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Post by Red Kraken on May 6, 2019 19:31:10 GMT
Chapter 1: The Drowning Lion129 years ago, Aegon Targaryen, the First of His Name, crossed the Blackwater on the back of a dragon, and conquered the seven kingdoms. Well, to be precise, he only conquered six, because the Dornish cheated. One of those kingdoms was the Kingdom of the Isles and Rivers - the first to fall, in fact, after the great Ironborn King Harren the Black thought his castle could defeat a dragon. Still, we can't complain, because my family did quite well out of the whole affair - for my ancestor, Vickon Greyjoy, bent the knee to Aegon and his dragons, and was named the Lord of the Iron Isles. But it is 129 years hence, and a flurry of ravens has reached me, their dark wings bearing dark words. The realm goes to war. Targaryen fights Targaryen, dragon fights dragon, and the realm will bleed and burn. Sounds good to me! My name is Dalton Greyjoy. They call me the Red Kraken, after the vengeance I took for my dearly departed father left me drenched from head to toe in blood, only most of it mine.  One of these scrolls bears the mark of Rhaenyra Targaryen, who I've yet to meet, but I hear she does great things on the back of a dragon. Visions of Harrenhal cross my mind, and the helpful voice that reminds me that Ironborn longships are made of tar-coated wood... well, let's see what she wants.  I don't need telling twice. If Rhaenyra Targaryen wants violence on the Lannisters, then who am I to refuse her? I call the banners. Preparations begin for war. My own men are drilled, ready for combat, eager for glory. They number 5200; nearly four thousand reavers in heavy mail, just under 1300 fast scouts, and fifteen men who, for some reason, insist on bringing horses onto my seventy ships. I shall lead the men of Pyke to the shores of Feastfires, near Kayce, while my banners defend the Isles from the Lannisters' inevitable reprisals. A simple plan. My bannermen are hungry for blood and gold, so defence of the isles - and command of more than twenty thousand men at arms - falls to Gyles Codd of Codd Hall. He's... a brave man, and loyal, but...  not exactly the most dynamic commander in the Isles. Still, what's the worst that can happen?
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Post by Red Kraken on May 6, 2019 19:58:02 GMT
On the 17th day of the fifth moon, my reavers surround the hall at Feastfires.  It's not the most luxurious accommodation in the Westerlands, but it's a decent staging point, and more importantly, our ships and scouts will be able to see any Lannister armies coming through Kayce with plenty of time for us to return to our ships. After all, it's only cowardice if you don't plan on coming back to finish the job. The Lannisters - or at least the ones that aren't marching east - have boarded their own ships to meet Codd's forces. They are still gathering, but the stony terrain of the Isles favours the defender in a beachhead, and the soft soldiers of the greenlands cannot hope to match us on our own soil. Three thousand Lannister warriors land at Codd Hall; they are driven back into the sea.  Siege warfare is a slow, laborious business, occasionally punctuated with brief periods of incredible violence. Months pass as we starve out the defenders at Feastfires, breaking off the siege occasionally to run down occasional Lannister reinforcements marching through to the port at Kayce, who have by now proclaimed themselves neutral in the conflict, their own political issues with the Lannisters rendering them agreeable to Ironborn rule at the end of the war. The forces of my bannermen split in two at Pyke; Codd remains behind with eleven thousand to defend the Isles, the others join my forces at Maunhill, as our scouts see the Lannisters mustering at Casterly Rock. A grand battle is inevitable.  Grand battles elsewhere in the realm are taking place. Over the months I get reports of Targaryen dragonlords duelling in the skies above Dragonstone and Griffin's Roost. I wonder to myself if riding a dragon is at all like helming a ship. It certainly seems more glamorous. The most exciting thing that happened to me during the siege of Feastfires is a time where I am bitten by a guard dog. |
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Post by Red Kraken on May 6, 2019 20:12:45 GMT
Halfway into the tenth moon, opportunity smiles upon us. Our scouts spy four thousand Lannister soldiers camped at Mockbeggar. They are several weeks travel from the army at Casterly Rock, and a prime target for my reavers. We march from Feastfires and fall upon them in the night. I have more than thirteen thousand heavy raiders under my command, and they tear the Westermen to pieces.  We march south to Casterly Rock. Their armies are arrayed around the huge castle with no real fortification. Glory to the Ironborn this day! Almost nothing could sour my mood, until I return to my tent, savouring the victory, to find a servant with a nervous expression and a ravens' scroll.  Gyles Codd has gotten nearly half his army slaughtered. He has retreated to Pebbleton while seven thousand surviving Lannister soldiers lay siege to Pyke. My Pyke. My castle. So I spend some time breaking things, and by the time night falls, the ships are rigged. Maunhill can wait. We sail for Pyke. |
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Post by Red Kraken on May 6, 2019 20:30:06 GMT
To his credit, Gyles Codd has made a decent accounting of himself in the field. The Lannister besiegers are wounded and weary as we rout them. Maybe I won't have Codd killed? We'll see how we feel after the war. We chase the Lannisters to Saltcliffe. My army sails from Lordsport, Codd's across the strait from the Hammerhorn. The Lannisters' ships are off the coast of Pyke, having not been moved since they first landed at Pyke. My fleets blockade them. Only eight hundred Westermen escape Saltcliffe with their lives, including self-styled King of the Rock Jason Lannister. They can wait. It's time for a bit of a reorganisation.  Codd is given sixteen hundred extra men from Maron Harlaw's retinue. Or, to be more precise, Maron Harlaw's retinue is given Codd and his armies. They march north to clean up after the Lannisters, while I march back to Pyke. There's a second matter to attend to, a little insurance policy I set up.  Nice. The drowned men anoint her the Red Kraken, with a flattering lack of imagination. We sail our armies back to Maunhill, to carry on the invasion. Jason Lannister has less than eight hundred men, marshalled at Pebbleton, and Harlaw has more than six thousand, veteran reavers who know the terrain intimately. Maron can handle this-  For fuck's sake. |
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Post by Red Kraken on May 6, 2019 20:48:35 GMT
His army is shattered but Jason Lannister has gone missing. Codd's men are scouring the isles for him, while I continue what I started, almost two years ago. Feastfires has renounced the Lannisters; along with many other houses throughout the Westerlands. Maunhill falls, and Casterly Rock is next. I should be feeling better than this, I'm sure.  Still, I press on, and the walls of Casterly Rock fall. with Jason Lannister nowhere to be found, none can deny my victory. Their armies are shattered. Elsewhere on the continent, the Dance of the Dragons raises on, but on the seas this side of Westeros, the Kraken reigns supreme.  As I sail back to Pyke, things begin to blur around me. I awake in my bed, confused, looking into the face of my Maester, Baelor. He's, well, not got very good news for me.  I nod my assent as he approaches with a large, steel syringe. I've faced down a dozen Dothraki screamers in combat but for some reason that needle unnerved me more than any sword or axe I've ever seen. |
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Post by Red Kraken on May 10, 2019 21:18:42 GMT
News arrived at Pyke ahead of me. Firstly, for the first time in living memory, a man has slain a dragon, and that man is Lord Borros Baratheon. What I wouldn't give to meet such a man, and match Nightsister against his arms.  The second, and arguably more important from a geopolitical perspective, is the death of Aegon Targaryen in battle.  Lord Daemon Targaryen, the husband (and relative) of Rhaenyra, whose claim to the throne I've been supporting, has slain his relative, the King. By the Drowned God, I swear, all these fucking Targaryens look the same, and they keep marrying each other. Well, good for them. Aegon's son Jaehaerys now sits the Iron Throne, for about a fortnight, before Borros the Dragonslayer takes King's Landing and, shortly afterwards, the child's head. Long live Queen Rhaenyra, for now at least. |
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Post by Red Kraken on May 10, 2019 21:39:24 GMT
The affairs of the green lands aside, affairs of state await. I'm yet to take a rock wife, and Ravella Farwynd is comely enough. The Farwynds are a strange lot, living so far away on Lonely Light, a tiny lump of stone that's the furthest point to the west in the entire world. Maybe some time among other people will do them some good.  She joins Johanna Lannister and my five other salt wives. Soon I shall have a veritable army of children! Several months pass - I befriend Harlon Codd, the son of the useless Gyles, and we spar together. The headaches are coming and going; Maester Baelor's injections keep the sickness at bay, mostly. One day, I am told that my salt wife Yorka is with child, but I haven't touched her in months. Have I? Sometimes I see things that can't be there. I pay a maid to trail her, and what she tells me fills me with rage.  My father in law has been interfering with my property, and that won't do. How can I ignore this? This must be answered. I challenge Dunstan on the roof of the Bloody Keep.  He is dead. He doesn't know it yet, but the basilisk venom I coated Nightsister in before the duel will ensure it. |
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Post by Red Kraken on May 10, 2019 21:54:37 GMT
The headaches have been getting worse over the years. I have sent Baelor to Oldtown with piles of gold, seeking a cure. Seeking answers. They say that nobody in history has been cured of rabies. But none of them are me.  The pain is unlike any wound I've felt. I remember blood, and a strong smell of camphor. It was the last thing I ever smelled. I wake up a week later, in my chambers, numbed by the milk of the poppy. My face is covered in bandages. I'm drifting in and out of delirium. Baelor tells me the fever has broken. But has it?  |
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Post by Red Kraken on May 10, 2019 22:14:26 GMT
In my absence, developments have taken place in the green lands. The Lannisters have lost the West. Queen Rhaenyra has given the Westerlands to - I don't know, some other soft bastard. And he wants Kayce back.  My friend Harlan visits me in my chambers, as I recover. He counsels me that I can appeal to the Queen to intercede. He's one of the few people who'll look me in the face since Maester Baelor's concoction destroyed my nose. But I am not going to go running to Queen Rhaenrya and ask her to 'save us' from these puny shites. I am Dalton Greyjoy, and I am born of iron. I call the banners, and the drums beat aboard the Red Kraken. I have my troops, my ship, my Valyrian steel. There's just one more thing I need. I'm a big believer in paying the iron price, but I can make an exception for the things that cannot be taken, only made. I smile as the blacksmith's hammer rings out. A mask of steel, sintered with red enamel.  |
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