III-20: The Prince II Tommen’s fingers traced the stone as he walked, the tips dragging just enough to catch on uneven patches, letting him feel them, count them. One, two, three—skip the cold wet bit—four, five, six—there. Solid again. Good. His lantern swung beside him, sending shadows flicking across the walls. Quick, sharp, like little…
III-19: The Spider’s Web The chamber was dimly lit, the glow of flickering candlelight casting long, wavering shadows against the cold stone walls. The air carried the weight of age—old parchment and dust, spiced wine left to breathe too long, the faintest trace of medicinal herbs clinging to the heavy tapestries. The scent of sickness. …
III-18: The Weight of Power– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –The hall was unrecognizable. The Dreadfort was gone. Where there had been damp, crushing dark, walls heavy with shadow and the weight of something watching, there was now something pristine. White stone stretched high, too smooth, too…
III-17: A Throne of Blood God, what’s that smell? Greg’s nose wrinkled. Paper and ink and… something else. Like when his mom forgot to air out the basement, but worse. Way worse. Like old clothes and dust and something dead maybe. Men screamed outside, metal rang on metal, but in here everything felt weirdly muffled for…
III-16: The Siege of Shadows – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – “Fuck!” The side of Greg’s face twitched as another man fell, an arrow lodged deep in his throat. All around him, the battlefield was pure chaos – mud and blood and shit and screaming. The…
3-15: Holy Lord – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – “Through darkest paths, we make our way, No steps shall falter, no hearts betray. The Lord’s own strength shall guide our stride, In steadfast faith, we shall abide.”His words carried, the cadence deliberate as he refreshed the…
3-14: Dreadful II – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – Guts smirked, leaning back like they weren’t sitting in the middle of a freezing, exposed ruin surrounded by god-knows-how-many enemies. “We don’t have walls. Of course we’re exposed. It’s war.” Greg didn’t answer. his fingers curled absently…
3-11: The Gathering Storm – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – Training didn’t come naturally to most of them. The older men grumbled about their aching joints, the younger ones stumbled over their own feet, and many were far more at home with a scythe than a…
3-12: Whispers of Dread – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – The solar of Roose Bolton was a place of distinct and nigh-immutable order, every item precisely where the Lord of the Dreadfort willed it to be. Heavy curtains, thick and dark as congealed blood, shrouded the…
3-13: Dreadful – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – “ARCHERS!” ————————- It had only been four days. Four days of marching. Four days of keeping watch over the men while they slept. Four days of casting a restoration spell over himself and the men so they could…
