The Rise of Kings (Game of Thrones RP/IC/Open)

[The Central Fascist Empires]

For centuries have the lords of Westeros fought their petty battles. Time and time again have the lands bled for that throne, and whatever fat bastard embraces its cold steel. That throne which has devoured so many innocent and has pillaged the land through and through. The year is 299 AC, and Renly Baratheon has died with his lords scattering to serve Joffrey Baratheon or Stannis Baratheon. In the North, Robb Stark declares war on the Lannisters to avenge his fathers death and free his sisters held captive in Kings Landing. The Ironborn wait to strike at the heart of the North as Robb marches South. The Vale and Dorne sit idle as conflict rages throughout the kingdom. Now the land bleeds again, and for the same reason. Armies march once more raping and pillaging at the behest of whichever king they are sworn to be it the King in the North or the Boy King in the South. Now the sounds of hooves and marching of steel-clad knights ring out through the valleys and rivers of Westeros. This is not the story of those lords, but of those that die for them. The countless men who bleed for whichever king they were born to serve. Now you have been dragged into this petty squabble. For whatever reason you are now fighting for one of the four remaining kings. You will march into battle alongside other men. You haven't known them long, but now they are your brothers and you will kill, survive, and die with them.

Characters

Brandon
George
Mance Pyke
Mears
Raymund the Appleseed
Victor Waters
Dandelion
Korin
Marika

OOC

[The Central Fascist Empires]

Ten days Brandon had spent lingering in the dungeons of some petty lord of little renown. For ten days he lay in isolation aside from the occasional beating, or the odd-colored gruel that he was served by his tormentors. It had been a few days since the last time he had seen the light of a torch, or heard the sound of the guards marching outside his cell. The obese lord who ruled over the keep was fond of butchering thieves. He was a glutton and a sadist who was known to frequent the whores of the village. The suffering of each passing hour was etched onto the walls of the cell the Brandon clawed at. Screaming and pounding at the door. Finally he fell to the ground in tears. He would never see his home again, nor his sisters and mother. George, his brother and only true friend, in truth that is who he would miss the most.

"George, aye, he will do well to protect mother. Never as strong as me, but smarter. In the end he was always smarter," Brandon cried to himself swinging his fists at the dungeon ground. "I will die here in the end. It is true the God's have left me to suffer after a life of sin and hatred."

"Quiet in there," A guard banged on the door. Brandon recoiled as he heard the key entering the lock. Crawling back against a wall he raised his arm to cover his face. The door swung open and a guard rushed in. The guard was scrawny, smaller than Brandon, but he wielded a sword. Although dented and pathetic it could still cut Brandon down, and so Brandon was afraid. "The lord has offered all prisoners a choice. Either you serve the lord and you fight for him, or you'll be strung up like you deserve," The guard said.

"Fight?" Brandon asked.

"Aye, fight. Robb Stark has been declared the King in the North, and Renly has died at the hands of his guards. Some monster of a woman cut him down so we hear. Now Stannis raises an army to strike at the Lannisters, so yes fight and the lord is gathering all his resources before marching off."

"Will I get pay and food?" Brandon asked.

"Food yes, but pay no. Thieves like you deserve no pay, but it's a hell of a lot better than getting sent down to the Seven Hells." The guard said.

"I s'pose it is then," Brandon struggled to stand.

"Come with me," The guard moved towards the door. "Stand in front. You'll get some food and then some armor,"

[Glasgia]

Mance's eyes flicked across the tavern in Felwood. The men in there were full of mead and that made them dangerous - Confidence and numbers were the two things combined that could easily end with his guts being dashed across a rotting wooden wall in the heart of the Stormlands. To this purpose, he kept one hand close to his sword as he flicked a copper across at the bartender.

"Pint of mead mate, unless you've got something stronger." The bartender nodded and slid another tankard down towards Mance, who accepted it gratefully. If your potential enemy was going to have a bit of extra confidence, it didn't hurt to gain that yourself. Taking a good gulp of the stuff, he turned back to the man behind the bar.

"So, what's the news round here then? I'd imagine you know more than me about what's been going on." At this, the bartender tapped on the small coin purse on his belt and Mance flicked another copper at him - One of the few he still had, so he was relieved when this opened the man's mouth.

"Renly's dead. Murdered by Catelyn Tully I've heard, some men talk about a demon at her side - Either some monstrous spawn with women's tits or a blood-magic creature with the face of Stannis. Either way, there's chaos in Renly's camp. Half his men went with Stannis, some tried to to stop them and most the Tyrells returned to the Reach. The Starks are marching south to take on the Lannisters - Apparently the Mountain has been gutting their men in the Riverlands. Heard he killed Hoster Tully himself with his cock, although I'm pretty sure the lad who told me that was from the Westerlands. Other than that? Well, the stable daughter's girl got fucked by her br-"

"That's all I need to know ta - I'll need another few pints before I can get my head round Hoster Tully and the Mountain's cock." Mance watched as the bartender shuffled away. Renly dead. He knew the gay king was rich and needed an army - The only reason he'd gone south in the first place, after his company split at the Crossing. Stannis might have the same goal, but his gold was questionable in its amount and Mance needed payment. Leaving the last few drops of mead in his tankard, he turned to walk out.

"Oi! You! Salty! You're a long way from the islands lad." His path was stopped at the door from a belligerent call, causing Mance to turn slowly to face the culprit. Half-staggering towards him, the Stormlander gripped tightly upon a dagger in his right hand.

"This is a good a place for a drink as any, isn't it mate? " Mance's hand fell to his sword. Immediately, the drunkard lunged forward. Mance stepped aside, allowing the momentum of the attack to fly past him and added to it with his elbow. Blood spilt across the hay on the tavern's floor but the man was up again, turning. Sword in hand, Mance cracked into his opponent's jaw with the pommel to once again send him sprawling yet this time Mance was upon him before he fell, the point of his steel driving through between the Stormlander's ribs. He held it there for a brief moment, allowing the halfwit a moment of realisation, before drawing back and letting the blood pour across him.

"Anyone else?" Mance noted that the man's friends suddenly appeared less confident, settling back into the seats uneasily. A few others rose hesitantly, reluctant to allow this foreigner to leave without challenge, but none were willing to make the first move. With deliberate fashion, Mance wiped the blood on his sword onto his forearms and scabbarded the blade before he strode out of the establishment - Not too keen to wait for the next idiot to take a stand. With the rooms of that tavern no longer safe to him, he'd sleep rough tonight. Outside the prison was as good a place as any if the castle guards would allow it - Better guarded than elsewhere, it provided some safe haven within the walls.

[House of Astwood]

"Georgette! Georgette!" George's friend and neighbor Wallace shouted running alongside the outside of the cow pen George was in. He quickly ran back and tried to somersault over the fence. It was a failed attempt that saw him fall face first into a pile of some cow's dump. George who was milking one of the three cows in the pen had tears fall from his eyes as he laughed uncontrollably, almost knocking over the bucket of milk. He gasped and grabbed it before it spilled. That tin would be enough to feed his family for a week, what with the deal with the merchants and famine spreading across the continent.

"That's what you get for calling me 'Georgette' Wally!"

Wallace quickly stood up and started spitting. "Good gods! Ughhhhh the taste!" Wallace's face turned green as he remarked. Without further warning he turned and vomited all over the cow waste. "Got anything to drink?" Wallace asked still slightly queasy. George glared at him unimpressed.

"That is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life..." George said glaring at the vomit ridden pile of cow dung.

"No time! No time!"

"What do you mean no time? You do realise you're cleaning that up right?"

"Shut up no time for that! Come with me!"

Wallace grabbed George by his tunic's collar and pulled him as they hopped over the fence. George realised his friend was serious as they ran into the village from the farmlands in the village's countryside. They ran into village square where Ser Fulmun 'the Crescent' stood with a scroll before him and two of the Lord's guardsmen at his side. Just in time for him to speak. The Lord lived in the castle Felwood on the hill overlooking the village, it was a sight none could avoid and it dominated the skyline. It was where Brandon was. Brandon the thief. How could he do such thing? They could live without theft. Was it the poverty or the greed? George didn't know, he was angry with his brother regardless but still loved him just as much.

"Hear ye! Hear ye! The good Lord Harwood of House Fell from his seat at Felwood had requested this good village of ours to take up arms and join the war. It is a duty upon all who can bear arms to levy to their lord's side. However armies need food, and your good work here will not go unnoticed if you decide to remain. There will be a tax levied, a tenth of all crops and foodstuffs produced in the farmlands surrounding Felwood would be put towards the war effort as of now. All criminals with the exception of murderers and rapists in Lord Fell's dungeon will be given the choice to fight for the lord or receive the lord's justice! All recruits are requested to come to Castle Felwood by sunset! That is all! Disperse!" Ser Fulmun announced, the banner of House Fell fluttering at the top of the pole behind him, a white crescent moon on a black field above a green field, a spruce tree line between.

The crowd began muttering and gossiping as The Crescent and his two men mounted their horses and trotted back to the castle. Wallace pulled George to the side and they stood beside the wall of the town's inn as the crowd dispersed back to their daily lives. "You know what this means right?" Wallace asked George, pieces of dung still stuck to his hair and inside his ear and a piece stuck on his left eyebrow, not to mention the tiny piece stuck on a single hair extending out of his nose.

"It means Brandon is free!"

"No it means he is a slave, a slave of the law, but a slave among the free. I need to stay back home but you can go and fight be with your brother!"

"I can't! I have an obligation to my mother, to my sisters, to my babe of a brother still suckling on his mother's milk!"

"In the end its your choice to decide, I got to run my father will be wondering where I am! But remember if you go off I assure you I'll do all I can to help your sisters and mother out on your farm."

Wallace ran off without another hint or warning. George sat contemplating, staring at Castle Felwood where his brother was held. After a few minutes he got off the ground and scattered away the dirt from his bottom. He walked back home still thinking, attempting to decide, if he did want to fight what would his mother say? Had he no sense of duty to his family? How can he leave the women alone with no man from their own family to protect them and labor for them? When he arrived at the farmstead, he entered and briefed his mother and all that had occurred.

"You will fight with your brother." George's mother insisted.

"But ma how can I leave you here alone?"

"We'll manage, but you need to accompany your brother be the sword that guards him!"

"But who will guard you? Mother I must remain! Brandon was a thief and must face the justice of gods and men!"

"Do not speak ill of your brother! We do not even know if that is true or if he was falsely accused! Now go it is almost sunset! Go! GO!"

George rushed out of the stead and got on his horse "Icon". It was light brown like that of dairy chocolate with a strip of white at his legs and at the top of his mouth and nose. He grabbed Brandon's horse as well by the reins as he made his way to castle Felwood. "You a new recruit boy?" The guards asked at the gates. "Aye" George replied as the gates came up. In the courtyard he saw rows of young men and boys their whiskers barely grown, many trying on armor pieces and arms, but he was the only one atop a horse, but he noticed Brandon from among the crowd. And how can Brandon miss seeing him especially since he was atop a horse?

[The Central Fascist Empires]

Brandon staggered up the stairs behind the guard. The jails opened up into the courtyard where the sun beat down on rows of new recruits. "With me," The guard directed him into a door directly across. Brandon entered a canteen filled with the soldiers of House Felwood. Brandon took a seat beside some other prisoners dressed in rags and filthy. The guard brought him some broth and a small piece of bread. Brandon finished his food quickly and washed it down with watered down ale. It tasted nothing like that which his cousin Edmund brewed, but it was good enough. Brandon turned to the other prisoners and laughed.

"You all took the offer too?" He asked.

"Aye," One prisoner nodded. "What else was there to do, but die in those dark cells,"

"Your name is Brandon right?" A prisoner in front of Brandon asked.

"Yes it is," Brandon nodded.

"I knew your father and mother well. I used to grow wheat near by your farm," He said.

"Oh," Brandon didn't really know what more to say. He never knew the man, and he had seen people come and go over the years. The conversation quickly died as people finished their meals. A guard slammed his fist on another table.

"Out to the courtyard all of you. Lord Felwood is gathering the recruits," He shouted. Brandon stood and marched out alongside the other prisoners. The formed rows and stood waiting for the lord to arrive. Brandon could see his brother arrive, but still stood in line. A short and fat man stepped off a horse with a paper and quill in hand.

"Name?" He asked the first recruit.

"Rodrik," The recruit said. The man went recruit to recruit asking of the names of prisoners and writing them down. Finally the were allowed to disperse in the courtyard and arm themselves. The lord hadn't arrived, but the rumors spread quickly. Brandon heard at the table that they would be fighting for Stannis Baratheon, and that they would set out to siege Storms End soon. Brandon ran to his brother mounted atop his horse.

"Brother why have you come here?"

[House of Astwood]

George smiled when he saw Brandon. He hopped of Icon and handed Brandon the reins of his horse while he still held a grip on Icon's reins. "Why I have come? Ma told me to. I insisted that I remain and take care of her and the girls, but no she won't have any of it," George responded. "Now come 'ere and give me a hug you were never one for hellos and goodbyes!" George embraced his elder brother and gave him a kiss on the head. "Tell me all that had happened", George asked of his brother and he went to get armed and armored.

He was given a clean castle forged blade that had obviously seen a few battles and fitted with medium armor not too light and neither too heavy as his brother explained his story. He put the sword into its sheathe and put the helmet into its place above his head. He got back up onto Icon's back. "Well how do I look? Lordly no?" George said smiling as he barely paid attention changing the topic from his brother's story.

[The Central Fascist Empires]

"Mother was always tough like that. Ever since father left she has kept a sword b'neath her bed," Brandon laughed. Brandon told his story although he knew his brother wasn't entirely listening. "Our family needed the money at the time," Brandon finished. "You look as fine a knight as Ser Barristan the Bold," He smiled. "How were things after I left. In all honesty it should have been the merchants thrown in these cells, it was them who stole from me not the other way around. I did what was fair as they thought I was too young and dumb to manage father's farm,"

[Argentumurbem]

Raymund laughed to himself as the camp milled about in confusion. Where is the king? echoed on the wind as dawn came and went, the army yet to be mustered as a large gathering of nobles assembled around their liege's tent. The king is dead! There would be no crushing victory beneath the shadow of Storm's End, no songs sung of the might of the chivalry of the southern king. No, there would only be rumours of murder by a woman or a shadow, of a spurned lover or a dark spirit. And then there would be the fire god and his champion, bearing a banner of flame and foreign teachings.

"We have to leave," muttered one of the knights, a surcoat of a chequey lion, green and yellow on white. "Ser Loras and Tarly are calling all those loyal to Renly to join them back to Bitterbridge."

"Keep it quite!" hissed a man with the Tarly hunter on his breast. "Lord Stannis rules here now."

Raymund looked to the men sitting all around him, his men in all but name: a half-dozen blades from the east, hardened by the Essosi sun; two fellow reachmen as black of heart as a moonless night; five gutter scum from Kingslanding who only knew loyalty to Raymund; and even several retainers who had been taken in by the mercenary. Lord Florent had been quick to accept their modest contract, willing to give over a few hundred coins for the services of a band of killers and trained soldiers. What he obviously had hoped for was a band of loyal warriors, willing to serve without thought.

"And why would Ser Loras be running away from his king?" Raymund called out, gesturing for his band to look lively. "King Stannis will be wanting us to stay and offer up our oaths of loyalty."

The two men twisted round at those words, eyes narrowing out of suspicion.

"We serve Highgarden and the true king," the knight hissed threateningly. "A king who has been murdered by Lady Stark!"

"Lord Stannis is no king," spat the Tarly retainer. "Lord Tarly will not kneel before him."

Raymund eased himself up, hand moving back to rest on the hilt of one of his daggers, the stubby triangle of cold iron which rested against his lower back. Taking a few sure steps towards the reachmen, he continued to speak as the camp continued to convulse in confusion.

"Stannis does not allow traitors to live," he declared, "and I am sure Lord Florent will reward us for doing the job for him."

The dagger flew forward, Raymund's aim true. The Osgrey knight fell in to a bundle, his vocal cords severed so that there was only the noise of air escaping his throat. Before the Tarly man could do anything, Raymund watched as a thrown spear took him in the chest, one of his men following that up with an axe strike to the face.

"Inform Lord Alester of the treachery of Lord Tarly and Ser Loras," he barked at one of his reachmen. "There will be others who will wish to silence what you have to say."

There had better be some payment for this, he thought darkly, aiming himself towards what had until recently been the site of the Tarly levies. He would take the initiative and find out which sigils had left them.

A little while away, a man rose from his bed, sweating heavily from a frightful dream. All around this man's tent, his small army waited for his orders, unsure as to what was happening in the enemy camp. Eventually, an envoy would be sent to reveal the news.

[House of Astwood]

"Barristan the Bold just him? Pssshhhhh I have the majestic look of the Kingslayer with the code of honour of Ser Barristan the Bold!" George boasted as he kick his horse once setting Icon in walking motion. "Those merchants you robbed, I held business with", George began. "As man of the house after you left I came into a two year contract with the merchants, we sell them our foodstuffs and only sell it to them in exchange we always get sales and don't have to look for buyers. We've been doing pretty well since then."

[The Central Fascist Empires]

Brandon mounted his horse and rode beside his brother. "What if they decide to screw you out of your money. Merchants are like that brother. They may be ripping you off, but who knows it may be a good deal. Coins won't matter as much during war, and I'd have warned you to keep some of the food for the years to come. We're both here now, and not out there." Brandon said. He was now dressed as a soldier in the service of Lord Felwood. "I'm going to miss our home. We've left them all alone, and how can mother run the farm by herself. She grows old and only the Gods know how she and the kids will make it,"

[House of Astwood]

George smirked. "You think I'd leave them to deal with the farm themselves?" George said, "Do you see me a fool? I got Wally Buckteeth and his family helping out." George kept on riding, his reins short, back straight, and heels pointed down on the stirrups. "I hope you didn't forget how to ride, look Ser Fulmun is going to announce the Lord's coming, trot ahead," George said to his brother. He kicked the horses really hard three times and was trotting away as he went up and down on his stirrups using his knees as his primary means, before pulling his reins signalling a quick turn into walk and then a halt.

"Good men! Here comes your lord!" Ser Fulmun the Crescent announced

[Krumbia]

Mears allowed himself a little grin as he watched these recruits form up in the courtyard of Lord Fell's castle. Mears knew that this war would be bloody and most of these people would undoubtedly be dead in a few months if the fighting got heavy. Mears had only been a member of the House Fell guard for a month, but already knew the ways of Felwood and the surrounding settlements. Lord Harwood Fell himself was a sadistic bastard, so he was much in the same mind set as Mears.

Spending his evenings in one of the inns scattered in the vicinity of Felwood, Mears had taken a poor view of Lord Fell's men. Most of his men-at-arms, which were few in number, were of local stock and besides a few that had fought with Storm's End in wars past, were inexperienced and likely to run in an actual conflict. Mears was amongst a small cadre of sellswords that had found their way into Lord Fell's forces, but even some of them Mears would not trust to hold in a battle.

Mears was more concerned about himself than the others, but he knew that Lord Fell's force was not a strong one and he only hoped some of these new recruits had the steel to face up to some of the better trained and more experienced Lannister men that would undoubtedly be waiting to kill them at the first chance. Mears knew he needed to make sure he had a plan of escape at every chance, whilst staying for as long as possible to pocket as much of Lord Fell's gold as he could. Mears had no emotional attachment to House Fell, and knew that he could not progress very far as one of their men. His aspirations lay elsewhere.

But for now, he knew what he must do. He saw the other men mounting their horses, and so did Mears. It was an ageing stallion, one of Lord Fell's oldest horses. Sometimes Mears wondered if he had got it in for him. Mears was wearing, over his leather armour, an old, faded tabard with the sigil of House Fell adorned on it. The tabard itself was a mix of grey and green, the colours of House Fell . Ser Fulmun the Crescent led the column and Mears watched him carefully. Ser Fulmun was one of Lord Fell's chief lackeys and an obnoxious fool. He was the chief orchestrator of Lord Fell's word, and an ideal man to lead these new recruits to imminent death.

[The Central Fascist Empires]

"Gods," Brandon laughed. "You got Wallace to help mother out. The boys a fool sometimes I swear, but his family are good and they'll do well for mother I hope. Still when the war comes here and bandits start striking the country then what? I doubt Wally can do much then, but let us hope we put our good king on the throne," Brandon said. Brandon charged behind his brother towards the where the troops were gathering. Lord Harwood was of average height and not too large a man. Brandon never thought much of his lord, nor did many of the villagers. In truth the wars of the Seven Kingdoms were of no concern in the country. Whoever sat the throne had little relevance beyond the large walls and warm hearths of the castles that dotted Westeros. "I always thought the lord would look mightier, but he looks like I could knock him on his arse," Brandon whispered to George.

"Men," Lord Harwood spoke in a deep voice. "King Renly has been murdered by Brienne of Tarth, and her bastard father has refused our King Stannis service. He has instead moved to side with Joffrey Lannister, but I have sworn my service to the righteous Stannis Baratheon. Soon we march on to King Stannis to join him in battle,"

"And to our deaths," Brandon muttered.

[Glasgia]

"We march to King Stannis, but to what price do we march? I have no interest in your politics, I do have an interest in fighting with those who I know and trust - But, lacking that for I am a foreigner in this camp, I have an interest in what the road ahead offers me. So far, I see little offer given - Why should we fight for another's claim if he doesn't lend us a chance to stake our own claims upon wealth and glory."

Although speaking loudly and with a firm tone, Mance was wary of provoking the men around him. He knew he was barely welcome in this town beyond the use his sword offered Lord Fell and he did not wish to gut another Stormlander if challenged - The crowd around him was substantially bigger and better armed than that at his last kill. In fact, it would be his luck if there were a few good fighters amongst them - Otherwise, it was doubtful that such a band of recruits could stand firm in battle.

[The Central Fascist Empires]

"Fucking twat," Brandon muttered at the man's comments. "I wish that I was allowed to fight for gold, but here I am a prisoner. Armed, but a prisoner nevertheless,"

Lord Fell glared at Mance, he was rather shocked that a soldier would dare contest him in such a way. "Who are you to speak to the lord in such a way?" Fulmun shouted. "It'd be best if I cut you down as an example for the rest,"

"Patience, Ser Fulmun. It would be best if I addressed the soldiers worries no doubt it is a concern for the rest. I think that things should be explained as I'd rather have them not desert later. Stannis is no Tywin Lannister he will not let you loot and sack as you please. If you prove your worth then I will make it worth your time, but we mustn't act like savages even if it is war. The road ahead offers you nothing but suffering and torment I will make that no secret, but I can see you too are a warrior. In the end we will all benefit from a righteous reign and a good long peace throughout the kingdom. One day we will storm into Kings Landing, and then I promise you all you can carry," Harwood was a convincing liar as were most lords. They had to be to survive in such a world. Harwood knew that if his men were caught looting or committing some crime they would suffer the penalties. Stannis was no ordinary man, and those closest to him serve as living examples. An ordinary man would have sent his child away the moment he had seen greyscale, but Stannis had not. If the stories from the Siege of Storms End were true then he was a true and righteous man. Of course to keep his men together Lord Fell had to deceive them.

[The Serbian Empire]

Marika found more work and was more than eager to become a mercenary for a good cause like Stannis's. However, she knew that she'd have to disguise herself if only to avoid the fate that was all too common for women in Westeros during war. Many an army would rape and pillage. As a result, Marika to her disguises as being a nursemaid to injured soldiers wasn't fulfilling enough for a girl who grew up in Dorne. Women there could own land, inherit businesses, and even on occasion lead noble houses, but this wasn't Dornish land. Far from the craggy mesas and cliffs of Dorne. So what does a female who wants to fight for a good cause do? She dresses as a man of course. And that is what Marika has done for a long time. At least a decade since her first voyage into becoming Marik back when a rogue vassal lord needed a bit of a pierce in the side to favor House Martell back in Dorne. She's seen her skirmishes and has acquired more martial training than most spies ever will as her disguise involves being either a squire or the archery instructor hired by a vassal lord. The best way to master one's craft is to practice although almost all her experience was limited to non-combat situations or assassinations. Meanwhile she just listens in to the other conversations. It's all the better to know who I'm working with by listening in on them.

[House of Astwood]

"Alright men you heard the Lord. You lot will be sleeping in this courtyard here for the night, by the time dawn breaks we will march onward to Storms End", Ser Fulmun bellowed to the three hundred recruits and fighters ahead of him, "until then as your generous lord's gift to you, you will eat till your heart's content." As the lord climbed up the steps into his castle; several soldiers and servants arrived setting up tables and filling them with great dishes from chicken to venison, from mashed potatoes to broad bean paste and bread. George rushed to get what he could, a massive drumstick, three pieces of venison, a boiled egg, and a small bowl of broad bean paste and bread for him and his brother to share. They sat alone near their horses as they feasted.

Ser Fulmun was walking between the aisles and groups of men eating, "Eat up, you'll never see a meal like this ever again in your lives unless we take King's Landing of course," he smirked. George analyzed several of the recruits, soldiers, and mercenaries present. A guard still stood guarding the entrance yet to join in the feast, he looked at Mears. He did not seem strange so he turned and looked at the man who caused the commotion earlier, Mance the Foreign-Born as George called him. He analyzed what drove him to speak outside of his place and what kept the lord from cutting out his tongue. "So Brandon how's the food? This is amazing!" George said to his brother as he gobbled up the last chunks of meat on his drumstick.

[The Central Fascist Empires]

"Anything would taste good after the shit I ate in that cell," Brandon muttered chugging his stew down. "I'll miss mother's meals and cousin Edmund's ale," Brandon sighed. "Remember what father taught us. How he taught us to shoot a bow, to hunt, and to swing a sword. Always remember," Brandon's father had been called many times to fight for Lord Fell. It was common for the lord to come around and take fighting men to deal with disputes. Brandon's father was one of those men and he would always teach his children what he learned along the way. "Brother we never separate and we'll fight to the end, aye?"

[House of Astwood]

"Never separate aye, fighting to the death for some chair I'll never sit on far from home? Sounds stupid to me", George responded. "I would like to get married, start a family, grow old and die." George gobbled up the rest of his food before putting his head on a rock beside his horse. "Catch some shut eye you'll need it for tomorrow."

[The Central Fascist Empires]

"That's what we all want, but few ever get to do so. And those few are the shits we're fighting for, but this war will end soon and it won't matter to us who'll be on that throne. Be it Stannis or Robb or Cersei fucking Lannister for all I care it won't matter to us. We'll still starve and suffer and die, because of them." Brandon said following his brother. "One day they'll all get what they deserve,"

[Krumbia]

Mears stood for a moment watching the men tuck into their meal. As Ser Fulmun helpfully pointed out, most of them, if not all of them, would never eat like this again. But even for Mears, this was an unexpected surprise, although he knew not to eat too much: he didn't want to be sick in the coming days. He had noticed the man who had spoken out, and discovered his name was Mance, and he was of the Iron Islands. He spotted him eating and went over to join him.

“Some guts you had there. You didn't know how Lord Harwood would have responded. A lesser Lord might have had your neck.” Mears examined him. He looked older than his years, with straggly black hair and a scruffy beard. He also looked like he could fight - Mears would do well to make an ally of him. It would take quite something to survive this war, but Mears knew that he was just as safe in the front lines of Stannis's army as he was living a quiet life in a holdfast in the Crownlands. That would be the nature of this war to come.

[Glasgia]

Mance nodded slowly at Lord Fell's comments. The man knew his crowd, he knew how to choose his words for that crowd. He was a good enough Lord to fight for if any, although Mance could only hope he kept true to his promise. He noted there had been no sack of Storm's End, an admirable choice by Stannis though it was an admittedly different in situation. The Baratheons needed the Stormlands to back their army, to take on the Lannisters and the Starks and the Greyjoys, but when they broke King's Landing that was ender's game. Then, he could hope.

Hot stew filled his gullet satisfyingly, Mance wolfing down the meal. The tavern's on his journey had not been bad, but they'd been scarce and the last few nights had lacked both comfort and good refreshment. With a long campaign ahead he would rather not waste a free bowl of muck, whatever it was, and this wasn't bad muck. As a soldier nearby piped up, Mance turned to face the man. Lesser than Mance in height, the man appeared to have far greater experience from his - The rugged, unshaven yet muscled figure revealing some scars of past combat and many years with sword in hand.

"Aye, a lesser lord might've had my neck, but he wouldn't have had my sword. Lord Fell does and he'll keep it if he can live up to his promises. You're a Crownlander from that accent, no?"

[The Serbian Empire]

I know what life on little food is like, but less food means at some point I'd be indistinguishable from a man. It would make life a lot easier for me, but is there a fletcher with us. Otherwise, I may need to take to using a sword once the arrowheads have fallen off. I haven't touched one of those swords in a couple years when I pretended to be a squire for the Lannisters to provide House Martell with insight from a distant house. "Hey, does anyone know if we have a fletcher with our ranks?", Marik asked.

[Blobovia]

Donnel chewed on a chicken leg with great appetite, and listened with half an ear on what was said around him. Just like Ser Fulmun had said it was a true feast. Donnel had never eaten this good.

Some men talked about their families. Donnel hadn't met his in twenty years. He missed his parents, but didn't even knew if they were alive or dead, or if he had younger siblings. He took a mouthfull of ale and clutched his dragon necklace, the only thing he had from them to remember.

He moved on to the next chicken leg and heard other men speak of the lords. Donnel knew very well how evil the nobles could be, and yet they were the ones who ruled the realm. Nothing he could do about it, or add to the discussion, only to try to get someone lesser corrupt lord to lead. And right now that seemed to be lord Fell and lord, no king Stannis.

But why waste time on unhappy thoughts? He had to much of those as it were. Better to fully indulge in the food and enjoy it while he can, and that's exactly what Donnel decided to do.

[The Central Fascist Empires]

"I've spent enough time resting in the cell. I want to move around, so I'll see you later brother," Brandon said moving back into the hall where the rest of the troops ate. Brandon heard the voice of a man asking for a fletcher. "Aye," Brandon said to the man with the dark brown hair. "I know a bit, but I'm not the greatest. My father taught me somethings about fletching as we hunted often, but if there is a better man here I'm not sure. Edwin in the village is a damn fine fletcher, but it is too late to visit him," Brandon said.