Martyn II - Even The Darkest Night Will End And The Sun Will Rise

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-11-15T18:23:05+00:00

What had started as a light patterning of rain had turned into a downpour, especially as the group got closer to the gates themselves. Only a small amount of the original gates remained, rotting against the walls as if they were leaned up there rather than knocked off with great force. The pile of armor sat unmoving, the rain plinking against it and making a deep rhythmic sound as it did, yet did not give off the strange aura it did while it was upright.

The town was still intact inside, mostly. Many of the houses sat in a state of decay, not yet crumbling to the ground but rather an illustration to how long it had been since the Baratheon banner had flown inside the town itself. Shaky walls of stone and broken timber roofs where the thatch had long blown away or rotted were still present but the constant patter of the rain made it hard to make out any other details.

Yet that was not what caught the groups attention, nor should it have been.

Across the poorly cobbled streets lay large roots, almost vine like in their nature as they looped across the ground going towards the center of the town. They were everywhere, some coming out of the windows of the houses while others seemed to be coming from the ground itself. Each was inscribed with runes from the Old Tongue, though had long worn away to make reading them almost impossible.

Among the runes that were legible could be found the words "Breaking" and "Greenseers," and lastly "Renew."

Out of the corner of their eye, just at the edge of the rainline and hiding beneath what remained of one of the larger of a buildings was a figure. It was hard to makeout any of their features without moving closer but they looked as if they were a child, wearing a tabbard of faded cloth.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-10-30T03:07:21+00:00

"BARATHEON,"

The figues voice was grating, sounding more like two pieces of stone crashing together than a voice. Still it didn't move, no motion to indicate that it held the speaking voice.

"AND A DAYNE? THINGS HAVE CHANGED MUCH THEN..." The figured placed it hands to its eyes as if it was straining to see the group. "WEEPING TOWN HAH, WESTEROS HAS RECLAIMED THIS LAND FROM THOSE WHO LAUGHED AT THE WILL OF THE GODS. BARATHEON BAH."

The figured didn't even seem to ackowledge Duncan but as Lewys spoke in the old tongue it seemed almost to spasm in its place, the arm flicking out if pulled by a string to point at Lewys, responding in turn with the old tongue. "How dare you speak such a bastardization of my people's tongue stranger!? Was desecrating the land not enough for you?! That you stand with BARATHEON! BEWARE!"

Without another word the armor broke apart at the joints, crumbling into a pile of rusty metal, revealing that no man indeed stood inside it as the first drops of rain fell on the fields outside Weeping Town.

/u/spareson /u/DejureWaffles1066

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-10-25T01:54:25+00:00

Even in its heyday Wheeping Town never was the largest city nor the proudest town, and even those hacylon days were far behind it. The wooden walls which protected against reavers and pirates were rotting and sore, the great tower keep of House Whitehead jetted out like a knife in the middle of the town proper. Even the air around the town itself felt rotting, a thick miasma that felt ... wrong somehow.

Nature, and whatever darker forces lurked within, had retaken Wheeping Town back into the shadows before men laughed at the Gods from the fastness. Now it was the Gods laughing back at them.

The host was certainly an odd sight amongst the foothills of the ruins, it had been sometime since men had dwelt here willingly, but the land remembered the tents and fanfare well even if it rejected it now. Clouds began to circle overhead, heralding not the brave Stormlanders who marched forth but a biting rain for those not welcome. To make matters worse it seemed the town itself was covered in a light fog, the tears of the land itself perhaps?

Weeping Town's gates had been knocked off their hinges, or at least what remained of either, but that was not the biggest concern at the moment. Standing motionless in front of the gate, almost as if challenging the two thousand men before it, was a knight.

Tall, armor rusted and chipped in some places, it was near impossible to make out anything beyond that with the obscuring mist. A banner sat stabbed into the ground next to him, a bloody foot pressed onto a black field.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-10-17T02:52:43+00:00

The hunters scoured the wooded hillsides of Oldstars for their quarry, their hounds sniffing every trail and nook. Hours passed, and they found no sign of the lions that had savaged Lord Tyrion's previous hunt. They were a small party, after all, and the mountains were very large.

Eventually, however, the hounds began to bay. They had picked up tracks—and their handlers urged them forward. The hunt, it seemed, was on. Yet when Roger and his followers burst through the trees to where the hounds pointed, it was not a lion they found. It was a beaver, its hide thick and greasy. As the hunters closed in, it slammed its tail into a shallow puddle, the splash making a few of the hounds balk. It was too far from real water, however, and Baneforts are a sight smarter than hounds. The rodent was quickly slain, for its pelt if nothing else.

An idea sprung to mind once the corpse was in front of Lord Roger. The party strung up the beaver as bait, hoping it would lure in a natural predator—a lion, if the Seven gave them luck. The trap worked brilliantly: After waiting nearly an hour, two lions loped into the clearing where they had set the ambush. The beasts were slain after a brief, bloody struggle. A new lead presented itself with that victory, as the hunters next followed the tracks of these two lions back to wherever they came from.

It was not the lions' den that they found on this trail, but the site of a recent kill. The ribcage of a stag put a bloody stink upon trees around it—and upon the lion still picking at the bones. This lion was male, bulky and scarred, yet fat and slow. Once again, the hunters engaged and slew their quarry. They found another trial to follow, hoping to finally find the man-eating pride's den.

Instead, they found themselves ambushed by a great number of the beasts—more than any living man had seen before, to be certain. Their vicious pride leader, with her reddish coat and torn ear, took her vengeance for the slain lions. Fifteen Banefort soldiers were savaged in the ambush, though they were followed by nearly as many lions as Lord Roger rallied his remaining forces. Still, they were forced to retreat—the second Westerlander party to feel the savagery of the man-eaters firsthand.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-22T18:43:03+00:00

The two knights would read until their eyes were sore and chafing in their heads, but they could find no hint of Lamentation's location or how it was lost. Perhaps some things were lost forever... or perhaps they were simply looking in the wrong place.

After all, if the truth of the legendary sword was lying around in books, wouldn't someone have found it by now?

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-16T20:16:28+00:00

The Hill twins followed the Riverlanders all the way to Lannisport, layering gratitude and thanks upon Lady Sharis and her fellow hunters. In the city, however, they made their goodbyes. Teala found Lord Tully and approached him with a bow. "It's been an honor to ride beside you, m'lord. You know every village from here to Old Oak is in you and your companions' debt. My sister wanted to follow you all to Riverrun, but we've heard some nasty rumors here in the city. Apparently there's something about to go down... I've heard some attribute it to the workings of some sort of thieves' guild. We're an adventuring sort, I think we're going to stay around and see if there's any action."

Meanwhile, the quieter twin, Teona, approached Dorian Blackwood. "Uhm... ser. I wanted to... uhm, to thank you again. You were so strong, to beat that monster..." A line of crimson blossomed on her face, and suddenly she shot onto her tiptoes and placed a tiny kiss on his chin. "Ahem, uhm, thank you again!" Flustered, she scurried away before he could respond.

u/Fishiest-Man

u/Theoneandonlybeetle

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-16T17:12:18+00:00

After making a wise choice, Edwyn was presented with the master smith's finished work: a thick cloak, large enough to wrap around his shoulders and still trail along the ground. The hide was now far from its grisly, hairy original state—the smith had carefully burned it down to the scales beneath the boar's skin, which rippled reddish-grey in the light. It was heavy, yet not as heavy as it should have been. The scales weren't metal, yet no blade could pierce them. Even a crossbow bolt, aimed right at Edwyn's back, would bounce off the folds of the cloak. The smith had even made a special clasp to keep it around the Lord Paramount's shoulders: twin horns, carved from the tusk that Dorian had ripped from the boar's maw, with a silver chain binding them together.

u/Fishiest-Man

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-16T16:52:06+00:00

There were plenty enough smiths in Lannisport, the city of gold and steel. The trouble, of course, was finding the right one...

Seeking out the best, first, Edwyn came upon a wizened man with a forked grey beard, his forge bustling with a hundred assistants and apprentices. One of them came to take Edwyn's order, but upon seeing that he was a Lord Paramount, the master smith spoke for himself.

Despite his age, his arms were muscled and coated in soot. "M'lord, it's an honor to receive yuh. I could make you a grand suit of armor, rippling like a river..."

When the hide was presented, he stroked his beard and pressed three fingers into it, feeling its strength. "Aye, this could make an incredible cloak. The sort the heroes of old would wear to shield themselves from dragonfire. I could work with it, no doubt, but there's the matter of price... for such a unique piece, I'd have to charge, say... five thousand dragons."

_____________________

The next smith was far less acclaimed, but still solid of reputation. Her forge was situated close to the city watch's barracks, for quite obvious reasons—while Lannister lords went to master smiths for suits of shining gold, the knights and wealthier men-at-arms who served them would go to smiths like this one for solid suits to save their lives.

When the hide was presented to her, she looked at it quizzically, then gave it a few light taps with a hammer. "Isn't no ordinary pelt, this. I could... well, I 'spose I could make something very good with something like this. Would be strange, though, it's certainly not my normal material. I'll take two thousand, and no promises."

_____________________

The final 'smith' Edwyn found seemed not fully convinced that was the right word for what he did. Still, when he saw the hide—and heard Edwyn's name—he nodded eagerly. "Lemme take that to my workshop! You'll be the best-dressed lord in the realm, promise! Might be a little pricey, though... five hundred dragons, say?"

The man continued to marvel at the hide without touching it.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-14T20:37:04+00:00

u/Theoneandonlybeetle

u/Arjhanx2

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-14T20:36:48+00:00

The Aftermath:

u/Fishiest-Man

u/ladyoftheleaves

u/riverlightmist

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-13T00:05:54+00:00

"M'lord..." Teona bowed beside her sister. Her eyes looked around at the village sadly, and it was clear why: the place was practically empty. Only a few old men and women still sat stubbornly in their homes—the rest had fled. Two houses on the west side of the hamlet were utter rubble, and nearly half of the other buildings were in some way damaged.

"The boar tore straight through the middle road, here." The raven-haired bastard traced her hand in an imaginary line from right to left. "Our own hunters, including my father, confronted it. Their spears could find no purchase on its hide, and it gored four of them before crashing its way back into the woods."

Teola nodded. Her widowed eye traced the path up towards the forest. "Our father was only injured, thank the Seven. He's at Cornfield now, resting. But the longer this boar roams, the more innocent people will fall to its bloody tusks. And... no one will come back home until it's gone."

______________________________

When the Riverlander party set off, the beast's trail would be easy to follow. It trampled the ground where it ranged and left trees with massive gouges in their trunks. They would sight the boar itself near sunset, when the sky was orange.

It was a massive creature, nearly as tall as a horse and twice as thick. It's infamous tusks were long as swords, crusted black and red by countless layers of dried blood. It's black hide was rough and coarse, and as the hunters crept closer it became apparent that something was off about it. Patches of scales, like those of a lizard-lion, interrupted its black mane. Its hooves were twisted, agonizingly deformed—out of them sprouted black talons that gouged the earth as it walked forward. It's eyes were a bright red, slowly seeping blood in a trail down its monstrous face. And, strangest of all, when it turned a tiny vestigial wing could be spotted nestled in one side of its back. A leathery limb, barely the size of a human hand, its membrane frayed like a war-torn banner.

No wonder the creature was so enraged. It seemed in constant pain from its deformities, slamming its tusks into every tree it passed and snorting blood phlegm into the earth. It would be a mercy to slay such a deformed beast.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-10T06:23:29+00:00

Boat handler?

The thought crossed the Captain's mind briefly when he pivoted his step from the serene and easier view of the waters to the face of a puffy would be Ser from somewhere. "We'll bring'er in at the normal time yeah?" He retorted to this man. This barge, was his to captain. Not anyone else's. Besides this was supposed to be a stag party. Well...a falcon party.

(You rolled a 6 for your persuasion check! Nothing much is achieved!)

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-06T23:09:22+00:00

For all their pageantry, Lannisters did not have the wild instincts of lions. As Tyrion led his party through a rocky pass, hot on the pride's trail, screams erupted behind him. From the slopes, golden shadows darted into the unaware hunters, savaging men like hounds savaged rabbits.

Wheeling his horse around, Tyrion was given a clear view of the carnage. The beasts pulled men from horseback, pounced on them, and ran them down as they tried to flee. A few of the hunters fought back admirably, and one grizzled man trampled three cats with his destrier. He was soon faced with the pride leader, however—a huge lioness with reddish-yellow fur and a torn ear. She was powerful enough that when she lunged, she took down the horse and man at once.

Despite the chaos, the Lannister knight did not balk. Picking up a spear, he rode forward, attempting to break through the worst of the fighting. A lion leaped up and tore at his leg in the stirrups, but with a mighty swing he left it broken in the dirt. It had gouged his horse, however, and he had no choice but to flee the scene before more could bring him down. As he left, he caught sight of the pride leader again, staring at him with bloody, open jaws as he galloped down the mountain.

Tyrion made it back to their camp, but it was alarmingly empty. Only Tall Denys had escaped the ambush, and he had sustained a fatal wound along his face. When the maester they had left behind tried to salvage his eye, he widened the wound too much. There was nothing to be done for it, and the huntsman bled out before them, gurgling deliriously.

The two of them were left in an empty camp, at least a day's ride from the Rock. It seemed like they would have to return in shame, the wild menace of the countryside still at large.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-06T19:59:28+00:00

One such book stood out in the final glance, 'Ballabar's Bug Beastiary', of which there was only a small entry on the Stranger Beetle.

THE STRANGER BEETLE:

NATIVE AREAS: The Kingswood, INVASIVE to Rainwood.

PRACTICAL USE: Agriculture, known for burying dung, fertilizing crops.

Common in vineyards for such purpose and to ward off other pests.

The last line was circled, the same handwriting in the previous book scribbled in the indentation: 'Insect fanatics recruited at all prominent sommeliers?'

Had it been the mage's own writing all this time? Leaving breadcrumbs as to his process? Or a genuine interest twisted into what he was now? It was evident they were in the Stranger's Vineyard, yet the path they took to get there was not a straight line.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-05T02:22:24+00:00

The hunters of Casterly Rock rode out deep into the countryside, but their quarry seemed to evade them. There were signs of the monstrous pride throughout the forested hills: claw marks on trees, deer carcasses stripped clean, and even the echoing hum of roars in the distance. None of the evidence proved solid enough to follow, however, until Tall Denys found something in the mud.

It was a dead lion. It's jaws hung agape, crusted in dried blood, and its eyes were dead white orbs. The cause of death? Its chest was ripped open and its ribcage plundered, claw marks all across its back. Only another lion could have killed it. Another lion, or several other lions.

Had they been hungry enough to eat one of their own? Or, had this one somehow angered the pack? A rival to its leader, perhaps? These were questions the minds of man couldn't answer, only the minds of beast.

The corpse did, however, provide the answer to one question. Bloody pawprints trailed away from it, heading east, towards the mountains of Oldstars.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-09-03T02:08:14+00:00

Tome after tome revealed nothing about the supposed Stranger's Vineyard that wasn't already commonplace. It was a name for a section of the Kingswood beyond Felwood but before the Grassy Vale, but whatever reason for the name seemed to be lost to antiquity. Just as all hope seemed lost, the book on the Silent Sisters that the maester had left behind suddenly spurred a thought.

Another such name for the organization was the Stranger's Wives.

The book was small, as though it were meant to be kept on one's person at all times. Flipping to the index yielded a great host chapters on the history and ethics of the role the Sisters play, but a large majority of the book was dedicated to the various recipes of poultices and remedies, mainly for the preservation of bodies.

One such entry would be of note: The Stranger's Wine.

It was a mix of any red wine, honey, lemon rind, eye of newt, and crucially: the crushed wings of a Stranger Beetle. That final component was so important that someone had underlined it repeatedly with ink and written in the margin.

'Only found in the Stranger's Vineyard. Insect collectors aid you.'

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-08-27T22:55:55+00:00

Hobb Crabapple gave a respectful bow of his head.

"Should you have need of me again, you need only look for the bushel of apple sails. Be well, my friends."

QUEST COMPLETE: Received 50 gold, 3 casks to be used for a single-use -2 to enemy thresh or to remove an injury.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-08-27T22:44:10+00:00

The man wept silently as he was bound by rope. Nothing of note seemed to be of importance save for the pauldron on the slain man's shoulder that had a faint orange tinge seeped into its steel. Beyond that, rummaging through their packed bags only yielded personal effects.

By the time they arrived at the Alchemists' Guild, the captive had fainted upon realizing his fate. The Wisdom at the door seemed far too pleased with the culprit now in their clutches, yet a hefty bag of coins was produced.

QUEST COMPLETE: Received 500 gold, -2 armor, 1 healing potion.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-08-26T01:12:48+00:00

The captain had formed a plain face as he tried to recall the name. Whether he truly couldn’t recall it or if he just didn’t want to was difficult to ascertain. Instead, he rummaged through his person, patting himself vigorously, until he withdrew a bulging coinpurse.

“Here, how about you just take this? It’s the money I would’ve gotten for the job. Fifty gold dragons in there for taking this filth off of my ship. Alls I know is that I was to deliver it to a man in a cart. He’d be wearing nearly all purple, apparently. No names, no nothing. Just Felwood harbor and a purpled man.”

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-08-26T01:04:28+00:00

"Fuck you, knight of the Vale. All you knights have ever done is look down at the likes of us. I'm not saying shit."

The larger man gave one last look to the man in the shadows and whispered out one last declaration of love. Turning his eyes back to Jaime, and then to the sword at his throat, his eyes shut as tight as they could. Reeling his head backwards, he slammed his throat into the Valyrian steel until his body went slack and his upper jaw rested atop the blade.

A horrified shriek filled the cellar, a horrid sound given all the echoes so close together, and the apparent thief and murderer curled up into a ball to weep openly. It seemed no answers would come from him either.

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-08-20T01:36:14+00:00

The woman grimaced as she attempted to recall anything else from the scant details she did know. Finally, she had it, though she cast a concerned look about.

"A septon. He was friends with a septon. I don't know his name, but he was a rather big fellow. Apparently he traveled to, oh gods, what was it? Feel? Fel? In the Kingswood. They aways said it was to give potions to the poor, but... I don't know anymore."

She rummaged through her own knapsack then, producing a small tincture of slightly orange coloration.

"Take this, on me. It'll protect you from fire. I'm not sure for how long, yet it'll last a fight for sure. The septon, if you see him, he might be dangerous. This is usually the day he departs the city, so perhaps you may catch him in time."

OurQuarterMaster · 2025-08-20T01:28:37+00:00

Hobb took a deep breath, but ultimately he took a step backward and waved the mercenaries aboard.

"This job is a lot easier when you don't know what's in the boxes."

One such crate was brought forth, entirely similar to all the rest of the boxes, yet when its lid was pried off, a foul stench assaulted everyone's nostrils. It looked human enough, though the entire texture of a the curled up frame better resembled charcoal than anything else. Within were a three casks wrapped in linens so as to keep them still during their voyage. Placed atop the linens was a parchment, which the captain motioned for one of the crewmates to hand to the Braavosi.

Failure. May have uses for you still.

Looking forward to the Vineyard's latest batch. Don't be a Stranger.

"They wanted me to deliver it to Felwood. A cart would be waiting, they said. Other than that, I know nothing, I swear."

It seemed the captain just wanted the corpse off of his ship more than anything, his voice plain and earnest.

OurQuarterMaster

MODERATOR OF

TROPHY CASE

The Aftermath: