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Post by The Forgotten God on Sept 1, 2015 9:07:58 GMT -5
The army of the Ironborn, Stormlanders, and Dornishmen reaches the Fist of the First Men. The old fort is a ruin but is the last sign of any real advanced fortifications this far north. Eleven thousand men make it, as the weather gets colder and colder. Every day is closer to the deep winter freeze that will plague them.
Malik approaches the king. "Few living we found say the only place north of here is the Valley of Then , bout two hundred miles long this river, but if we turn east we'll be in a forest right up till the Fields of Milk along the Antler River."
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Post by Lord Korben of Nightsong on Sept 1, 2015 13:26:20 GMT -5
"This weather is near unbearable..." Nymos commented, wrapped in various cloaks and clothing to try and keep warm in the diminishing heat, "The north are a resilient bunch to endure this so often..."
Dorne was a warm country, its sands were cold at night, very cold, but this was different. This was the kind of cold that didn't just try to snatch the warmth from a person, but ate at it like a wolf. Nymos looked to his fellow countrymen, hoping they would fair well enough to fight in this new experience.
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Post by Leona Redwyne on Sept 2, 2015 15:14:51 GMT -5
Ragnar had been walking down the line of his men to keep them in order. and make sure there were no desertions and that his men weren't quarrelling with their travelling companiosn. After a while he came across the Dornish contingent, who he heard grumbling about the cold. While he didn't much care for the cold himself, he found himself amused and so he remarked to Nymos "A good battle will warm you up. Or strongwine, if you have any."
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Post by Lord Korben of Nightsong on Sept 2, 2015 17:13:18 GMT -5
"Wine? I swear it'd freeze out here..." Nymos said with a shaking laugh as he rubbed his arms for warmth, "How do you northetners deal with this?"
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Post by Leona Redwyne on Sept 2, 2015 17:56:34 GMT -5
"I#m not a northerner," Ragnar said. "I'm Ironborn. It's not as cold as this on the islands, but we're used to hard lives. There's many a time I've had nothing but a thick cloak and a skin of strongwine to keep me warm when there's a storm at sea. "
He grinned.
"I hear the Northmen wear special shoes to help them walk in the snow but I've not seen any of them yet."
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Kurts
Prince
Posts: 3,760
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Post by Kurts on Sept 2, 2015 18:04:45 GMT -5
The army of the Ironborn, Stormlanders, and Dornishmen reaches the Fist of the First Men. The old fort is a ruin but is the last sign of any real advanced fortifications this far north. Eleven thousand men make it, as the weather gets colder and colder. Every day is closer to the deep winter freeze that will plague them. Malik approaches the king. "Few living we found say the only place north of here is the Valley of Then , bout two hundred miles long this river, but if we turn east we'll be in a forest right up till the Fields of Milk along the Antler River." "Then we'll camp here and await our allies." he instructed. "See this hill properly fortified."
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Post by Lord Korben of Nightsong on Sept 2, 2015 18:24:15 GMT -5
"I#m not a northerner," Ragnar said. "I'm Ironborn. It's not as cold as this on the islands, but we're used to hard lives. There's many a time I've had nothing but a thick cloak and a skin of strongwine to keep me warm when there's a storm at sea. " He grinned. "I hear the Northmen wear special shoes to help them walk in the snow but I've not seen any of them yet." "To the people of Dorne, all Westeros are Northerners..." Nymos replied simply as he looked out to the snowy area they worked to erect camp in, "I've experienced the harsh nights of the desert sands. Storms that block out the sun and can choke a man in minutes. But this cold, it just doesn't stop..." He said. Beyond the Wall, there was no summer or winter, just the cold, and the colder. "I admire your commitment though. I'm sure you are a testimant to your kind, to simply be standing here alive and fit..." Nymos said with a nod of his head, going to help his people set up their shelter.
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Post by Leona Redwyne on Sept 3, 2015 12:55:01 GMT -5
"To the people of Dorne, all Westeros are Northerners..." Nymos replied simply as he looked out to the snowy area they worked to erect camp in, "I've experienced the harsh nights of the desert sands. Storms that block out the sun and can choke a man in minutes. But this cold, it just doesn't stop..." He said. Beyond the Wall, there was no summer or winter, just the cold, and the colder. "I admire your commitment though. I'm sure you are a testimant to your kind, to simply be standing here alive and fit..." Nymos said with a nod of his head, going to help his people set up their shelter. Ragnar grinned. "I've been lucky, sure enough. Only the God knows who will survive this frozen hell." As Nymos walked away, he began headed back towards his own men. As he walked, he pulled out a flask of spiced rum and took a swig.
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Post by Lord Rykker on Sept 8, 2015 16:31:50 GMT -5
/////////////////////////// In the wee frozen hours of the night, a unfamiliar figure waits in the tent of Harwyn Goodbrother. Still and silent, Uhtred'll wait in the darkness for his former friend. The banners surprised him. Seems like the former mercenary had gone up in the world while Uhtred had fallen.
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Post by Marlow on Sept 8, 2015 16:35:30 GMT -5
He isn't left waiting for long. Entering his tent while quietly grumbling, Harwyn moves to the table in the center of it and drops his axe on it. "Damn this snow. No business being up here." He turns and sits down at the table, immediately hunched over what is apparently a map formed by their scouts. Small wonder, it's snow everywhere.
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Post by Lord Rykker on Sept 8, 2015 16:37:32 GMT -5
Uhtred flicks his finger and a tiny droplet of blood shines on it. The candles on the table light spontaneously, illuminating the maps the mans looking at. "Harwyn Goodbrother" he says conversationally, barely illuminated "it's been a long time."
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Post by Marlow on Sept 8, 2015 16:41:46 GMT -5
Nope, definitely didn't just shit himself.
Looking up from his maps, Harwyn eyes Uhtred for a moment before leaning back in his seat. "Uhtred Farwynd. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were here to haunt me."
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Post by Lord Rykker on Sept 8, 2015 16:47:11 GMT -5
"Maybe I have" he says "A ghost might be all I am now, here to wreak vengeance for grievances suffered. But I think past wrongs have been rendered... meaningless in the light of recent events. I've returned."
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Post by Marlow on Sept 8, 2015 17:14:25 GMT -5
"After Yeen and Myr, I think your soul has plans more important than haunting me. If you've returned, you're welcome in my crew, and my house. My brother has passed away since you've been gone. Lord Harwyn Goodbrother, commander and captain." He chuckles for a moment, scratching at his beard. "Not that I get much of a say."
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Post by Lord Rykker on Sept 8, 2015 18:31:01 GMT -5
Uhtred looks at him for a secondd, and his mouth almost quirks upward "After all this time, even with being with the Greyjoys and all else, you'd still let me into your house? Careful Goodbrother. Keep on going on like that and I'll think you're a good friend." He sighs and moves forward into the light.
Uhtred is thinner than he was before, and a completely shaved head makes his tightly stretched skin almost seem like a skull. He takes a chair at the table "But I'll not lean on your goodwill, Goodbrother." he chuckles " I can still support myself. And still have a few men who'll follow me. How is a Lords life?"
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