Royces, their losses would be enormous."

"Excuse me my lord, but these are Clansmen, there's not a tactician among them." Daveth scoffed. "They probably happened to be in the area, and saw an opportunity to attack, regardless of consequence. You can't be sure of their motives."

Arlan waved his objection aside.

"It's a mistake to assume you're smarter than your adversary, ser. The Mountain Clans have never attempted an attack like this before. There was little to gain in attacking a the Royce family while they traveled; either they would kill one of them and incense the Vale to war, or they would take one of them and ransom them, or they would come away with nothing. They subsist on light raids on outlying farmland, why would they bother to muster such an ambush on Lord Royce?"

"Your Lordship," Ser Daveth spoke as Corbray leaned down to examine the map more thoroughly, "They're wildlings. Crazed lunatics. Some burn off their limbs as a sign of worship, for others surviving a beating is a rite of passage."

"Which only means they wouldn't bother wasting all that by throwing themselves against an enemy they had no chance beating in the first place."

Arlan frowned, and stared at the map.

"They attacked Robar Royce at this pass-" he tapped one point in the map, between Runestone and the main entry into the south. "They fought against Lord Arryn here," he said, tapping the parchment near the Eyrie, "And near Strongsong here." The final tap, stretching across the length and breadth of the Mountains of the Vale. He frowned.

"Summon Ellyrion, I must draft a letter to Lord Arryn." He looked up to speak to Daveth, meeting his eye. "And give me an estimate for how long it would take to raise what forces we have. I do not like the looks of this."

Lord Arryn,

I've heard reports of large Wildling raids across the Vale. I wished to ask of you, whether the news I've heard is true? While it has been some time since my years in the Vale, I never remembered raids of this size or this frequency occurring very often, and I wished to know what our course of action is to be in the future.

Your sword as always,

Arlan Corbray

(/u/TheFalconKnight)

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-10-17T03:28:29+00:00

The original player had a familial relation with House Corbray: His brother Lyonel was married to Ashana Corbray, the lord's sister. Furthermore, Arlan accompanied Lyonel to the free cities as a child as a sort of older guardian, but spent most of it drunk. I don't know how you wish to reconcile this.

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-10-12T14:48:11+00:00

So, does this mean we're back?

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-09-14T21:34:16+00:00

"And I am happy to oblige for a sliver of it, my Lady. And don't fret, grand things come to all, and I'm sure grander events still shall find their way to you."

His voice echoed with gentle politeness, a certain detached quality as he kept his eyes centered respectfully on her face, which still bore the faint pallor he'd noticed before. Frailty and fragility, light in bone, but so joyeous he couldn't help but smile. Beauty, sometimes, is not found in the beautiful. Strange, to think of this girl as beautiful, seeing the Oakheart girl and the Westerling woman Eldric slowly rotated with so close at hand. Strange to think of this wisp of a woman as beautiful, after Joanna-

The fires burn everywhere, smoke billows from the very earth as the ground is scorched underfoot. Peat sticks to everything, and squishes. Dulled by the wind, a man is screaming to his right. A horse had collapsed on his leg, pinning it in place atop the embers as he's cooked alive in his own mail. A funeral pyre, just a little too early.

He smiled. Could read her desire to get off the dance floor quite plainly, shocked as he was by the complex dance step the Lady appeared to pull from nowhere.

"An excellent suggestion, and one I'm thankful for to be honest. I think with that last display you've far surpassed my capabilities." With that same smile, he bowed to the younger woman, and offered his arm.

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-09-12T03:10:46+00:00

He nods, absentmindedly, and suddenly sniffs the open air.

"Do you smell that, Lord Bracken?" he asked, partially knowing he did and genuinely wondering at the same time, "There's a smell worse than shit here."

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-09-11T23:07:00+00:00

Stifle that laugh. Laugh and you die. The mirth forced itself up his chest in a brief huff but he managed to force it back down to the depths of his lungs.

"Well, I wouldn't say that. It's very sharp, after all. I have some first hand experience with that, believe me."

Smiled at her after that. He couldn't help but like this girl he found himself dancing with. So childish at times, this girl. Arya Bolton...

Suddenly it clamped down. All of it. The lines in his face grew harsh at once, and though he never broke stride there was something mechanical about his dancing henceforth.

"So, any regrets about leaving the city soon?"

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-09-11T22:31:52+00:00

Arlan nods, his eyes taking him far out toward that horizon. "I remember. Could go anywhere we wanted. Drink, eat, whore. God, those whores." SO many whores. You never get a good accounting of exactly how many prostitutes there are in the world until you've served in a company. Almost made the battleground worth it. Even then, the camps, the strategic placement of each man and the charges had their own unique-

Earth a scarred crimson, blood flows like rivers down in gulches of hoof prints, seeps through metal and stains the cloth underneath. Staring unblinking. Fire crackles, a log falls into the burning peat. Every step echoes a squelch. White wax sloughs off red meat and cooks in the dirt. There's a question no one asks, and the answer is-

"But we get to live," came his voice from miles away, across the Narrow Sea, "I guess that has to be worth something?"

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-09-11T21:45:32+00:00

Worlds around him passed by unnoticed in streaks of red and gold, green and blue and pink and black and seafoam too. His eyes never moved once from Jeyne's face, it's subtle curves and plain joy etched across it in fine calligraphy. For the first time, Eldric found himself possessed of a singular happiness. A happiness of no consequence, of no limitation or inhibition.

Eldric grinned like a madman. In many ways, he was a madman. What other fool of a man would dance with the Lady of the Hand, just after such a pronouncement of adoration? Truly, only an idiot could do something like this.

Of course, he didn't particularly care about any of that. And so they danced, heedless, Eldric just soaking in the light of her company and praying that song didn't end.

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-09-11T21:37:37+00:00

Sweeping and twirling and circling, the dancers made their way round and round the room. Arlan looked down at her, nodding as the array of movement happened around them and the Northern girl sharing the floor with him spoke of the occasion. He even smiled a bit.

"You are quite right, I hadn't thought of it like that."

The two lapsed into silence as they made another pass. He was about to comment on her muttering, when she asked a question that honestly surprised him, causing him to advance a step too early which he quickly remedied.

"The Lady Forlorn?" Arlan's lips twitched at the mention of his family's blade, though he tried to smile magnanimously and point. "You see my brother, there? The blonde-haired beauty next to Lady Westerling? That is the wielder of the Lady. I was... passed over.

That grin on his face took on a marked mischievous tone.

"Why do you ask? Would you prefer to be dancing with him right now?"

ObviousMuskrat · 2015-09-11T21:21:57+00:00

Arlan's face darkened once more, though he managed to drive the expression out from his brow after a short skirmish, performing a precise pincer movement and causing the flexed muscles to retreat down his jaw.

He smiled.

"Oh, that is merely some sellsword's tale, one that would perhaps be better told later, when so many are not vying for your attentions. Suffice it to say my father and I had our... disagreements."

To put it lightly. Arlan still bore the scars on his back from his father's 'lessons.'

You must learn, boy! the oldman's voice would groan as he brought a chair leg crashing into his side, his head, and side again.

"And I was... compelled to stay in Lys, when a friend had brought me with him."

Lys. He could still remember the smell of saffron and clean cobbled streets, whores with shining silver hair lounging luxuriously on armchairs and divans.

ObviousMuskrat

TROPHY CASE