[D8, Early night] The River Ghost

[Reader]

The River Ghost
Strange noises and howling winds disturb your sleep. All are troubled by ill dreams this night, with each guest clinging to his or her most firmly held beliefs as they battle their inner demons.
Images of fire and blood, of toppling stone towers, of war and ruin and despair disturb all of you, driving Lord Tully's guests from their beds as rain beats down on Riverrun, swelling the rivers that run alongside the stout fortress.
Tempers are on edge, as guests emerge from their rooms, seeking comfort in company and warm fires. Throught it all, a strange dark shape runs through the castle, always at the edge of your vision...

Participants: mandatory. Rolls in this thread, but feel free to create a separate thread for your nightmare. Other PCs are welcome to contribute to another PC's nightmare - mark your nightmare (OPEN) if you're happy to have others contribute, or (CLOSED) if you want to direct it yourself.

Challenge: - Awareness (Notice) 12 - those with keen senses are less likely to be troubled by strange noises and things that go bump in Riverrun's night. You know it's just the wind, or a shadow...
- Knowledge/Cunning/Fighting (any for knowledge/cunning, no Speciality may be used for fighting) 12 - will your knowledge of the rational world, your intellect, or your faith in your physical prowess comfort you?
- Will (Courage) 12 - +1 to this roll for each degree of success in the previous two rolls.

Consequences: - Highest three results (across all three rolls)= 1B in Will (Courage)
- Highest result +1 glory, as you inspire others with your resolute presence
- Failure on the Will (Courage) roll - one level of fatigue (-1 penalty to rolls in the subsequent event)

[Yoren longshore]

Description upcoming once i get inspired
[url=awareness][/url]: 4d6 12
[url=knowledge education][/url]: 4d6k3 15
[url=will courage][/url]: 5d6+2 16
total 3dos sum 43 my will has failed me

[Loreia]

Loreia is rudely awakened from a troubling dream to low growling. Her command to stop is only successful in keeping him from raising his tone, because he can sense her superstition and her agitation. The rain seems unnatural. She feels it is far to early for spring rain, and of such downpour. She fastens her belt with her sheathed sword and uses her shield as cover from the rain to reach the mess tent, where several restless guards and soldiers have gathered, some fearful and others like she is - shaken, but holding fast. She simply advises them to pray to their gods and be on alert, and try not to go about brandishing their weapons without sensible cause.

Recollection of her nightmare is hazy by this point, and while she sits nursing from a cup of wine, she catches a dark cape out of the corner of her eye. Who is that, skulking about? Hiding from the light? Equally heeding and spurning possible interpretation of the dream, she borrows a candle from the mess tent and lights it in prayer to the Smith, then fetches a hood suited for poor weather from her tent. She throws it over her head and returns the candle, then follows the shadow into the darkness. Wary, on-edge pursuit steers her toward the castle, and eventually to the wheel tower.

[url=Awareness][/url]: 3d6 8
[url=Fighting][/url]: 4d6 14
[url=Will][/url]: 5d6k4 18 +1(Fighting) 19
Hood supplied by Traveler's Garb

[Theomore Tullison]

That was a weird dream, Theomore can't quite decide whether or not he enjoyed it. He should have been shaken by those visions, deeply disturbed even. The prince had spoken of such things, fire and blood, the dreams that made the house of dragons into mighty kings of Westeros like no kings was before. They made them powerful, sometimes cruel, always with a very distinctive temper. And Theomore wanted it, he had wanted it all, and he would burn the seven kingdoms if he could be king of the ashes.

[url=river ghost awareness][/url]: 3d6 7 meh
[url=river ghost fighting][/url]: 4d6 11 meh
[url=river ghost will][/url]: 3d6 +2 BOA 12 yay



Raff was stirred awake by worried men that shared his tent, soaked in sweat, he was told that he had trashed wildly in his sleep, about the towers...not remembering what it was, and not able to get back to sleep, he splashes himself with cold water to clean up as best he can before donning some clothes to take a walk.

[url=river ghost awareness][/url]: 3d6 5
[url=river ghost fighting][/url]: 3d6 11
[url=river ghost will][/url]: 2d6 3
oh well, fatigued little cohort, assuming this is mandatory for them, because it's not exactly like any point in participating for him otherwise.

[Septon Arlyn]

[url=notice the noise][/url]: 2d6 10

[url=knowlege of the surrounding areas/windflows][/url]: 6d6k4 19

[url=courage in the dark][/url]: 4d6 8 +2 ouch [url=Destiny point + d6 to will check in ghost story][/url]: 1d6 2 = 12 passed OOC, I just realized that I had not used my Pious bonus dice, so I will just sub that for my Day 8 use of pious and get a destiny back, Same result.

Total is 41

Septon Arlyn comes to the great hall, Hair mussed up and simple gown disheveled, Must have been some bad wine, looks like I am not the only one whom has had these bad dreams. Slowly making his way to where the young pretty boy stands the Septon lends the authority in his voice to the kind words of the Pretty blue eyes. (OOC Nate I have persuade 5 so add 2 I think to your roll to calm the smallfolk as an assist.) "
Children he is right, There is nothing to fear in these halls. The father is with Lord Tully and the Lord will not let any ghosts or goblins harm those whom remain faithful to the seven. For he is a kind and generous lord who wishes the best for all of his children. As he sees a few of the smallfolk begin to relax with his and Nathans reassurance I wish that my words could calm me as well as they calm my sheep Thinks the Septon, somewhat cynically as he looks at the lords and ladys, separated from the smallfolk but just ask shaken, let not coming to reassure those whom they had sworn protection to. But thus is life. Every Lord is concerned for his own family, yet few seeing that their families should become bigger when they accept the responsibility of Lordship, Instead it seems to just get smaller and more elite, I hope that I can teach Ser Dulver a better way, Hopefully he will be more generous a Dulver then those whom have come before.

With Nathan's offer to travel to the kitchen the Plump Septons eyes lit up, "
Aye A bit of cider and warm meat and some hard cider leads to the strengthening of many a mans fortitude won't you say Nathaniel?"

[Reader]

[url=notice the noise][/url]: 2d6 10

[url=knowlege of the surrounding areas/windflows][/url]: 6d6k4 19

[url=courage in the dark][/url]: 4d6 8 ouch

[OOC: noble Septon, remember you get a bonus to your will roll from your degrees of success with the previous two tests - it's not enough to pass, but might make the decision to spend destiny easier, as it bumps your will roll by 2? Means +1d6 from destiny on final roll might get you to 12/

That said, penalties of failure small - next event isn't anything lethal (for you lot at least) and failure = fun roleplay!]

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

[url=Awareness][/url]: 3d6 14
[url=Knowledge (Education)][/url]: 4d6k3 13
[url=Will][/url]: 4d6 18 +2 = 20

(Total: 47.)

The sounds of wind, rain, and the calls of animals barely disturb Corrine's sleep, as she has grown accustomed to those while at Riverrun. However, she is troubled by a disturbing nightmare that has her jolted awake with a gasp, as though just saved from drowning. She looks around her tent, the shadows seeming darker and more looming than usual.

It was just a bad dream. It's not real.

Perhaps I'll just get some air anyway.

Wrapping herself in a hooded woollen cloak, black as the shadows around her, pulling it tightly around her slender, slip-clad frame, and stepping into a pair of boots, she ventures out into the wet night. She sees several others, visibly shaken, standing around, or pacing anxiously.

Not just me, it seems. I suppose it is rather unsettling out here tonight. Perhaps that has influenced people's dreams.

She makes an effort to calm the others in the Marsten pavilion, reassuring them that there is nothing actually wrong, and that nightmares cannot harm them. Her soothing words don't sink in, even for her.

Gods, that was an awful nightmare. I'm hardly going to calm someone else when I'm shaken too. Right, I'm going for a walk.

She ducks back into her tent to don some proper clothes, then, once again cloaked, hood up against the rain, she wanders up to the Wheel Tower, hoping the soothing sound of the running water will still the residual panic in her heart.

(Continues here - viewtopic.php?f=67&
t=1219)

[Nathaniel Mason]

[url=Awareness (Notice)][/url]: 3d6 13
[url=Cunning][/url]: 4d6 15
[url=Will (Courage)][/url]: 3d6 [url=DP Bonus Die][/url] +3 14

Total: 3DoS 42.

Nathan descended the stairs to the main Hall, his slender body wrapped in silk and Ser Jon close behind him. It was not the first time he had had such nightmares, but few so vivid or clearly remembered. The fact that everyone seemed to have similar dreams troubled Nathan greatly and left him with a deep foreboding.

Walking over he placed a hand on a page's shoulder, immediately regretting it when the boy jumped a foot. "
I'm sorry."
he said soothingly, calming the boy with liquid blue eyes. "
It seems none of us can sleep tonight. Perhaps some tea or hot cider might be in order. Why don't you grab a couple of your friends and we will go to the kitchen. I am sure Lord Tully won't mind."
The boy smiled. People always felt better when they were given direction and purpose.

{OOC: General Persuasion to reassure people, especially the commoners, pages and servants. [url=Persuaion][/url]: 5d6k3+1d6 +1 15 (Intrigue Defense of commoners is usually 5).]

[Benedict Marsten]

Ben's eyes jolt open to the blackness of his tent. His heart is racing, his hackles standing up. His sheets damp with perspiration.

I have not had a nightmare like that in years. What if they return?

Quickly pulling on breeches he prepares to go to Ellie, ironically. As his foot is sliding into his boot a shadow passes the tent flap. Looking up he sees nothing. Putting his head down to pull on his other boot he is again startled. A small wet figure emerges through the tent flap.

Ben
[url=Awareness(notice)][/url]: 3d6 11
[url=Fighting][/url]: 5d6 23
[url=Will(courage)][/url]: 3d6 10+3 Fighting DoS = 13

Total 47 4DoS


Ellie accustom to nightmares wakes sadly her face tear streaked. She slowly sits up holding herself tight. She slips her toes into her slippers and shuffles through the dark to her tent exit.

This nightmare was different, more violent. It was like someone else's nightmare, in her head. That did not make it any less scary.

Ellie
[url=Awareness(notice)][/url]: 5d6k4 9
[url=Cunning][/url]: 4d6 12
[url=Will(courage)][/url]: 4d6k3 11+1 Cunning DoS = 12

Total 33 2DoS





"
Ellie, what are you doing up? A nightmare?"
His own distress is forgotten as he collects her half asleep form and sets her in a chair.

"
Ben it was different. It was bad. There was fire and ... death."
Her small damp frame shivers.

Ben reflexively shivers as her brief description reminds him of his own dream. I knew things all seemed to be too good.

"
Ser Benedict, is Lady Ellien with you? I could not find her in her tent."
Ben recognizes the guardsman Rykk's voice.

"
Yes. She is ok. Is everything alright, Rykk?"
Ben shows concern that Rykk felt the need to check on Ellie.

"
Ser, the 'ol camps a bit ... disturbed at the moment. Just wanted to make sure my lady had found somewhere safe to be. I'll be goin' back to my post Ser."
Rykk's boots can be heard sloshing through the damp ground at his departure.

Ben looks to Ellie her eyes wide. "
We should check on her Ben. What if she had a bad dream like us? I know I hate being alone after."


He places his hand reassuringly on her shoulder and smiles proudly at her.

[Daveth Coldbrook]

[url=River Ghost - Awareness - TN 12][/url]: 3d6 10
[url=River Ghost - Knowledge (Education) - TN12][/url]: 5d6k4 14
[url=River Ghost - Will - TN12][/url]: 3d6+1 8
Gain 1 fatigue. Bah.

Daveth wakes with a start, cold sweat soaking him. His breathing is fast and deep until he slowly starts bringing it under control. As he does so, he hears activity from nearby. Others waking from their own nightmares.

"
P-pansy Southern curses."
he stammers with failed bravado to the tent. "
W-we've got *proper* c-curses up North, and they're not even real. Curse you waking and sleeping, in the snow both ways. I d-deny them, and I deny you."


He looks around his empty tent, before throwing on his waterproof traveller's garb. "
I'm n-not seeking out others because you've unnerved me. I'm just going for a walk. In the rain. To clear my head. And maybe some people need to be told that you're not real. Some people can be superstitious like that. Not me. I'm just.."
he tails off.

Just talking to a curse you deny exists? Or talking to an empty tent?

"
Bother it!"
he exclaims, and wanders out into the rain, keeping his head down so the hood protects him, and proceeds to check in with each of the guards on duty, as a way to keep his mind occupied.

As a way to forget.

Partway through his circuit, he pauses as a thought strikes him. I hope this wasn't caused by the King dying. He looks around for a moment, as if afraid someone else might have heard his thought. Please, gods. Give us more time.

(OOC: When I get around to it, my nightmare will be open. Ser Theomore is definitely there (naturally), but if others wish to throw me ideas, or suggest their presence, PM me. The Onis will probably also be making their presence known.)

[size=85:eojrpg0p]Edit: Added additional thought.

[Reader]

(OOC: When I get around to it, my nightmare will be open. Ser Theomore is definitely there (naturally), but if others wish to throw me ideas, or suggest their presence, PM me.)

[OOC: oh, I'm looking forward to this ]

[Kevan Lyras]

Noises of battle, screams in agony, cushioned like they are far away
Where am I? What is going on?
Grabbing his sword, Kevan runs towards battle. He runs through the woods, where he grew up. The hills he rode through with his father in his youth. Suddenly the woods transform into the dark hallways of a castle. The screams become louder. Faster!
He arrives in a hall. It seems like a feast was taking place. Multiple tables covered by plates and glasses. But no feast is going on. The sheets on the tables are soaked in blood and corpses lie everywhere across the room. I am too late!
Among the dead, he sees Edmund, his skull smashed in, his face showing a surprised look.
Not Ed, my nephew!
He finds Baelon at the end of the room, a huge open wound from a sword deforming his back. His cold dead eyes accusingly staring at Kevan: “Where were you? I thought you had my back?”
“I am… I’m… I don’t know..”
A cold hand grabs his shoulder and turns him around, Ser Ben, his soon-to-be Lord Protektor, his throat cut open: “So this is how you serve your Lord? You are worthless, how could I trust you?!”
Behind him lies his bride, Lady Corrine Marsten, the Lady he swore to protect. “You… you have failed me Kevan!” – “But.. but I didn’t… I couldn’t…”
Lady Corrine’s shape shifts and she becomes Sofia Blackwood, here expression shows disappointment and pain: “I knew it, there is no point getting my hope up for any of you lot! Go away!”
“NOOOOOO!” Ser Kevan awakes in his tent, his bed linen soaked in sweat, his scream can be heard all over the pavilion.

Rolls
[url=Awareness (Ghost)][/url]: 3d6-1 9
[url=Fighting (Ghost)][/url]: 5d6-1 14
[url=Will (Ghost)][/url]: 3d6+1-1 7
->
Tired li'l Kevan, (without the malus from the injury, as per readers ruling here: viewtopic.php?f=75&
t=569&
start=1400, it is "
only"
a normal failure, not a critical one)

[Dunstan Tullison]

Dunstan wakes up with cold sweat on his brow, and gets outside wraped in a blanket. Cold winds and the night seemed surely ominous.. for a while he stood and shaked in fear, looking over the crate with weapons. Finally, he decided to let it go and come back to bed, not before lighting a few candles.
He never got much sleep, and awoke terribly tired in the morning, his face pale and eyes empty.

[url=Awareness][/url]: 2d6 4
[url=Fighting][/url]: 4d6 13
[url=Will][/url]: 3d6 4 + [url=Bonus Dice][/url]: 1d6 5 (5 replaces the 1 making it

Total 25, 1 point of fatigue

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

Gwyn awakens and looks around wildly, a moment of panic gripping her when she finds she's alone. Baelon! Where had he gone?! Was he all right?!

Noises from outside, scraping on the tent, and howling. Rustling. She was out of bed, grabbing at her little chest of things for some manner of weapon when some detached corner of her brain kicked in.

Leaves. Branches. That's the noise. The howling is wind in treetops. The same wind that's pushing the branches, and making the bush rustle. Seven, I've got to calm down! What's got me so rattled?

A deep breath, and she remembered that she and Baelon hadn't actually slept long with one another before parting. He was tired from the melee, and neither of them could keep their hands off each other long enough to get the rest they needed otherwise.

In short...everything was fine. Wasn't it?

I lost him, she thought to herself, looking at her tent flap forlornly. I lost him, I lost everything. Why do I feel that way?

With sudden resolution, Gwyneth pulled a dressing robe on and stepped cautiously out of the tent to look around. Maybe she'd just check on him. And Corrie. And Dyana. And everyone. Just to make sure.

[url=Awareness in River Ghost][/url]: 4d6 13
[url=Cunning in River Ghost][/url]: 3d6 15
[url=Will in River Ghost (+2 for previous rolls)][/url]: 4d6+2 15

Total: 43

[Dyana Marsten]

[url=The River Ghost - Awareness][/url]: 3d6 8 (Meh.)
[url=The River Ghost - Fighting][/url]: 5d6 19
[url=The River Ghost - Will][/url]: 3d6+2 10 (Meh!)
Results: Total Score - 37;
got 1 fatigue.

Dyana wakes almost already leaping out of her mattress. She's sweating cold, tears streak her face and her nose feels runny. Looking down, she's surprised to have a firm grip on the hilt of her sword, though it is still sheathed. Carefully, she puts it down and brings both hands up to her face. Alone in the tent, Dyana cries into her hands.

She thinks she sees someone skulking around the edge of the tent - shifting shadows... reflectively, the woman picks her sword up again, draws it an inch out of the scabbard. Her teary, red eyes narrow, and she can't see anything. Her breath is still ragged, her heart pounding fast from the terrifying nightmare. Through the noise of the hard rain on the tent's cloth, she begins to hear the distant sounds of conversation. It would seem there were far more people awake at this time than on any other day... was she not the only one having troubled dreams?

Taking a deep breath, she tugs the blade back into its sheath, pulls on a pair of pants and sturdy boots, and draws a cloak around her sleeping attire. Sword on belt, she edges out into the Marsten pavillion to learn just what was happening. Her breath still rasping, her heart still terrified.

[Baelon Drakeson]

Waking from a horrid dream with a start, Baelon stands and looks around as if expecting someone else to be there, but of course he is alone in his tent.
A wave of fatigue rolls over him and he turns to return to his camp bed, but then hears what sounds like shouts and a woman's scream off in the distance.
Pulling on the nearest pants, boots, and cloak, he exits the tent and proceeds through the rain towards the noise.

I probably wouldn't have gotten back to sleep anytime soon anyway...

[url=Awareness(Notice)][/url]: 3d6 11 vs. TN 12 (0 DoS)
[url=Fighting(none)][/url]: 5d6 12 vs. TN 12 (1 DoS)
[url=Will (Courage)][/url]: 3d6+1 10 vs. TN 12 (0 DoS)

Total 33, +1 Fatigue. Oof. Not too surprising of a net result, but the dice were not in my favor here...
Nightmare forthcoming in a new thread.

[Loreia]

She ducks back into her tent to don some proper clothes, then, once again cloaked, hood up against the rain, she wanders up to the Wheel Tower, hoping the soothing sound of the running water will still the residual panic in her heart.

(Continues here - viewtopic.php?f=67&
t=1219)

Ahem, I saw what you wrote in the other thread. Would you appreciate, or allow it, if I joined you to try and bring you 'out of it'?

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

She ducks back into her tent to don some proper clothes, then, once again cloaked, hood up against the rain, she wanders up to the Wheel Tower, hoping the soothing sound of the running water will still the residual panic in her heart.

(Continues here - viewtopic.php?f=67&
t=1219)

Ahem, I saw what you wrote in the other thread. Would you appreciate, or allow it, if I joined you to try and bring you 'out of it'?

[ooc: You would be welcome. I made it an open thread to encourage others to join in. ]

[Derrock Swann]

[url=The River Ghost - Awareness (Notice)][/url]: 3d6 15
[url=The River Ghost - Fighting][/url]: 5d6 13
[url=The River Ghost - Will (Courage)][/url]: 3d6+2 6
Total 34, and what a piffy last roll!

Derrock wakes to the sound of thunder, his heart both heavy and pounding at the remembrance of the dream, still so close as to blur itself with reality. With his breath equally heavy, he sees - or believes he sees - someone walking around the outside of the tent. Through the sound of downpour, he manages to clearly listen to the shouts of men and screams of women, and blinks off his sleep in confusion.

What was even...? Standing up with difficulty, fatigued by a quarter-night of faulty sleep, the old warrior hastily puts on whatever clothes are at hand and stumbles out of his tent, pulling a hood over his head to take shelter from the water. His boots squishing in the mood, he starts towards the sounds of trouble.

[Reader]

[OOC: Benedict Blackthorne and Corrine Marsten gains +1 Glory and Courage (1B)

- there's something charming about the (secretly) newly wedded couple hitting the top result together on this. Feel free to riff on this IC - Ben's dream in particular has him drawing strength from love and ties in wonderfully with this result.

Subsequent rollers (Ser Jorah just came back on board) can still earn glory &
Courage from this event, but won't deprive the original winners]

[Ser Jorah Holt]

Everything felt queer. He was in the Great Hall at Castle Grenward. That much he could tell, but the air was thick with fog and all he could see were the tapestries and windows high up above him;
higher than he remembered. His sword was drawn and bloody, with blood splattered over his armour and face.
But it didn’t feel right. His body ached, but not from recent combat. His wounds were hours old and there was no ache in his arm that would signify he had been swinging his sword.

He stepped forward and then stopped as his foot stepped onto something softer than the floor. He swept away the fog and his heart leapt into his mouth. At his feet, lay Lady Coldbrook, slumped awkwardly on the floor. Almost in a panic, he knelt down, checking for signs of life, but there was none as he could see. Choking back a sob
The fog began to lift and he could see others lying there. Lord Coldbrook, Captain Orell, Garrett, Loreia, Daveth!
“How could this have happened?” he cried
In unison, they all spoke “because of you.”

Behind him, a steady footstep moved ever closer. Wheeling around, “Did you do this,” Jorah called out, sword at the ready, as a hooded figure emerged from the fog.
“Yes,” the figure replied
“Show yourself,” Jorah demanded, the voice sounding too familiar for comfort.
The figure pulled down his hood to reveal … himself

Doesn't look like fatigue counts
[url=Awareness][/url]: 3d6k3 10
Fighting - [url=fighting in dream][/url]: 5d6k5-2 11 so actually 13
[url=Will][/url]: 3d6k3 13 +1 for fighting, so 14
37 total

[Aerion Storm]

Aerion sleeps uneasily. Moans and clatters and howling winds keep him up, creaks and groans and rustles in the darkness. He doesn't know the normal night sounds of this place, can't reassure himself by just saying 'oh, that's how it is here.' Truth is, he doesn't know the normal night sounds of any place in particular. He hasn't slept under the same roof for more than a dozen days in more than a dozen years. The closest thing he's had to a home is the tourney grounds all scattered across the Realm, those great, sprawling, tent cities that are always different, always changing, always full of pavilions flapping in the breeze, a far-off soldier's song, and the sounds of horses.

Not keeps, not castles. Not timber and stone and strangers all around, breathing the same stale air.

He awakens -- or thinks he does -- clawing away the covers and lurching to his feet. Naked, he sees -- or thinks he does -- a man looming at him from the shadows of the room.

"Hello, my bastard boy," the Andal sneers, all Tully-bred red hair and blue eyes, a Riverlander. He wears rich enough clothes, but fills them out with a warrior's build. "You're as worthless a cunt as your whore mother. I never wanted her again, and never wanted you in the first place."

"Hello, my bastard boy," a second figure spits at him from another corner, reaching from the shadows, all burning purple eyes and silver hair. He almost smells of Valyrian arrogance, it's almost visible on him, waves of haughty certainty rolling off him like the glow of a burning crib. "You are nothing to me, and less than nothing. A dragon mounted your mother, burned her with his seed, and flew away without a backwards glance."

"Hello, my bastard boy." The Vale knight is a cross between the first two. Brawny like the Riverlander, handsome and blond like the Dragonlord. And arrogant. So arrogant. "I'm up high, and you're down low, and that's how the Seven in all their wisdom wanted it. You are what you are because that's how the Father made you, not just me."

Enough. The growl is almost in Ser Harbert's voice, that rough, brandy-smoked, rumble the Storm Knight used when he was truly wroth.

Show them, boy.

Aerion scrambles for the sword hanging sheathed by the bed, as the three ghosts advance, the monsters, the rapers, the letches.

"I'm not nothing," he says, swinging his oversized blade. "You're nothing. I'm here without you. I'm making it without you. I don't have you, but you don't have me. And I don't need you!"

He doesn't win, of course. He's good -- great, even, given time -- but there are three of them, any one of them his equal, and with twice his experience.

It's not that kind of story, and not that kind of dream. Aerion Storm fights like he's underwater, always moves too slowly, swings his sword like it weighs a hundred pounds. He loses, of course. That's how nightmares work.

But he marks the buggers. His sword's not dry when he gets hacked to bits, and they're all left knowing they were in a fight. They're all left knowing he was there.

When he awakens -- truly awakens, this time -- the next morning, bed all a mess from his tossing and turning all night...it's enough. He's not well rested and gently slept, no, but there aren't bags under his eyes and scars on his spirit, either.

Sometimes fighting back is enough to call it a win.


Awareness (diff 12): 3d6 10
Fighting, diff 12: 5d6 21
Fighting reroll, Blood of Andals (rerolling 1): 1d6 3
(so 23 with reroll)
Will: 3d6+3 12

[Reader]

Aerion may have been put a squire, but he proved as brave as Ser Benedict and Lady Marsten, even if he lacked Corrine exalted bloodline, he was no less brave despite not having a family name to bring honour to. Phantom's can taunt a bastard over his patronage, even slay him in his sleep, but a brave heart and faith in steel overcame the strange air that gripped Riverrun that night.

Ser Harbert may have trained Aerion in how to wield a blade, but the true steel he had forged was in the bastard's soul.

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