House Among Chaotic Kingdoms

Votes for this Turn:

A1 - Combat - 5

A2 - Leisure - 1

A3 - Scholarly - 4

A4 - Diplomacy - 9

A5 - Language - 7

A6 - Communications - 25

S1 - Wikipedia - 7

S2 - Steam - 0

S3 - Paradox - 29

S4 - World - 15

Ideas: So far

Traditional Riverlander Dish for Cat - 18

Gift a Hunting Falcon to Sansa - 14

A Seashell Necklace for Yara - 5

Save the Money - 3

Some Veil-style food for Ned - 2

Hire a beekeeper for? - 2

Buy a statue of the 7 for Cat - 1

“Soft Mattres” for Bran - 1

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Rolls for this Turn:

Personal: Europa Universalis 2 Wiki

Thanks to the Fog of War, you are now Prodigious at Strategy.

This is part of the War skills that will come up more in Lessons with your Uncle Ned once you near your age of majority.

Or is specifically requested during a Diplomacy Turn.

(Rob and Theon are already getting some Basics of War lessons, so we could ask to join them on a Diplomacy turn if you’d like.)

World: Fallout Wiki

Thanks to Strong Back (Fallout), everybody in the Westerlands has a buff to improving and utilising their strength and related skills.

This will mostly show itself as a small but consistent buff to all combat skills.

Though in reality it mostly just means that Westermen will be a bit physically stronger than other place’s troops, as even training other skills like farming will improve a person's strength.

So even the peasant levies gain from this, in raw power, if not skill, as the lords and their men do.

Also, yes, this will make The Mountain that Rides even stronger than he already was.

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Story:

Following Rob and his friends around no longer felt like haunting the edge of somebody else’s game and hoping to be noticed, because after the outlaw play, you had a place in it, even if it was still a smaller place than most.

That turned out to matter more than you might’ve expected.

Once you were no longer merely watching, the whole business became brighter.

You helped set things up.

You heard the arguing over parts.

You got included in the little last-minute changes that always seemed to come once boys decided a story was good but could still be improved with: one more sword fight, one more speech, or one more dramatic death.

This time, Rob had a bigger idea.

The play was to be put on in Winter Town, not just for yourselves in some corner of Winterfell where only a passing servant might stop long enough to laugh.

There would be a real audience, even if only a small one, and that alone made the whole thing feel larger.

People would watch.

Children would stare.

Old women with baskets would slow down and pretend they had only stopped for a moment.

It would be a proper little show, and that meant all of you stood a little straighter once the decision had been made.

The story itself was some eastern tale worked over until it fit Westeros comfortably enough not to complain.

Instead of stranger foreign parts, the play was now about the broken lower halls beneath an old ruined keep not far from Riverrun, where something called the Bull of the Broken Keep had made its lair and turned the place into a terror for anyone foolish enough to go near.

That was all anyone really needed.

There was a ruined place.

There was a monster in it.

There was a young hero willing to go below and kill it.

Children and smallfolk alike were unlikely to demand more.

Rob, naturally, took the lead.

That was never in doubt.

He was the young hero, all confidence, bright speeches, and the sort of easy certainty that made it seem completely reasonable for a boy with a training sword and a simple cloak to march into darkness and expect the world to reward him for it.

His friends divided the other roles between them, with worried townsfolk, one useless lord, one clever girl who provided the guiding cord, and one truly inspired monster whose main qualities seemed to be roaring, stomping, and making everyone else’s work look more important.

Your part this time was better than last time.

Not larger than Rob’s, not even close, but fuller.

You were the hero’s page and torchbearer, the boy who went down with him into the broken halls and helped keep the way back clear.

That pleased you greatly.

It was the sort of role that mattered without requiring you to carry the whole thing yourself.

You would be beside Rob the whole while.

You would have lines.

You would do useful things.

And if all went well, nobody would be thinking of you as the child they had reluctantly allowed into the game anymore.

The work of setting it up was nearly as enjoyable as the play itself.

You helped drag out ropes for the guiding cord.

You helped find old cloth and half-torn hangings to make the entrance to the ruined underways look darker and more mysterious than the bit of yard actually was.

You helped place stones, sticks, and one fallen board so that the path in and out felt crooked enough to be interesting.

It was all very thin when looked at too closely, with bushes pretending to be ruins, rope pretending to be salvation, and one broad-shouldered friend of Rob’s pretending to be an ancient terror from below the earth.

Still, once everything stood in place and the boys began moving through it as though it were real, the thing took on a life of its own.

Winter Town gathered in the way such places always did, little by little and without ever seeming to mean to.

A pair of children appeared first.

Then another.

Then two women with baskets paused, not stopping exactly, but not walking on either.

An old man found a place to stand and promptly settled in as though he had expected the whole thing all along.

By the time Rob and the others were ready to begin, there were enough eyes on the space to make your stomach feel lively in a way that had nothing to do with lunch and everything to do with being seen.

The play began with the townsfolk lamenting their fate, which mostly meant one of Rob’s friends doing a fine job of looking worried while another shouted about sheep gone missing, darkness below the keep, and the Bull of the Broken Keep dragging doom up from the underways.

Then came Rob, stepping forward in his cloak like a boy born to stride into stories and improve them by his presence.

He declared he would go below and kill the beast.

The clever girl gave him the cord so he would not lose his way.

Then came your cue, and you stepped beside him with the torch, because no hero worth his name ought to go beneath a ruined keep alone when he could instead have a page to carry the light and say useful things at the proper moment.

That part went well from the start.

You did not forget to move.

You did not stand stiffly.

You kept the cord straight as the two of you made your way into the “ruins,” which were really only the darker end of the stage where cloth, brush, and shadow did the work of stone well enough for willing minds.

When the path twisted, you said it twisted.

When the cord caught, you worked it loose.

When Rob stopped to listen, you listened too.

It felt less like reciting and more like helping the story keep its own feet under it.

Your lines came better than they had in the outlaw play, perhaps because this time you had more of them and therefore less time to think too hard about any single one.

“The cord still runs true, ser, and the way back is ours if we do not lose our heads.”

“I do not like this dark, but I like the thing ahead of us less.”

“The path narrows here, and if the beast knows its den half so well as the tale claims, then we’d best know where our feet are before we need them.”

They were good lines.

Better than a messenger boy’s warning.

Braver too.

And because the role was meant to be earnest, carrying them did not ask anything from you that you could not honestly give.

Then the monster came.

The Bull of the Broken Keep was one of Rob’s friends under a hide, some rope-bound horns, and enough enthusiasm to make up for every other flaw.

He burst out from behind the hanging with a roar that made the smaller children in the audience shrink in delighted alarm, and one of the women laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth with the back of her wrist.

That helped everyone.

The monster stomped.

Rob shouted.

You kept the torch high and the cord clear and got in your best warning just in time.

“Behind you, ser, because it means to take you from the side.”

That earned the fight that followed, and the fight was splendid.

Not graceful and certainly not quiet.

But splendid all the same.

There was roaring.

There was dramatic circling.

There was one moment where the Bull nearly tripped over its own grandeur and recovered so well it almost looked planned.

Then Rob struck the final blow, the monster reeled, and the underways were won.

After that came the escape, which was the part where your role mattered most.

Rob had killed the beast, yes, but it was the torch and the cord and your voice calling the path that got the two of you back out into the light while the “ruins” fell behind you.

You spoke the line clearly enough that it carried.

“The way is here still, and if we run now, we may yet see daylight again.”

Then you both came clear of the dark, the townsfolk cheered, the lord looked relieved, the clever girl looked pleased with herself for having had the right idea all along, and the whole little square of Winter Town warmed at once into that pleasant shared feeling that came when a story had gone right.

That was the best part of doing it in town instead of only for yourselves.

People laughed where they ought to laugh.

They gasped where they ought to gasp.

They clapped when the Bull of the Broken Keep finally went down.

It was not a vast audience.

It did not need to be.

It was real, and that was enough.

By the end, all of you were flushed, bright-eyed, and pleased in the solid, uncomplicated way that came after making something work together.

Rob looked glorious in the way only a successful lead ever did.

His friends looked equally proud of themselves in all their different parts.

And you, for your own part, had the happy, steady feeling of having done more than merely get through your lines.

You had helped hold the center of the thing together.

When it was all done, and the little audience began to drift away, smiling, talking, and repeating the monster’s best roar badly to one another, Rob clapped you once on the shoulder and told you that your torchbearer had been good.

Not good for your age.

Not good for a small part.

Just good.

That landed warmly.

So you all went away in high spirits, with the ropes gathered up, the blanket ruins folded down, and everyone carrying a little more ease in the work than before.

The audience had been pleased.

The play had held.

The Bull of the Broken Keep had died nobly enough to deserve another chance at life some later afternoon.

And you had come away from it with something better than a bigger role, which was the feeling that from there on, there would likely be more.

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A few days later, after so much acting with Rob and his friends and so many stories lately carrying the smell of river roads, ferry crossings, and soft southern woods, you found yourself thinking that if Winterfell could borrow Riverlands tales for an afternoon, then perhaps it could borrow a little Riverlands comfort for a supper besides.

That thought led, as good thoughts often did, to food.

So you paid a hunter to bring back as much trout as he could manage, with clear instructions that you wanted proper fish, fresh enough to matter, and enough of it that the cooks would not be forced into stinginess before they had even begun.

From there, you went to the kitchens and put the rest in motion yourself, because once the idea had taken hold, you did not mean to leave it half done.

The cooks, after some looking and some muttering and the usual measuring of whether a child had any right to be issuing opinions in a kitchen, agreed to help you shape the meal into something more southern than northern, with roasted trout as the heart of it, dressed in herbs, butter, and river greens the best the season and Winterfell’s stores could offer.

It was not exactly the Riverlands as your aunt would have known it in her own childhood, because no amount of good will was going to make the North grow warm riverbanks merely for sentiment’s sake.

Still, it came close enough in spirit to count, and close enough in smell that when the dishes were finally brought out, you felt almost unreasonably pleased with yourself for having thought of it at all.

Aunt Catelyn noticed at once.

That was the best part.

She looked at the table, then at you, and for one clear moment, the expression on her face softened in a way that made all the arranging, all the explaining, and all the kitchen hovering feel worth it before she had even said a word.

When she understood that the whole thing had been your doing, and that you had meant it as a little piece of the Riverlands brought north for her sake, she was quite plainly pleased.

Not in the distant, careful way adults sometimes praised children for trying.

Properly pleased.

She thanked you warmly for the effort, drew you close, and gave you a hug and a kiss to the cheek that felt all the sweeter for being unexpected, and for the rest of the meal, there was a lightness about her that made the whole hall seem easier to sit in.

It was a small thing, really.

Only trout, herbs, butter, and greens.

Only one supper among many.

But it had been enough to bring a little of her old home north, and enough to make your aunt smile, which made it feel much larger than the plate it had arrived on.

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Skills:

Combat:

(3) Westerosi CQC - 90/100 (+15) (Skilled In North)

(3) Westerosi Swordsmanship - 85/100 (+10)

(5) Northern Archery - 35/100 (+15) (Skilled) ←

(3) Northern Equestrianism - 62/100 (+7) (Knack)

(3) Heavy Armour - 48/100 (+15) (Skilled)

Diplomacy:

(4) Interpersonal Communication - 95/100 (+35) (Skilled)

(2) Public Speaking - 50/100 (+35) (Skilled)

(5) Management - 20/100 (+30) (Prodigious) ←

(2) Stewardship - 68/100 (+7) (Knack)

(2) Northern Law - 50/100 (+7) (Knack)

(2) Westerosi Law - 40/100 (+7) (Knack)

Language:

(4) Common Speaking - 85/100 (+36) (Knack)

(4) Old Tongue Speaking - 80/100 (+21) (Knack)

(3) Valyrian Speaking - 43/100 (+12) (Knack)

(3) Common Reading - 80/100 (+9)

(1) Westerosi Runes - 83/100 (+3)

(3) Valyrian Reading - 55/100 (+11)

Scholarly: (Knack in North)

(3) Math(s) - 60/100 (+10)

(3) Accounts - 60/100 (+10)

(4) Northern History - 100/100 (+15) (Knack)

(3) Westerosi History - 55/100 (+25)

(4) Northern Peoples - 20/100 (+10)

(3) Westerosi Peoples - 45/100 (+25)

Leisure:

(3) Northern Hunting - 58/100 (+10)

(2) Fishing - 20/100 (+5)

(2) Swimming - 10/100 (+5)

(1) Seacraft - 10/100 (+0)

(1) Climbing - 10/100 (+0) (Skilled In North)

(1) Acting (Lying Convincingly) - 85/100 (+35)

(2) Gardening - 50/100 (+25) (Prodigious)

War:

(1) Strategy - 25/100 (+25) (Prodigious)

(1) Castrametation - 10/100 (+0)

(1) Poliorcetics - 10/100 (+0)

(1) Fleetcraft - 10/100 (+0)

(1) Battlewise (coup d’œil) - 10/100 (+0)

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Earning: 3

Spending: 1

Banked: 20

Spent: 1

Gained: ++ Cat

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Rolls for Next Turn:

T4 = Objects/Effect at Home

L3 = Mildly inconvenient

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Voting:

Main Actions: (+ = Low, ++ = Mid, +++ = High)

A1 - Train with Jon, and sometimes Rob and Theon, in the Yard. (Combat Focus)

(Reputation: ++ Jon + Theon, + Rob)

A2 - Go on Hunts With Jon and Sansa. (Equestrianism + Leisure Focus)

(Reputation: ++ Jon, ++ Sansa, + Ned, - - Cat)

A3 - Keep up your studies with your cousin, Sansa, and Maester Lewin. (Scholarly Focus)

(Reputation: ++ Sansa, + Cat, + Ned)

A4 - Act as your Uncle Ned’s page with Rob and Theon. (Diplomacy Focus)

(Reputation: ++ Ned, + Theon, + Rob)

A5 - Spend your time teaching/watching little Arya and your Wolves with Yara. (Language Focus)

(Reputation: ++ Arya, + Yara, + Ned)

A6 - Follow Rob until he shares his Friends and Activities with you. (Communications Focus)

(Reputation: +Rob, + Cat, + Ned)

Personal Rolls Sources:

S1 - Wikipedia

S2 - Steam Games (On Cooldown 2/2)

S3 - Paradox Wiki's (D30) (On Cooldown 1/1)

S4 - World Rolls List (D12)

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Information:

1 - Reputations as of Chapter 27

Jon - Friends

Sansa - Friends (+)

Arya - Friends

Cat - Friendly

Ned - Friendly (+)

Rob - Good (-)

Theon - Ok (+)

Yara - Ok (+)

(Neutral → Fine → Ok → Good → Friendly → Friends → Close Friends → BFF’s)

(+) Means we’re one “+” with that person from it going up a rank.

(-) Means we’re one “-” with that person from it going down a rank.

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Write-In/Questions:

1 - What should we have our minion (Berenice Renatus) do for the next year(ish)?

The runner-up choices from last time were:

Meet with the order of Green Men, on the Isle of Faces (12 Resources)

Go try to cure Shireen Baratheon’s Grey Scale (20 Resources)

Go to Castle Black as a Healer (6 Resources)