Welcome to A Knight of the Stormlands: House Barbery Quest One-Shot. In which you take the reins of a young House with little and less in the way of storied or glorious past during the early days of Robert’s Rebellion in 282AC. Sworn to House Dondarrion of Blackhaven you are located upon the Sea of Dorne with much of your land being the famous Dornish Marches, a swampy mess of ponds and wetlands. You will take the perspective of the Knights of Cranhall and her inhabitants in your desperate bid to ward off a Dornish invasion, and defeat an enemy made long ago in the early days of your House.
House Barbery is a pre-genned House, designed around the idea of giving a first person perspective of Robert’s Rebellion in what could very well be one the bloodiest battlegrounds of Westerosi History, the Dornish Marches. As a House sworn to House Dondarrion, and by extension House Baratheon you have raised your banners in the name of your liegelord and marched to war.
If you’ve played the one of the many Quests within the ASoIaF setting the rules of the SIFRP system should be known. I will be using the Game of Thrones edition, as well as a few of the expansions namely OOSP and a few house rules which will be explained as we come to them. If you have questions about how things work or why certain actions are taken I can explain them as we go along. In truth this is a learning experience for me as well.
Google Documents Mastersheet:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WiZG5xtDqbQKI31IIbqNb4zTmooivb0Ns_J6EatgWgY/edit?usp=sharing
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/RevengeGoldQM
And now without further ado.
Ser Malcolm Barbery: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1R2OoeVlq2iTDZaFg4OubK_O3us7noBsixTVlmZDLl-E/edit?usp=sharing
The wind had been fierce upon the Sea of Dorne this evening, in the twilight to the west the sun cast the final glimmers of the day, and your eyes turnt away to the east instead, watching the sky turn a shade of reddish-orange that would please your crew, “Red at night, sailor’s delight…” you whisper to yourself, the rasp of old age clear upon it. Pulling your hand free of the port side bannister you move towards the stern of the ship, a clear limp is evident as you manage your way up the small staircase where your Captain of the Umbrage, Wallace, stood behind the helmsmen, pouring over a sea chart, a bottle of whiskey freshly cracked holding it down in the corner.
“Ser Malcolm,” he says stiffly snapping off a quick salute,
“Captain, status,” you respond, gruffly, the order of military was your true calling in life. If it had not been for the relative peace between the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion and the War of the Ninepenny Kings, perhaps you would have become a renowned military leader, your liegelord Lord Bryce Dondarrion seemed to think as much at least, but now in your old age, it was but a forgotten dream, you were the Knight of Cranhall, called to war for a final time in Robert’s Rebellion.
“Little to report Ser,” he says straightening himself, “We’ve some word from the mainland, Ser Stannis Baratheon is holed up in Storm’s End, apparently a large force of the Reach marched across and is in the process of besieging them now. Though that says little for the Dornish to the south, we’ve heard nothin' from them.”
A note you disliked immensely; Houses Wyl, Yronwood, and Jordayne all had significant presence in these waters, while most of the Stormlands fleets had been pulled farther north to attack Dragonstone or wage war in the Narrow Sea. It was up to you and few other Houses to patrol these sea routes and send early warning should the Dornish begin an all out assault in the area. Compared to the Noble Houses of Dorne your fleet paled, made up of five ships, each older than the next, built by your father sixty odd years ago. To the northwest of you, Benson and Vulture’s Demise II and to the south, Red Bolt alongside your grandson’s Harvester, the youngest and best of the ships in your small fleet.
In truth you couldn’t be prouder of Ambrose, he had grown into every bit the man you could have hoped for, though it shamed you to know you needed two chances before to finally get it right. And you know it pained him immensely to be on mere watch duty, he wished to be with his father Ser Barton, the son you hardly knew anymore, and who had professed his utter disdain and unwanting of his own son. You sigh deeply, and take solace in the fact Ambrose had at least grown into being a worthy successor, if this was your last hurrah until death, then your House at least would be secure.
“SHIPS TO THE WEST!” a cry far above you cuts into your idle thoughts, you turn on your heel, quickly, poorly on the bad foot and squint into the distance. The sun is near blinding, but you see the outline of a ship, singular- no wait three. Five. Eight. Ten, ten bloody ships. Seven Hells, You go over the stretch of horizon again, counting each again and again.
“What flag be they flying!?” Wallace screams upwards.
“Looks like a foot?” the crow’s nest calls back down and your blood runs cold, House Wyl. Outnumbering you two to one. Upon their own Sea, with the wind in their favor, and the element of surprise in the evening sun to the west. You hear cries from the other ships go up, see men scrambling to their places, upon Umbrage all eyes are turnt to you, quiet having settled over the ship. You notice your hand gripped firmly on the banister overlooking your entire crew, knuckles turnt white, the old bones cracking with remembrance of war. The wind picks up again and the fleet begins to loom in the distance, the salt upon the air burns as you take in a deep breath, ready to give your orders.
>Engage with the Dornish Fleet
>Flee, you are at too poor of oddsThe hope is to bang these out at a rapid pace today, really get a good all out war feeling. Hope you guys enjoy.
>>44484501
Wait. If the wind is to their advantage, we would be fleeing against the wind. We are better off fighting if that is the case.
>Engage with the Dornish Fleet
If we arent sailing directly into the wind if we are fleeing then.
>Flee, you are at too poor of odds
Also figuratively fuck the dornish and literally fuck their hot sisters.
It is good to see you again father, even if it is not Malroy.
>>44484501
>>Flee, you are at too poor of odds
Nope fuck that!
>>44484550
I suppose I should have been more accurate, the wind is coming from the west. So if you flee you'd be sailing west, hopefully north to reach Cranhall/land.
>>44484585
Good to have the time, even though I won't likely run another Malroy thread until after the 14th. Just had a bit of time for some fun stuff today.That said there is a Malroy reference down the line to tie everything together.
>>44484678
>so if you flee you'd be sailing west.
And by that I mean east, typos here we go.
>>44484678
Then lets get the hell out of here.
>>44484550
>>44484501
>Flee, you are at too poor of odds
Do have a question. Cecilia thinks Brynden is black haired. Just how confused would she be if the child ends up with silver hair ?
You made the classic mistake of promising to run two days in a row the week after a thread. Its like asking "Atleast it cant get worse" and then it starts to rain
Doubt I'll be able to play this one, so happy new year and all that.
>>44484441
>most web pages aren't hyperlinked
>can't highlight, drag and drop text into another tab
>have to download Google Drive to copy non-hyperlinked links
No way you could hyperlink the Malroy links as well as the Barbery ones after this run?
Hey Father. Just wanted to say that you inspired me to run a Asoiaf campaign. It was set in the Reach during the great spring plague.Had to scrap 75% of my notes when the players murdered the entire family of their lord, took control of the castle and forged a document that said that they had been gifted the castle by their lord after he and his entire family had died of the plague. They then swore fealty to the rival house
“Hoist the sails! Ready the oarsmen!” you snap off the orders and break the silence that had fallen over your Umbrage, the sailors scramble to obey your orders, the castrophany of sound that followed feeling a dull buzz in your bad ear. This old body wasn’t ready for the rigors of war, but years of cautious action would not be undone by a single brazen attack at sea at such a great disadvantage. A red flag is flown indicating to the other ships they were to retreat as well, Benson and Vulture’s Demise II covering your northern flank, while, Red Bolt and Harvester the southern. You stare into the twilight towards your grandson’s ship. Seeing what you imagine is the young man waving to his helmsmen to circle about. Your own has begun the sharp motion, and you watch the sails snap into the wind catching them and propelling you forward. You feel the steady beat of the drum below deck, the stiff heavy baritone of, “Stroke. Stroke. Stroke,” adding to each beat.
Wallace comes to your side, watching the small fleet in the distance, gaining far faster than you had wished, “Where are we going to lead them Ser?”
“Into the sea, Captain. We’ll shake them then make for the nor-west to Cranhall and send warning.”
“Aye Ser. Want Wil to help you into your plate ‘gain?”
Wil was Wallace’s young son, and your impromptu squire as of late, you hadn’t thought to take another, but when need arose, “Yes Captain, though I doubt I will need it.”
Wallace nods and you leave him off, traveling to your quarters just below the bridge, Wil meets you there, ready to help you into the thick tunic you wore under what was now half-plate, as badly as your left leg could use the extra protection, it did nothing but pain you immensely to wear it. With a practiced and he helped you assemble your rough armor, old, common steel. It was nothing impressive, but it kept you alive, and made you a far more impressive sight upon your ship, one of the few daring actions of your life. Having fastened the last into place Wil scampers off and you are left alone, in dark quiet. The waves of the sea calm your nerves, the gentle creak of the old ship reminding you of battles long lost to you. A small prayer, to the Warrior, and you grip the greatsword given to your grandfather, Ser Gregor the Red.
The cries above deck interrupt your quiet moment and you turn again far too quickly but force through the pain topside, limping a fair bit harder with the armor, before yelling out to Wallace, “Status!”
“More ships Ser! To the north! Looks like five more, iron gate of Yronwood flying!”
You curse under your breath and look off into the waning sunlight, the crimson in the sky having turned into a purple by now, and indeed there were, five more on your northern flank. They must have broken off in the distance, far before you could have spotted the fleet, and went to cut off your retreat. Seeing your two lone ships, both older than your Umbrage against the Dornish warships unsettled your stomach, and what they did next did so even more. Two flags of blue came flying, indicating they were engaging, and you could see them break course, into impossible odds. It took every fiber of your being to not respond and put them in line, but in you knew their purpose, give you enough time to escape and save the rest of the fleet in doing so.
Your eyes stare upon them longer, the thumping of the drum matching your heart beat, their sterns become a distant black splotch and you take a deep breath.
“Ser!” Wallace yells to you from the bridge catching your attention again, “It looks like Red Bolt is breaking away to engage!”
Another flag of blue, and you can see your second youngest ship making a break to the south, three ships breaking from the Wyl formation to follow after her, leaving Umbrage and Harvester to the seven Wyl warships giving chase and gaining. You wish her gods’ speed and push yourself up the stairs once more, attempting to appear more than a frail old man.
“Helm! Keep us on course, we cannot risk engagement!” Wallace yells, before racing across the bridge to yell at the deck.
You noticed how quick the smaller ships of House Wyl were, while Yronwood’s were monstrous lumbering beasts. You had no hope of shaking the Dornish warships, and even less of fighting them. All you need was to get the message home, then to Blackhaven. Only one ship need be free of the engagement. If you pulled to the north the winds would still carry you a degree, and you would lead the Wyl’s right into the flanking Yronwoods. You just needed one ship to come free of the chaos, and in the end, it was likely not your old Umbrage. Ambrose had seen that Harvester was the quickest of your fleet, every detail he poured over, taking nods from even across the Narrow Sea, a place you hardly imagined. She was racing ahead of you now even, keeping at least pace with the dornish ships.
“Wallace take us north, alongside Vulture and Benson.”
“To engage Ser?”
“No Captain, we’re going to break their ranks and flee to Cranhall.”
“A daring gambit Ser. Are you certain?”
“We’ve enough speed to outpace the Yronwood’s galleys, in the chaos that will follow we’ll be able to make for land.”
Wallace looks to you, expecting the word ‘we’ll’ to mean more, but knowing it was far less than he could wish for, he takes in a gulp of air and begins shouting orders again, you feel the pull of the ship, and watch harvester take the turn far sharper without losing the majority of her speed. Flags are raised from your other two ships, that of your Household as they prepare to engage, and you watch as the specks begin to crash into one another, a harpoon smashes into the side of Benson, and is drawn back to one of the Yronwood galleys, more following after, smaller flecks of a boarding party begin to swing from one side, and a plank follows, you notice fire smashes onto the bridge from the Yronwood galley, they did not mean to capture, they meant to destroy.
But still you pressed on, gaining momentum, keeping the dornish warships at arm’s length, you could see Ambrose staring back at you, intently. He knew. But it would not stop you.
Vulture’s Demise II is the next to be engaged, but she is taken on the side, heavier war galley smashing into her portside, you wince, and yet again see fire thrown to the eldest ship of your fleet, she was not to live to see another day. The screams of her crew began to catch your ear and you steeled yourself, you had a few options of how to approach this, you could take the lead, being Harvester’s buffer. Or allow her to lead, instead warding off any would be attackers from behind long enough to allow her to escape. You could take it up the middle, straight through to ensure maximum chaos, or instead cut about to the opposite side, gaining more of the wind again.
>Take the lead
>Allow Harvester to lead
>Go up the middle
>Cut to the sideSo much for quick updates.
>>44485115
Oh ouch, yeah definitely. My bad.
>>44485626
Excellent, can't wait to hear how that potential trainwreck will work out.
>>44485803
>>Allow Harvester to lead
>Go up the middle
Well this is going to be a shitshow
>>44485803
>Take the lead
>Go up the middle
The Harvester is our fastest ship so we have the best chance with them.
>>44485826
Their House words they chose are "Seven Rewards Honest Work" i kid you not. The idea of the Septa.
>>44484678
>even though I won't likely run another Malroy thread until after the 14th
I bet the usurper's dogs are behind this.
>>44485803
>take the lead
>go up the middle
So quiet in here.
>>44486185
We are only six people. So there must be people who are lurking.
>>44486135
Shame about that. Btw Father. will Giselle and her brother come for the melee even though we forgot to invite them ?
Also if our cousin is being a cunt any chance we can fuck his wife as revenge ?
“Give Harvester the signal to fall behind Umbrage, we’ll take the lead Captain,” you order, voice unfaltering in its commands, despite how risky this all felt. It was unlike you entirely, and Wallace felt that, the crew felt that.
“Into the thick of it I assume Ser?” he responds glancing back from his position on the birdge.
“Yes Captain,” you respond simply, watching as Vulture’s sails catch fire, another harpoon shattering her main mast. Your men hadn’t entirely given up however, fighting was still rampant on the upper deck, the plank was swept away, but Vulture was taking on water far too quickly to survive. May the Seven bless them, you think.
You see flags of your own being raised, one to signal Harvester behind, the other the colors of your House. Your men have begun to arm themselves, your crew being the most experienced of them all, though by a small margin at best. You flex your fingers, hand upon greatsword, and give Wallace the final nod. Into the breach. The sails drop, the oarsmen’s pace quickens, and you surge forward into the Yronwood’s war galleys, enough room to pass through the middle, the front three being engaged with your now lost ships. The Dornish warships break off, though two follow after into the mess of fire and wood that the warzone had become, bodies float upon the water, blood sown upon the waves. But not enough of the enemies.
Casting a glance back you notice Harvester keeping up, relatively unphased, but from the ship furthest to the east you notice flickering flame, in the sky. Far too late, “SHIELDS!” you roar and duck down grunting in pain from your leg again.
Longbowmen doing the work a harpoon could not at the range, the arrows plunge into your ship, though a fair few miss falling into the sea in between, the rest turning Harvester into a pincushion. Your men seem unscathed, but the crew of Harvester is scrambling, not being aware of the attack, a few went down, and a fire started on the bow that was quickly put out.
You refocus forward, you’d be out of range soon, but the dornish warships were still gaining, one having gained in fact, the cries of your men indicated off of port side was one of them, their crew manning a harpoon. Your deck was taller, but any damage to the hull could be catastrophic. To make matters worse one of the Yronwood galleys had broken off to stop your daring escape.
“Ser, orders?” Wallace asks with an unhappy look.
>Take on the Yronwood Galley
>Take on the Wyl Warship
>Take them both on, that should give Harvester enough time to escape unscathed
>>44486679
>Take them both on, that should give Harvester enough time to escape unscathed
Think it is time for a heroic sacrifice.
>>44484724
Incredibly, in fact she's going to be mighty confused if she ever sees Brynden again.
Doubtful though,considering its a boy with his fathers eyes.
>>44486234
They will not, Grover isn't exactly pleased with the turn of events.
Well seeing as he doesn't have a wife yet, no. But I guess if you want to whenever he does?
>>44486679
>>Take them both on, that should give Harvester enough time to escape unscathed
Ramming speed!
>>44486730
>Well seeing as he doesn't have a wife yet, no. But I guess if you want to whenever he does?
Ofcourse the chance for drama that your RL group's house heir is Bryndens secret bastard is too good to pass up.Atleast in this timeline
>Doubtful though, considering its a boy with his fathers eyes.
Tough luck kid. We will most likely see her to check up on the child. Then figure out what the hell we are going to do with it
>>44486834
>A Knight of the Stormlands: House Barbery Quest One-Shot
>>44486851
Deleted sir, sorry
>>44486679
>>Take them both on, that should give Harvester enough time to escape unscathed
Time to pass on the house to someone worthy
>>44486679
>>Take them both on, that should give Harvester enough time to escape unscathed
>>44486679
>Take them both on, that should give Harvester enough time to escape unscathed
Four and sixty, a good run, a far longer run than most, especially of the grandson of a cranberry farmer. If he you returned from this it would be the grace of the Seven.
“Captain get us up to speed, we’ll be taking the Yronwood galley,” you respond.
“And of the Wyl ship Ser?”
“Let them try to catch us.”
Wallace nods, and shouts his final orders, eyes glance back at you, weapons taken up, positions upon the deck. They can feel it, your resolve. Your determination. The first harpoon strikes, shattering into the upper deck at an angle, catching your men unaware, but it’s loose, they begin to hack away at it, and lodge it free. The oars continue their steady beat, unaware of the hell that was about to occur.
Another harpoon, lodges into the hull, you hear the screams, someone was caught on it. Too deep to get free, you were tangled up now. But pressed forward, the Yronwood galley coming closer and closer with every stroke. Another glance behind shows Harvester doing far better, but a concerned crew looking forward. The flag of Vulture and Benson has begun to die into the water, with the other ships attempting to gather themselves again, Red Bolt nowhere to be seen.
“SHIELDS!” cries your crew, and you turn just soon enough to see the flicker of lights from the Yronwood ship. Ducking again you feel the heat of an arrow pass by your arm and dig into the bridge. Behind you the gurgle of the helmsmen and the thump of his body to the deck catches your attention and you notice an arrow sticking from his throat. Wallace kicks the body aside and takes up his position, screaming for his men to stay keep position.
Third harpoon crashes in portside, closer to the bridge, you can feel the slowing of Umbrage now. You just need enough to ram the Yronwood ship. They’ve noticed what you’re ready to do, and suddenly scream kick up from the Wyl ship, and you begin to list to that side as they try to stop you in earnest. But it isn’t enough, you press forward, the momentum carrying you another round of arrows picks into your crew.
For a moment it feels like time stands still, the bow of Umbrage cracks, strains, the Yronwood galley unable to escape in time, your blow less centered than you wanted. Screams from all three ships bring you back into the moment and your catch yourself on the bridge’s banister, while others lurch forward from the crash.
“MEN TO ARMS!” you call and your sailors pull themselves together, your ship had lodged into the galley enough to create an artificial bridge. Their battle cries fight against the archers that are still attempting to pull themselves into formation again.
You rip the greatsword from its scabbard, and aim it towards the Yronwoods. But they’re quicker, another force begins to surge over onto your own, and an all out battle breaks out.
Roll 7d6+1 for Command.
&
Roll 5d6+1 for Fighting.
Rolled 6, 1, 4, 1, 2, 6, 5 + 1 = 26 (7d6 + 1)
>>44487354
Rolled 4, 1, 6, 5, 1, 2, 3 + 1 = 23 (7d6 + 1)
>>44487354
Rolled 2, 1, 4, 2, 4 + 1 = 14 (5d6 + 1)
>>44487354
Rolled 3, 5, 5, 6, 5 + 1 = 25 (5d6 + 1)
>>44487354
Rolled 6, 2, 2, 2, 3, 2, 3 = 20 (7d6)
>>44487354
>>44487382
>>44487417
wtf these rolls
Rolled 1, 5, 6, 3, 1 + 1 = 17 (5d6 + 1)
>>44487950
marginal improvement
Can only hope father rolled like shit,.
Command, success, two degrees.
Fighting, success, two degrees.
Your men rally and meet their attackers with vigor, the Yronwood men are lightly armed, as are yours and the battle becomes bloody quickly. The deck of Umbrage becomes slick with blood in a near instant and you feel yourself compelled on forward to join them in the melee. Wallace bounds down as well tearing his sword from the ring on his side and digging it in deep to the first man he can find, which as it happens is a Wyl. Their boarding party faired worse attempting to scale your ship, and the sailors repelled them as best they could. But the Dornish are quick, efficient killers.
You hear a cry from across the way and see Harvester, her hull prickly with arrows and a few harpoons but still quick, upon it, is Ambrose. Watching you portside, screaming at you to disengage, to flee, his Knight is pulling him back, the helmsmen and captain keeping the crew in line and continuing forward. You were the main focus now, thankfully, and for good reason, the Yronwood ship was their flagship, you now realized, by the Dornish Knight scrambling over the wreckage and ordering another volley of arrows.
There was no time to call for shields this time, the volley was too quick, striking friend and foe alike in a gruesome slaughter. You take one in the shoulder, barely stopped by the steel that was unlike to be of any worth in a moment’s time. The pain sears through your arm but you press forward into the melee, wanting to meet the Knight, you would not go quiet into the night.
Another volley, the arrows begin to dig into your men, Wallace takes two. He’s guarding a body. A boys, his throat slit, Wil.
A third volley, the Wyl soldiers are staying to their ship now. Your men continue to slaughter anyone that boards, but the volley cuts them down again.
A man at arms attempts to stab you with a spear, you parry, with a long strike, and push into him, you still have enough weight and height to use to your advantage sans the strength. Your greatsword swings around in a great arc and slashes the man’s near exposed chest, cutting him deeply, his body falling loosely to the deck.
You press onwards, pain screaming in your leg, in your arms, your body calling four and sixty more than a good run, and way too damn long to be doing this shit anymore. Your greatsword meets flesh again, cracking into a shoulder and you eye the Dornish Knight that has now boarded your ship, his reinforcements coming from the Wyl cutter again.
“You’ve lost old man!” he calls across the deck, his spear cracking against the blood soaked deck.
You merely stare at him, not a word, none to give to petulant youth.
Your quiet unnerves him, and he rearms himself the spear flourishing behind him, “I am Ser Mors Yronwood. And today, you die,” the battle is a chaos around you, but your greatsword swings in a great arc to meet his charge ignoring everything but the final call to battle.
Roll 5d6+1 for Fighting.
Rolled 4, 1, 4, 3, 6 + 1 = 19 (5d6 + 1)
>>44488041
Rolled 3, 2, 2, 4, 3 + 1 = 15 (5d6 + 1)
>>44488041
Rolled 4, 6, 6, 5, 3 = 24 (5d6)
>>44488041
Kill him ded
>>44488101
"allow me to present my rebuttal 'Fuck you'"
Fuck, internet just went down, hold tight guys.
>>44488101
Good on you.
>>44488347
All hope is lost! Abandon ship!
Doing a lot of cursing presently. Not sure what happened. I am... Not sure if it'll just fix itself later. So yeah. Sorry guys. Probably for the best, this wasn't really going well.
>>44489267
That's pessimistic as fuck man, we were enjoying this
>>44489267
No worries mate. Shit happens.
>>44489267
Damn it
>>44489267
Could atleast tell us how well/badly we rolled ?
>>44489267
It's okay.
Happy new year, Malroy fans!
Reminder that House Redward is superior than dirty Malroys!
>>44489267
It's alright man, I was enjoying it but I understand your frustration
>>44489267
Y2K 16 too late
Father i love you! Please let me have your babies
>tfw Father hates us and has abandoned us to a cruel lonely fate
