A Ballad of Frost and Fury - The North Remembers

[Callos_DeTerran]

The opinions that people hold of the cold North can vary greatly depending on just where such an individual originates from in the first place but many can agree on a few common points. In the cold North, life can be harsh and unforgiving for those that aren't prepared for the vast landscape that sees little oversight from the king's forces in the south. For such southerners, it is a place of intractable wilderness and wild superstition where the learning of maesters and the faith of the Seven have just as much standing as the hallowed godswood that northmen hold sacred along with their old gods. For those who dwell in the North...it is home. Life is balanced on a knife's edge with between bandits, wildling raids, and the motto of House Stark suddenly becoming a dangerous reality with those that think northmen are simple men with little guile in them usually surprised by the long-standing grudges and blood feuds that can consume entire families...

[Junk Masterson]

House Trimmack - Balinor's Hold

John Trimmack rubs his eyes pours over the expenditure and profit reports from the recently reopened mines. In a well lit corner of his study the Lord Trimmack sighs as he runs his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. This had been taking the bulk of his time for the past few weeks, trying to be certain everything was up to par. "Maester Creel, I must say, I don't know what I would do with out you." The maester, just a few years older than Lord Trimmack chuckles but says nothing in return. Nothing needed to be said. Truth be told John Trimmack was good with numbers. Not nearly on the level of Petyr Baelish, no certainly not as good as Littlefinger, but quite good in his own right.

"If everything goes well, we may be able to properly prepare. Afterall, winter is coming." And in the North, that was quite a scary thought.

House Fortune Rolls: [roll0] +3 for Maester, +5 for Mines, +3B for Stewardship +3 for Head for Numbers = 34

[bluntpencil]

House Briar: Gerhearth


"Good form, lad. Lord. Whatever."

Old Uncle Ross didn't give much of a toss for formalities, and this was obvious as he, somewhat begrudgingly grunted a compliment to his nephew, Lord Brandon.

He swung his oversized flail again, which stories said had decapitated people with brute force alone. He held back a little, as, although blunt, it was plenty lethal, especially in the hands of a man who was said to have lifted a fully laden cart off an injured farmer.

"Still, your sister is better."

He didn't really care who heard. It was well known that Lyra was a remarkable fighter for a lady.

To be fair, the boy didn't rise to it. And, to his credit, he scored more than a few good hits on his uncle before it ended.

But end it did. It only took one hit for the old guy to leave him sprawled on the ground of the courtyard.

Only Ser Redrick was ever able to best Ross Kalson at Castle Gerhearth, and even then, it was close.

Ross didn't offer to help him up. He needed to do it himself. Fortunately, he had a cooler temper than his sister, a temper much more suited to leadership. The girl had probably picked that up from that crazy old bastard of a knight they kept around. Still, better they have that berserk fool on side than anyone else.

"You would've won if this was a fencing match, Brandon. But, as you well know, I can't fence for sh*t.

Fights aren't won on points, pal. They're won with wit, grit, and blood. And by having folk at your side. Or just cheat."

He laughed, clapping the lord on the shoulder. He was always too familiar, especially for a peasant. But, to hell with it, he was seventy years old now, and, frankly, just didn't care.

"No harm in losing, though, I've had more practice. At your age, I was nowhere near as skilled. I was bigger, stronger, and a hell of a lot more handsome, though."

Of course, the lad's mother was going to be pretty angry now. There would be bruises, but they'd teach him, surely.

The men respected it at least. At first they thought it funny, seeing wee Brandon getting the crap beaten out of him, but it wasn't long before they realised he had the guts to keep going longer than any of them had.

They'd been on the receiving end of similar, and wouldn't want it repeated. And they'd all heard the stories told about Old Ross, some of which, if even half true, sounded absolutely terrifying.

So, aye, they thought the boy had some steel in him.

Hopefully his administrative skills were almost as good as his form in the training yard...

[Galenti]

House Briar: Gerhearth

Brandon couldn't deny he was nervous as he took his place in the training yard opposite his uncle. It wasn't just the chill air that caused him to shiver slightly, but despite it he took up a fighting stance, sword and shield ready.

"Good form, lad. Lord. Whatever."

Ross's compliments were about as frequent as Redrick's, which was to say, not frequent at all, but his uncle gave him little time to savour the rare occurrence as he crashed in with his great flail. Brandon was light on his feet though and knew to keep his shield up and braced against the blow, and managed to evade the worst of his uncle's assault. Between his uncle, the knight ser Redrick and his sister Lyra, Brandon was being trained in three fighting styles, and though he was hardly a master of any of them, he wasn't half bad when he brought it all together.

"Still, your sister is better."

Not going to argue with that, he thought, even though it may have shamed many lordlings. In fact, Brandon felt a grin rising to his face: he enjoyed this! Not just his uncle's jibes, but the competition of pitting oneself against a skilled enemy. The last traces of his anxiety evaporated and he lunged at Ross, striking as fast as he could, and attempting to avoid his uncle's return blows. But in the end, he wasn't a true match for the old warrior and with a mighty strike, he found himself flying backwards onto the cobbles. For a few seconds he lay there stunned, but soon his uncle was helping him to his feet.

"You would've won if this was a fencing match, Brandon. But, as you well know, I can't fence for sh*t.

Fights aren't won on points, pal. They're won with wit, grit, and blood. And by having folk at your side. Or just cheat."

"You've definitely taught me that, uncle," Brandon grinned, rubbing his elbow which still stung from the fall. He laughed with his uncle as they walked away from the training yard, to let him know there were no hard feelings. It must be difficult training me, trying not to anger or insult me when I hold power over everyone here. Well hard, for anyone else. I'm sure Ross doesn't give it that much thought.

He was beginning to feel the chill again, and was glad to change out of his damp shirt and don a warm overcoat before heading down to the main hall where Redrick and his mother were deep in conversation. Alyne was sat in one corner with Thistle, who in a very un-wolf like way was allowing the little girl to play with her ears.

The wolf leaped up when Brandon entered and joined him as he approached the adults. His mother began to fuss over a cut above his eye, but he fended her off and joined them at their table. Papers were scattered everywhere, some detailing the taxes paid by the few common folk and farmers in their lands, some showing their own revenues. And on its own, a battered book that contained his father's various plans for the castle and estate. Many were unfinished, and many were out of date now.

"Brandon, pay attention! You won't be able to make the changes your father wanted if you don't learn to manage the accounts."

"Yes, mother," Brandon replied meekly, as he stared at the mess of papers before him. It would not be an easy winter.

[Gareth3]

I still don't see why we have to do this here.

Lord Willam Fox looks up at his son's voice, then at the ancient weirwood before them. We're praying for the fortune of our House, where else would we do it?

Ramsay pauses, taking in the scene. The weirwood trunk is a great gnarled barrel-shape, almost as wide as it is tall. The dark-red face on it already looks ancient, although it was carved within Willam's memory. Thick branches support only a few scarlet leaves, and some none at all. He wonders if it's possible for a tree to die of old age. Willam is kneeling next to the tree, surrounded by stacks of papers that look incongruous in the Godswood.

We're doing the accounts, not praying. You can't expect-

Actually, Houses with Godswoods consistently have better fortune than those without, it's a proven fact. Meera smiles smugly and pets Ivory, her tame Northern fox.

Ramsay supresses a shudder at the fox. Cold weather naturally changed the fur of the foxes from brown to white, for camouflage. But all of the local foxes had turned pure white in spite of the Summer heat. The smallfolk saw this as a terrible omen, which of course made the beasts irresistible to Meera. I've never known you to be that pious. Actually, try not to touch the bark, you'll probably burn it. Or vice versa.

Willam flinches at Ramsay's words, but keeps his tone mild. Show some respect for the Gods, please. And for your sister.

Ramsay rolls his eyes.I withdraw and apologise, my Lady Sister.

I'm not Lady anything unless I'm married or you're both dead, and I don't have a preference-

Willam interrupts her, proudly holding up a scrap of paper.

All done.

House Fortune: Status 5 Law-5 Population +1 Godswood +2d6-6 [roll0] Growth

[Callos_DeTerran]

House Trimmack

A squawk comes from the window sill where an agitated looking raven has just landed, tilting its head to the side as it impatiently waits for someone to remove the message from around its leg. The maester walks over to relieve the avian of its burden and quickly breaks the seal on the slip of parchment to read the message aloud. It seems as if Lord Karstark had received an invitation to Winterfell and had decided to escort up some fresh recruits for the Night's Watch in the process with a small retinue of soldiers to provide security while outside his own lands. The presence of heavily armed soldiers seems to have deterred the local bandits and sent them scurrying into hiding for the time being while the chance to entreat a prominent family like the Karstarks could be a very valuable opportunity indeed if handled properly.

Congratulations! The visit from a powerful noble has increased House Trimmack's Influence by 1 and the soldiers have brought a greater degree of safety to the roads, increasing Law by 1!

========

House Briar

Among the plans and schemes that Brandon's father had in mind to increase House Briar's holdings, there were also notes about the happenings within their current holdings, some of which held ominous portents that could grow into something more severe if left unchecked. To the south, there were rumors of a sickness beginning to spread among the smallfolk that was not leaving many survivors in its wake. So far the disease seems to be contained but it is too early to tell if that would remain the case or if Brandon might have a plague on his hands...

The disease bears poor tidings and has decreased House Briar's Population by 1.

=========

House Fox

It would seem that the smallfolk worries about poor omens and Ramsay's misgivings about the use of praying at a godswood in this day and age would be unfounded by the events discovered in the accounts. The death of a rich swine baron had happened at a fortuitous time when he had no known heirs, his stock had been sold to those willing to buy his animals and the coin garnered from it given to the lords of the area...House Fox in this case. While the sale would hardly go down in the Citadel's histories as a turning point for House Fox it was a nice bit of growth that filled their coffers and negated the need to raise taxes on the hardy northern folk.

The sale of the pigs garnered enough money to increase House Fox's Wealth by 1 point!

This is the result of the house fortune rolls for this month, you still have your actual actions to perform if any before moving on to the next month. Each important figure (head of house, influence bought heir, maester/septon can each perform one task that would take a large amount of time. To use examples taken from above, Brandon could focus on sending a call for aid to mitigate the plague while his mother/sisters/uncle could try to hash a profitable trade agreement with any nearby houses. So on and so forth.

[Gareth3]

Willam is still frowning at the papers.

That's a bit of good luck with the pig man. Well, not for him, but you know what I mean. Still, those bandits are eating us alive.

He stares out at the Barrowlands, through the gates of the Godswood, then turns back to Ramsay.

I need you to go to House Briar, and consult with them on how to supress banditry. They're poorer than us, and have fewer men at arms. But their lands are still safer than ours. Find out why.

Ramsay snorts.
I have shirts older than House Briar. Taking advice from them will make us a laughingstock.

Gerrion was raised to the nobility by our own liege lord. You'll treat the family with all the respect that a noble House deserves, and I don't care what other Houses think. Clear?


Yes, My Lord Father.

Meera looks up at the mention of travel.

I'll go to House Trimmack.

Willam is puzzled.

They're even more lawless than us, what's the point?

She shrugs.

We have a common problem, maybe even common enemies if the bandits travel far enough. We could always try working together.

Ramsay stares suspiciously at his sister, she obviously has something else in mind.

House Action, Influence 45->38 Law 14->21

[Galenti]

House Briar: Wren Hill

Brandon was sore and cold, but he rode with his head held high against the chill wind, knowing that it was important to look strong in order to earn the respect of his people. His retinue was small, with just three men from the garrison, his sister Lyra and ser Redrick.

Ross can be part of the retinue if you want, I'll leave it open.

They were heading south towards the remote village of Wren Hill, where sickness was beginning to spread, or so said the vague reports Brandon had received. The Briars had been united in wanting to send aid, but with so few men at their disposal, Brandon had wanted to go himself to ensure the supplies made it there. Brandon was almost certain that no one in all of Gerhearth could command Lyra, so when she had appeared on the morning with her horse and own supplies, he hadn't tried to fight her. Anyway, she knew the way much better than most, having roamed these lands freely for a number of years.

A call from up ahead drew his attention to a figure riding back towards the group. Lyra had scouted ahead and was signalling that they were approaching the village. He steeled himself for what he might see there, but knew deep down that this was where he was meant to be. He didn't have his father's brilliant mind, but he had come from the common people, and Brandon would be damned if he would abandon them.


**************

House Briar: Gerhearth

Elys sat in the hall, another letter lying in front of her adding to the pile that was building up on the table. This or that lord wished he could help, but they all had villages to attend to, and needed their healers for their own people.

Maybe she was overreacting, that's what Redrick had said, but Elys knew better than to ignore her late husband's words, and if he had feared that this summer sickness might worsen then she would do all she could to protect Brandon's lands.

Elys was woken from her reverie by a whimper and looked over to see Alyne curled up by the fire, dreaming fitfully, it seemed.

"Shhh, little one," she cooed, as she picked up her youngest child and ferried her back to her seat. "Shhh, it'll be alright." She only wished she was truly that certain. Bending back to her work, she began to compose another letter, requesting aid from the two wealthiest lords in the North; Lord Eddard of Winterfell and Lord Wyman of White Harbor.

[bluntpencil]

"Look, boyo," whispered Ross.

"I hate ta be the one ta say this, but this plague could be catchin'. It needs ta be bottled in, an' left to die out.

We shouldn't be visitin'. We're not maesters. Know yer limits, kid.

I reckon we should do everythin' we can ta leave them wi' supplies, though, aye, an' anything they'd get from the outside, but leave it for them at an abandoned farm or somethin' fer them ta pick up.

Make it clear tha' they need ta stay where they are, though, until tha sickness passes."

Ross gritted his teeth as he spoke. He didn't say 'pincushion anyone who tries to leave the quarantine with arrows', but it was heavily implied. He obviously didn't like the fact that he had to say these things - it was cold, almost heartless...

...but it was probably for the best.

[Galenti]

House Briar: Wren Hill

His uncle's words only echoed his mother's, and Brandon grimaced. "I know the dangers uncle. My father told me that diseases such as this were like wildfire; dangerous and likely to spread wherever they could find something that would burn. But he also told me that being a leader is about doing what you can, even if you must suffer privation. I need to show my people that I am aware of their plight, and I will do what I can to stamp out this sickness before it catches hold."

"I know you are just looking after my best interests uncle, but I need to do this."

Despite his bold words, Brandon still had to force away his nerves as he approached the village: his mind kept on raising haunting images of sickening and dying villagers, that made him shudder. All he wanted to do was turn his horse around and ride back, but his father would not have done that. I am not a coward!

[bluntpencil]

Ross nods. It's exactly what he would do in his nephew's place. Of course, it's exactly why he's not in charge of things.

"Yer missin' my point, son."

He continues to keep his voice low. It's one thing thrashing folk in the practice yard, but calling them out as wrong in front of folk, that was a whole other matter.

"My point is not that ye could catch it an' get sick. It's not the privations, or even the risk o' yer death... it's that ye could catch it, aye... an' spread it ta someone else.

Unlike yer mother, I get that ye must suffer like everyone else. The supplies which ye gift these people should come from yer personal funds, I reckon. Leave a note explainin' such, along wi' the orders ta stay put 'til maesters, the Old Gods, the Seven, or whoever, sort 'em out."

[Galenti]

House Briar: Wren Hill

Now that gave him pause. What would he do if he brought the sickness back to Gerhearth? Maybe his uncle's advice was better heeded.

"Thank you, uncle. I will think on your words. Let us see what we find in Wren Hill, but you have my word that I will avoid the sickness if I can, and that I will allow no man or woman in our company to return until we are certain they have not sickened."

[Gareth3]

The House Briar banner was visible on the castle as Ramsay and his party followed the curve of the road. Ramsay frowned at it. There was something off about the combination of black wolf and white trees. Not too complicated, exactly, but too asymmetrical and detailed, as if it was depicting an actual event rather than just a symbol for the House.
Ramsay looked back at Ser John Sickle. He had briefly glanced at the banner, and was concentrating on the surroundings of the castle. Men, horses, cover, weapons, his eyes flicked from one to the other. Sickle was the one of the very few Corn Knights with the military training to make his knighthood more than a joke.

They're light.

Ramsay made a show of inspecting the castle and nodding, although he had noticed nothing unusual.

Right, they're undermanned. Must be... doing something, away from the castle. Bandit patrols?

Sickle said nothing, but looked dubious. Ramsay shrugged, and approached the gate guard.

Still, we're not invading them. You there! We wish to meet with Lord Briar.

[Galenti]

House Briar: Gerhearth

The guard, who had been idly whittling something at his post, jumped up at the sound of Ramsay's words. He shouted into the courtyard and Ramsay could just see a sudden flurry of activity beyond the gate. There followed a short but awkward silence, until another man came running to ask Ramsay his name and business.

Within the castle, Elys hastily donned her richest fur cloak, for she recognised the sigil of House Fox even if her men were uncertain. She tidied her papers away and made Alyne clean herself up: they would present themselves as well as they could in Brandon's absence.

[Gareth3]

Ramsay slowly raises his hands, palm out, and motions for Sickle to copy him.

I'm Ramsay Fox, son and heir of Lord Fox. I bring gifts for Lord Briar.

[Galenti]

House Briar: Gerhearth

After the message was relayed within the castle, Ramsay was welcomed in and led through a large courtyard towards the main building, which squatted in the centre of the fortifications: Gerhearth was not a beautiful castle, but a functional one.

The delegation from House Fox were led to a large hall at the centre of the building, where groups worked in the corners or beside the fireplaces, sewing or completing some other household task.

Before a long table, a woman in her early 50s, but who looked much younger, sat with a pretty girl who could not have been more than 10 years old.

"Greetings Ramsay, of House Fox," the woman began. "I am afraid that you will not find my son hear today, for he is away." At this a look of concern, or maybe anger crossed her otherwise fair face. "I apologise for not being more ready to receive guests, but we have had no word of your coming."

[Gareth3]

Ramsay shakes his head.
It's no problem. We have our own provisions, and also beer and bread as lesser gifts from Lord Fox to your House. But our real gift is this.

He motions to Sickle, who unwraps a cloth bundle to reveal a steel shield, unpainted.

For Lord Briar, as belated condolence for his father's death and recognition of his Lordship.

[Galenti]

House Briar: Gerhearth

Elys graciously nodded at the gifts, and motioned for one of her men to receive the large shield, and some of the serving women to take the proffered supplies.

"Thank you, your gifts are greatly appreciated. Please, break bread with us, you have traveled a not inconsiderable distance."

"Alyne, set the table for our guests."

With that, the young girl and some of the serving women, hurried to lay out food for their guests, not just using the supplies brought from House Fox, but adding their own offerings to make a hearty meal for the travelers.

Elys sat at the head of the table with her daughter to her left, and Ramsay to her right in the place of honour, but despite her friendly demeanour she was suspicious: what had brought the young heir here in truth?

[Gareth3]

Ramsay looks impatient throughout the meal, as if he's estimating how fast it's appropriate to start a serious discussion. Once most of the food is finished, he turns to Elys.

I'm very impressed with what I've seen here. The port, the... marketplace. We don't have a marketplace ourselves, Ser Daeron built the stalls for one a while back but it never took off. Anyway, with all the wealth coming in the port, do you have any problem with bandits?

[Galenti]

House Briar: Gerhearth

So that was his angle? Perhaps House Fox has troubles of its own.

"My late husband had many plans for his holdings, and the port and marketplace that you have mentioned are just a few of those. I can not attribute all of our success to his plans, but I can certainly lay most of it at his feet." Elys did not wish to let on that their wealth was not so great as perhaps the heir of House Fox believed, nor were their people plentiful enough to need more than what there was. And surely he would not wish to hear that the people had seemed content to abide by the rules of a man who was from their number and who worked tirelessly for their benefit: she sometimes thought that being one of the commonfolk had helped Gerrion as much as his great mind had when it came to ruling their small holdings.

[Gareth3]

Ramsay frowns at Elys' evasion of the question, but pauses to think before responding.

Is there anything House Fox can help you with?

[Galenti]

House Briar: Gerhearth

Elys took a breath to reply, intending to dismiss his offer with platitudes, but she paused. Gerrion had warned of what might happen should the plague spread, and she feared for her children at Wren's Hill.

"Perhaps, but I fear that what I would ask is too dangerous for a neighbourly favour. A sickness has sprung up in our lands, and my son has gone to lend what aid he can to the people. My husband feared it might spread you see."

"If you were so inclined, we may need to men to tend the fields near the afflicted village, lest they fall into disrepair. We all know that winter is coming soon. We could split the bounty of those lands?"

[Gareth3]

Ramsay recoils visibly at the mention of the sickness, but recovers after a moment.

So we send you labourers to tend the fields, and you give us half the harvest? I'll have to consult with my Lord Father, but I think he'd approve of it. We'll let you know by raven.

[Galenti]

House Briar: Gerhearth

"That is all I can ask," Elys replied warmly. "Now let us talk of less weighty matters..." And with that Elys turned her attention to inquiring about the Fox household, and tidings from their lands and the lands beyond.

Afterwards she bid farewell to the House Fox delegation with lighter spirits than she had had in days. Perhaps, she could hold their holdings together long enough for Brandon to become the man his father had raised him to be.

[Gareth3]

So, what's their secret?


Ramsay stares out at the Barrowlands, in the general direction of House Briar. The Fox lands extend to the horizon, and beyond. He can just make out the White King's Barrow, but not the chalk figure that it's named after.

They didn't tell me anything about that, but I still figured it out. They're a smaller target.

Lord Fox is disappointed.

It can't be that simple. They have a port, a marketplace-

They have a port, a marketplace, a Braavosi Oyster shop for all I know. But they grow less stuff, sell less stuff, and have less money. Smaller target, fewer bandits. If they had more bandits, they went somewhere else.

Lord Fox gestures irritably over the battlements, at his vast and unruly empire.

So we're stuck with this?

Not quite. We can be a smaller target too. Manage the smallfolk right, and we can look poorer than we are, avoid offering so many tempting victims.

Ramsay holds out a sheaf of papers - rough maps of the Fox lands with trade routes, lists of exports, and lengthy notes in his cramped handwriting. Lord Fox flicks through them and scowls.

It'll look like we're incompetent landholders, or crazy paranoids that shove the smallfolk around for no reason. Or both.

I don't care what other Houses think.

Lord Fox snorts, amused at having his words said back to him. You're learning, boy...