[Month Event] Howling Blizzard

If the people of the Vale thought they would gain some reprieve after years of war, bloodshed and devastation, they were sorely mistaken.  Cutting winds blow down from the mountains.  Driving snow blankets the land.  Bitter cold slices through the warmest clothes.  Meager fires do little to combat the freezing temperatures, assuming firewood can even be found.  Smallfolk are resorting to pulling down sheds and breaking up furniture to stave off the Stranger as he stalks the Marsten lands.  

After the depredations of the last years, food is in short supply.  Little, if any can be purchased for any amount of coin.  Whatever threadbare trade routes that are still in operation are completely severed due to the howling blizzard.

The Gods themselves seem to seek out and punish for the folly of the past years.


A major snowstorm rages through the Vale.  Each player must make seven rolls.  Each of these rolls will have an impact on a House Marsten stat.  High enough total rolls will mitigate damage or even give gains.  Low rolls will see losses.


Def:  Knowledge (Education)(Engineering)  TN9: The storm batters defenses, cracks foundations, freezes wells.

Inf:  Persuasion/Deception (Charm, Convince)  TN9:  The people of Hartshorn seem broken and defeated.

Lnd:  Survival (Forage, Hunt) TN9:  Food is scarce and the outskirts of Marsten lands lie undefended.

Law:  Fighting (any) TN9:  Desperate people resort to desperate acts.  Order must be maintained.

Pop:  Healing (any) TN9:  Not all may survive this harrowing storm.

Pwr:  Warfare (Command) TN9:  Maintaining discipline in the Marsten ranks is a challenge.

Wlth:  Cunning (Logic, Memory) TN9:  With resources so limited, decisions are hard and mistakes are costly.


Each player that achieves 10 successes or more gains the Trait:  +2AR vs. cold damage.

Each player that achieves 15 successes or more gains 1 Glory.

Each player that achieves 20 successes or more gains a TDP.

The player (or players on a tie) that achieve the most successes gains an additional 1 Glory.
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"I don't want that 'arse eater touching me!"  exclaimed the young guard.  Apparently a dislocated shoulder did nothing to improve his disposition.

Luke looked at the man with a mild measure of disgust.  Touching the pockmarked, pestilent, piss-pot, pudding of a man was the very last thing he wanted to do.  Without a word, the young ranger grabbed the man's arm, pulled and twisted.  The guard railed, pulled his arm back to punch Luke, fell back over the stool and only then realized his arm was working again.  He flexed his fingers tentatively and scowled as a thanks.

"Idiot." muttered Luke as he shook his head.  "By the Gods.  You all whine like children.  You'd swear you've never seen winter before.  This is the VALE for Gods sakes."

"Maybe if we all came from where you come from, we wouldn't.  Normal people don't like the cold."  said an wizened graybeard with a scar across his face.

"Tymin, you useless sack of bones.  Has your memory gone like the rest of you?  I was born a hundred yards from where you were."  Luke glared about the room, grabbed his spear and threw on his heavy fur cloak.

"Where are you going?" asked Aerin.

"To get you all something to eat."  Luke snapped.  "Maybe I will run across a bandit and pretend it's one of you."

"And maybe the bandit will take care of you for us." sneered Tymin.

"Well, you better hope not, old man, or you'll be eating stale bread and moldy cheese again tonight."  With one more glare, another shake of his head, and a muttered "idiots" he whirled, threw open the door and stalked out into the snow.

Rolls:

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Corrine found herself unprepared for the hardships of such a harsh winter. Even within the relative safety of the castle walls, she watched the effects of the blizzard creep in and take hold. She attempted to adjust plans and quotas to allow for better provisioning for the smallfolk and her staff, but there was so little to go around as it was that it was little comfort to anyone.

She tried to visit occupied areas alongside the relief wagons when she was able, trying to comfort and reassure her people that she was doing all she could, and that there would surely be a reprieve before long. She prayed earnestly every day, sometimes at the sept in Hartsbridge, other times in the castle sept, though doing so made her feel like a coward.

As the blizzard left her lands less defended, less productive, and less traversable, her people freezing and starving, and her own children taking ill one by one, Corrine spent more time than usual shut away from everyone, usually in the nursery, clutching a wheezing child to her chest and weeping, though often pacing the floor of her rooms, desperately trying to think of solutions. But, a tactician she was not, and so ashamedly begged her husband to help their soldiers drive off the encroaching bandits and help her in the ways she was so sorely lacking.

Rolls:

I should never have left Essos Regyn knew what folly such thoughts were, but at the the moment a cold wind blew, cutting through the meager cloak and causing his old bones to ache. He follows the smallfolk out to the well, its cap off the well and another lone figure standing next to the well.

"The well is frozen over!" Dan exclaims, words getting snatched from his mouth and tossed into the swirling mists.

Looking into the well he can see the smallfolks words ring true. well the gods have mercy, as bad as the food situation this village can not live without water "that it is" he mutters to himself. Regyn looks at the well, barely wide enough for a man to swing a shovel or pick.

"Quickly, go find a saw," Regyn yells into Dan's ear, "and a pick." he points across the way towards the other man, "you come with me to the castle, we need to get some doors from inside."

As they travel back to the castle Regyn enlists a few of the guardsmen to help carry the Doors, after finding 8 appropriately sized interior doors they pull them off their hinges and travel back down to the well.

"we need to build a well house," explains Regyn to the guards, "otherwise My Ladies people will be without water and we will all die. Now it is colder then a watchmens sack out there, so we much move quickly before we all freeze our balls off and become known at the Ladies Unsullied. We will work in teams, two on each side. We will dig a hole deep enough for your halberd shafts to create a temporary frame, this will help keep the wind away from the well stones, then we are going to need to cap the well after we punch a hole into the water."

And how the bloomin hell are we going to break the ice open down there? It's nearly 30 feet down there." questions one of the guardsmen.

"You let Dan and I worry about that, I want to make sure the we have that shelter up before I get back up to the top." Replies Regyn.

Off to the well they return set upon their own tasks while Dan manages to arrive with the requested equipment. Regyn sets to tying two strings to the pick and the saw while he explains to Dan, "this winch should be able to hold my weight. so what you are going to do is lower me down to the ices surface. Once I am in position tie me off, then send the pick and saw down after me, slowly, I do not want any more holes in my head then necessary. I will then crack the ice with the pick, then use the saw to cut the ice. after I get a hole cut in their pull me up, I do not want to have to spend any more time down there then necessary, ok!?" After getting the affirmative Regyn takes the bucket from the rope, and wraps it around himself in a harness like he has done a hundred ed times. Although going down into a freezing well will be a first.

Regyn is lowered down and braces himself against the walls of the wall. Swinging he manages to break the ice enough to slip the blade of the saw in. Sliding it in back and forth he manages to create a rough circle in the ice. "Take them up!" he calls up to Dan as he tugs on the implements, causing the stings to go taunt. The tools go up over the edge as he calls up. "Now get me out of here" this is going to suck. He kicks down causing the other side of the ice to move up and catches it with his hands. Pulling the ice out he feels the white hot cold against his hands. Bringing it up to both hands he braces his legs against the walls, allowing himself to be pulled from wall.

rolls:

The young knight was knee-deep in snow that made his armor hurt to wear, toes so cold his balance suffered, air filling his lungs with spikes of ice every time he gasped in a lungful, and with a camp full of madmen trying to murder him.

But he loved it, in a way.  Here, at least, he could be useful.  

Garlan was hopeless when it came to defending stoneworks from ice and cracks.  He'd gotten his lessons and lectures on siegework from an esteemed Dornish-born Maester, but the man had known precious little, or Garlan had missed it, about the dangers of seeping water turned to ice.

Garlan had been little help with the injured and the ill;  his hands were not made for healing, his head was not bent for it, his sunny disposition was awkward among the sick and dying.  He had tried, to his credit he had tried, but he had left before making things worse.

Garlan was not a great hunter.  Oh, he did well enough with a spear once something was cornered, and he knew the rudimentary basics of hound and horn, tracking and the like...but the Vale bred mountaineers he could not compare to, and even the lowest smallfolk poacher was better at his trade.

But this?  The hunting of bandits?  Piecing together the evidence left by their raids, rousing the smallfolk to turn in the villains -- even their own kin -- for the good of all, getting into their heads to figure where their camp must be, galvanizing the men, most of them well your elders, to inspire them into a dawn-time raid, cold or no cold?

This, this Garlan was good at.  Even great at, perhaps, some said.  Rallying the troops, motivating the smallfolk, hunting down lawbreakers, organizing their plan of attack, and bringing them to the sword?  This, this the young knight could do.

And parry, and riposte, and thrust, and cut.  He'd brought his father's old greatsword for the day's fighting, and didn't regret it.  The extra weight didn't bother him, the balance was so fine.  The extra length -- meant for grown Ser Markus, not growing Ser Garlan -- didn't throw him off, because he'd so longed to take it into battle.  The lack of a shield, against hungry, untrained, men fighting only with desperation in their hearts, didn't leave him exposed;  any who got within reach were cut down, swiftly and mercilessly.  They were too cold and sore to escape him.  

It was ugly work, and left the snowed-in bandit camp a wet, red, ruin, full of the smell of offal and red, steaming, slush.

But it felt good to be helpful.  It felt good to do work.  It felt right to, meaningfully, contribute to the welfare of the House.  

rolls:

"Four more, Maester, all frostbite."

"Oh dear..." The fat Maester sighs and directs the men to sit in the next room.

"But the fire's in here!" says one man.

"Yes, but you need to warm slowly.  Dannick, get these men out of these wet clothes and into something dry immediately.  Get them warmly wrapped up and then examine their extremities for any sign of necroses.

"Necro who?"  The fire guard asks.

"Necroses.  Dannick knows what to look for."  Ronnel looks up from his current patient and against his normal, quiet character stares the guard down.  "And you do as he tells you!  If you don't you could lose digits."

"Sure, sure Maester."

"So many..."  Ronnel looks about the infirmary, packed with beds and benches, every inch filled by sick, injured and dying folk.  Sometime in the next thirty six hours, Ronnel wakes in his reinforced chair, a blanket tucked about his large body.  Stretching and sighing, he returns to work.

Rolls:

Harwin lends a hand where he can to help others fight off the cold. He’s not an overly learned or clever man but experience teaches lessons all its own. It might not be much but a trick here, a tip or two there and some bolstering grunts to the men around…just enough to convince them they were all tough enough to outlast this cold bitch’s embrace.

He feels most useful travelling out as an extra sword for the hunting of bandits. The younger Eldridge, Ser Garlan had reasoned a location for their camp and composed a plan of attack. The older warrior nodded as orders were shared and the men formed up and departed.

“For Deanna! For Hylanna!”

The words fly out his mouth as he charges forth with the men into the battle, a step or two ahead of most. His greatsword was hafted up and down calmly, surely and efficiently. Men bled and died in a manner more akin to a butcher’s steady work than the elegant tales the bards like to spin.

“Keep em surrounded and pinned in!”  He yells to his fellows. It’s likely not needed today but keeping the younger men near him in the right position seems wise.

In the end, the conflict was short and brutal for the bandits. Harwin gave Ser Garlan a grudging nod of respect as they departed. The lad might be young but his hand held a blade well indeed, surely the elder knight must be brimming with pride.

My Hylanna would likely never have wielded a sword but mayhaps she’d have given me a grandson that would or Deanna coulda blessed me with a son in time…


Well the past ain’t a changing and you know where dwelling on it leads. Focus on the present, for today and the tomorrows... I’ll be a man they'd be proud of.

Rolls::

(ooc: To not hold things up, I am posting these now and will add RP as soon as I can.)

Rolls:

Overall, the month has not been good for House Marsten and her Banner Houses.

Defense:  The castles of the Vale were battered by the storms.  Thankfully, it could have been much worse, thanks to the knowledge and expertise of Maester Ronnel (-1 HF).

Influence:  While the terrible storms weighed heavily on the souls on the people of the Vale, Lady Marsten managed to keep many of her people in good spirits.  (+1 HF).

Land:  Unfortunately, the three Houses simply do not have the manpower to keep all their land secure.  Bandits and outlaws chew at the fringes.  (-1 Land).

Law:  Through massive effort, and the diligence of Lord Marsten, Law within the land has been maintained.

Population:  There are many sick and injured, but thankfully, no deaths as yet. (-1 HF)

Power:  Despite everyone's best efforts, there has been some desertion in the ranks.  (-1 Power)

Wealth:  Choices have been hard and resources limited, but thanks to the wise and careful assistance of Maester Ronnel, the worst has been avoided.

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