Hello everyone,
I have decided to partake in a long journey to create an epic universal AAR based on the submod 'King of Rivers and Hills' primarily created by Dux. By universal, I mean, that I will control all the factions myself, and will maneuver their actions based on the story I want to tell. I do this because it may make for a much more interesting and plausible AAR, considering that I can stage large battles, create strategic alliances, and make strategic military movements that the AI usually lacks in doing.
I will, however, have a 'home' primary faction in which I will play in my own manner if it was a regular hotseat or campaign. This faction is House Arryn of the Vale. For all the other factions, I will command them according to a bit of lore and for the sake of entertainment. This goes without saying that I will not exploit other factions to make House Arryn the greatest kingdom in Westeros, as you will soon see. I am going to loosely follow the faction descriptions that the AKORAH creators made for this submod. Thus, I hope to make this AAR very interesting and realistic for your enjoyment. I have already begun, and am near completing "Chapter 1", which will follow up to the first 2 turns I have taken.
In only 2 turns, I have a ton of material that is ready to be written, so I will upload along with pictures to provide visual candy. I plan to add A LOT of pictures during this AAR, both for illustration and for battle screens (LOTS of battle screens).
Since I will be fighting in most, if not all of the battles, I will command one side that I believe would be best to win in terms of reality and how I might want the story to unfold. If I lose against the AI, I will still go on with the AAR regardless. I will not re-load for the sake of following the story that I may want to tell. This will make it more interesting as in I myself don't want to know what will happen at the end of this AAR. Thus, the future is uncertain for everyone.
I will be telling my story in the likeness of GRRM. Chapters will consist of various POV's throughout the Kingdoms, however, so one chapter will contain various passages occurring roughly at the same time.
That's all I can think of for now, I will re-edit this post when CH 1 is finished and you can get a better idea of what I mean to present. There are no rules here, but if some are necessary for the sake of realism I will add them as they cross my mind. Thanks
1 turn = 1 month
Difficulty will be VH/H, although the campaign difficulty doesn't matter here.
The seasons in-game will not be the same as in the story.
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Chapter 1The Winds of WarIt was a chilly morning on the balcony outside the King’s solar. A light wind was flowing from the south, blowing through Osgood’s morning robes of sky blue velvet. The high pass creates a tunnel of wind, thought Osgood; perhaps the Gods are trying to throw me off my own balcony. If the winds messages throughout Westeros could be trusted, war would soon run rampant on every corner, every shore, and every castle. Struggling back inside, Osgood shifted his weight on his weirwood cane until he sat at his blue-veined white marble table. The pale white wood was a gift from King Tristifer III Mudd, before his death that ended the peace of Westeros. Osgood broke his fast on two hard-boiled eggs and several slices of bacon, his favorite breakfast meal.Osgood Arryn, King of the Mountain and the Vale
Once finished, he sat back on a stone chair carved in the likeness of a falcon with widespread wings. Contemplating the news he would receive from his maester, it was not long before contemplating turned into dreaming. Before he could feel himself fly on his monstrous falcon, a hard knock came on his door. Thump thump. “Who is it?” he shouted through the door.
“It is Manyel, your Grace. Maester Denys is here to see you now.”
Manyel Stone was a baseborn son of some Corbray, Osgood could remember, but not which exactly. He had proven himself with sword and mace at Heart’s Home, pleasing King Osgood enough to have him join the Moonguard; the personal guard of the King of the Vale. He was a young man of two and twenty, with a clean shaven face and jet black hair held back in a ponytail. “Yes, yes he is. Bring him in, you as well.”
As Manyel and maester Denys entered, a gust of wind sucked itself in from the balcony to the King's solar. Denys knelt across the table from the King, while Manyel stood his place at the King’s right side.
“Good morn, your Grace. I trust you slept well?”
“Yes, yes, I woke early, though. The wind seems to have a way with whispering into my ears. Rise, sit at my table. What news do we have from the Kingdoms?” The King gave a loud long cough before the maester could respond.
“Your Grace, there is much to discuss from every Kingdom. Where would you like me to begin?”
“The South. Move north, afterwards. Just like these cold winds like to bugger me from.” Manyel gave a short chuckle.
“It seems as though House Martell is sending its banners in full force against Yronwood and King Anders. King Olyvar wishes to meet him in battle to settle the claim for Dorne, in hopes that the common folk need not see any more bloodshed.”
“The man seems to be attempting at a gain of favor from the Kingdoms. Why else would he deliberate this information so far north?” Said Osgood, “They have no chance at subjugating King Anders unless they can win the Sword of the Morning to their cause. While Ryone Dayne marches for the Bloodroyal, I do not see how House Martell can control all of Dorne. What other news?”
“On their way north from Sunspear, merchants from Gulltown claim to have counted 100 galleys or more docked at Storm’s End. It seems as though the Stormlands are gathering their bannermen under Prince Gulian. I do not know where they will sail, but all logic points north to aid his father.”
King Osgood gave a sigh after another series of coughs. “The Stormking is so eager to send tens of thousands of men to their deaths. I imagined he would learn his lesson after the defeat at Darry. If King Tristifer IV marches south from Oldstones, it will be a bloodbath on both ends.”
“I have not heard any reports of King Mudd marching, although without a doubt he must head south to protect the Riverlands from the full force of the Stormking.” Wondered Denys, “A Stormland knight came from Duskendale by way of ship yesterday; perhaps you should read the message he left me yourself.”
Maester Denys offered the King a rolled parchment sealed in the gold wax of Stormking Alesander. He moved it in front of Manyel, and the Moonguard snapped the letter open in one quick swipe of his dagger. King Osgood’s eyes could still read, even at age 70. It took less than a minute to read the contents of the letter.
Osgood cleared his throat. “King Alesander calls on the Andal Kingdoms to aid him in the war against the ‘blasphemers’ that are the followers of the weirwoods. Perhaps he is afraid he cannot defeat King Tristifer himself.” He threw the letter on the table when Denys spoke.
“Shall I prepare a parchment, your Grace?”
“No, no. I will respond myself, on my own time. But know this; The Vale will not join any petty and needless wars while I am still King. The common folk will bleed from these wars, and I do not intend the blood to be added on our hands. What more have you?”
“Apart from rumors, nothing else, your Grace. Well, other than the matter of your son.” King Osgood was not ready to hear more news from his son just yet. “Tell of these rumors.”
“The Westerlands will soon clash against the Reach. It seems that the denial of a marriage by King Gyles Gardener has been taken as a terrible slight by King Lancel Lannister. He marches south with the might of the Westerlands, if the tales can be believed.”
King Osgood cleared his throat before he combed his long white beard with his withered fingers. “What madness. When men go to war for such small prides. Have the Ironborn made any news?”
“No, your Grace. Ever since they sacked Sun House, they fled back to sea. Perhaps they have sailed north to plunder elsewhere,” Osgood interrupted “Or they are gathering their raiders at the Arbor. Qhored Hoare is a cunning King, which gives clear reason as to why he has been so successful. He will not leave the Reach until he has had his fill. Enough with this, tell me of my son.”
King Osgood had dreaded the moment, but it had to be faced. “Prince Talon rides towards Runestone, your Grace. It is believed he will attempt to rally the lords of the Vale and raise your banners for himself. He means to join King Alesander against the Riverlands.”
Osgood laid his head on the cold stone back of his falcon. “Lord Morton Royce is a leal man. If he keeps to his reputation, he will know my orders from the time I took this throne. No wars unless the Vale is in danger! My son does not seem to understand those words. He wishes for me to lay in a tomb beneath the Eyrie, but my time has not come!” Osgood coughed harshly into his sleeve, until he noticed fresh blood staining the sky blue velvet.
“You are still sick, your Grace. I will mix up some flemwine for your throat. Manyel, if you can lay him on the,” Osgood interrupted “No, no. I am fine. I will rest until the evening, leave me, both of you. Denys, send ravens to castles throughout the Vale. Expand your farms, grow your harvests. Under my command, the Vale will join no wars.”
“As my King commands.” Said Denys.
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The night was warm and musty around the Lannister camp. Half of the Westerlands forces were stopped at the border of the Reach and their homeland, waiting for further commands. Deep in the camp, Lord Sumner Crakehall entered the King’s blood crimson tent, lined with gold ropes on every corner. “Your Grace, I have news of Prince Kevan.” King Lancel was reading over maps of the south-eastern Westerosi coast when he looked toward Crakehall. “What of my son?”Lancel Lannister, King of the Westerlands
“Prince Kevan is some leagues south of Crakehall, your Grace. The other half of the Westerland army should join us within the week.”
“His arrival was faster than I anticipated. This will give us a long first leap against King Gyles’ forces.”
“It will, your Grace. The might of the Westerlands will win back House Lannister’s pride in due time.”
“Due time is not enough. I mean to burn Highgarden and return home within the year, no longer. I cannot leave my lands open to raids from the Ironborn for long.”
“Your Grace, reports inform me that they are amassed in the Arbor. I believe they plan to take Oldtown for themselves.”
“King Qhored is as bold as he is hairy. He cannot mean to storm Oldtowns walls without siege weapons. With only ladders, most of his men will perish on the walls.”
“It may be, your Grace. At the least, Qhored will split the Reach’s armies in two. One for us, and one for them. We will surely outnumber them.”
Lancel pulled his dagger and stabbed the point on the map where Highgarden was located. “A Lannister pays his debts. This time, we will pay with fire. This slight to my daughter will not go un-challenged. We will take Old Oak with ease. Scouts tell me that Wilbert Osgrey flees south with the levies from the castle. We will burn it down on our way to the Mander. If it seems they do not mean to defend it, they will not care if it burns.”
“Aye, your Grace. Princess Eleyna is well on her way to treat with Prince Talon Arryn’s son. She is crossing through the Riverlands. Perhaps when she reaches the Eyrie, King Osgood will be dead and his grandson Lyn Arryn Prince of the Vale.”
Lancel ran a hand through his soft light-gold hair. “No doubt, Osgood is past 70. He does not have much time left. Eleyna would do well to the Westerlands to bind us with the Vale. Once we deal with King Gyles, we can aid the Stormkings against House Mudd. Have my son meet me as soon as he arrives. You are dismissed.”
“As you command, your Grace.”
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Qhored Hoare, King of the Iron Islands
There was a salty taste to the morning air on the shores of the Arbor. King Qhored liked it best that way, reminding him of the cold desolate rocks of the Iron Islands. The waves hit softly here, however. His son Dagmer was arriving from the sack of Sun House, with the other half of the Ironborn raiders. He spotted him from his newly claimed throne, a beautifully carved oaken chair made in the likeness of a tree bearing grapes and olives. It was Lord Jon Redwyn’s chair, but he was a lord no more. Jon fled to Highgarden when he heard the Iron fleet was sailing south, with the Dread King at its command.
It was Qhored’s throne now, and he decided it would sit best overlooking the eastern shores of the Arbor. He disliked the city where the Redwyn’s placed their palace. It was a cold and drear place after it burned and shrieked with the sound of newly made saltwives and crying nobles. Moreover, he dismissed his Ironguard since the city was sacked, leaving them to their rewards for the time being. His solitude would soon end, though. Dagmer Hoare was seen strutting towards the King as he took his leave of his captains. Dagmer knelt before his father, gazing at the throne longer than at his father.
“My King. Father. I come with success, with plunder, with raiders. We are yours to command.”
“Rise, son. Bring us any more plunder and there will not be enough space on our ships to carry the men back home.” Dagmer gave a small grin before rising. “Oldtown stands between us and ever more glory. Our forces are at full strength and ready to take the greatest city in Westeros. Once it is ours, we will command limitless respect from the petty Andal Kings. With all the commanders present, we must begin planning our strategy.”
“Father, we will need siege engines. There are enough trees in the Arbor for a few towers, I presume, but they cannot be put on our ships. We will not have time to build engines when we land near Oldtown. A servant to the Lord of Sun House informed me that Axell Gardener himself has taken his army of the Faith to Oldtown. They will harass us before we can make one ram.”
“Ladders will be enough. We have enough men to storm the city from three sides. Divided, they won’t be able to cower in a shield wall as they shamelessly do in open battle.”
“The Warrior’s Sons have the faith and the Starry Sept inside their walls. They will fight to the death to defend the Seven.”
“Then it will be a battle for the world to remember. Singers will praise us for our victory, spreading the news to every corner of Westeros. Do not doubt our fearlessness, Dagmer. The men I fight alongside me have been pillaging since they learned to use an axe. I will fight with them again on the walls of Oldtown.”
“My King, it will be an honor if I may fight alongside you as well, defending your side from these faithless mongrels. If we will fall at Oldtown, the Drowned God will be glad to see me dead by your side.”
“You will not. You will command another attack on another wall. I need all walls equally strengthened or the weaker ones will be battered by the Andals. The Drowned God will praise us when we burn the city down.”
“Father, I” King Qhored interrupted, “No. You will not. That reminds me, I will not burn the Starry Sept once we take the city.”
“Your men will want to see it burn, as a reward for their efforts and a reward for the Drowned God.”
“They will, but I mean to milk the Andals of their faith. I will ransom the Sept. If they do not provide a sufficient ransom, the Sept will burn.”
“If I may ask, my King; what will this ransom be?”
The King turned to gaze at the meek waves brushing against the Iron fleet. He wondered what a worthy ransom would be in the eyes of the Andals. “A ransom this continent has never heard of. If they value their Gods, they will pay whatever we demand.”
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King Domeric was inhaling the fresh spring air from his battlements at the Dreadfort. This far north, the cold was not yet enough for the King to don his pink cloak. Domeric wore dark brown breeches under full chainmail and a leather jerkin, and a pair of black leather gloves. His newly forged crown sat atop his head, made of cold hard iron and garnets in the likeness of droplets of blood. He walked beside Karl Farcyde, his Master of Horse. The sun was beginning to set in the west, coloring the sky red and orange hints of yellow. “What of the Halfling?” spoke the King.
Domeric Bolton, King of the Dreadfort
“Nothing, your Grace; but Prince Vayon informs us that Lord Umber has been spotted north of the Dreadforts forests. His host is not large, however. The Prince believes King Beron,” Domeric interrupted, “You will not call him King. I am the King of the North. Beron Stark is a wildling, his father spilling his seed into her dear mother inside the walls of Winterfell. He has no claim. Continue.”
“Apologies, your Grace. The Prince believes the Halfling is camped in the forests with his main host. He will try to screen his way to the walls of the Dreadfort, I believe.”
“My son may well be right. The Halfling will try to starve us inside the Dreadfort, but I will not have it. With Ondrew Umber out of his castle, the Halfling is surely with him. We will prepare for our departure on the morrow. I plan to meet Beron on the field with the full force of the Dreadfort.”
“A wise decision, your Grace. Shall I prepare the men?”
“Not yet. Has my daughter made good time?”
“Yes, your Grace. She may reach Brandon Stark within the next few months.”
“Good. If she is as good a seductress as she is a liar, she will woo Brandon into a bed. With the Halfling dead, and her belly with his son, only a fool will continue this war. If he follows his cherished honor, though, I may well be sending him a hostage.”
“What if he claims her for a hostage, your Grace?”
“Then I will have another daughter. Make nothing of it. My bastard Ramsey is going to Wolf’s Den. He will support the defenses at the river north of the city if Brandon should think to cross. Lord Burley and Lord Flint have rallied their banners and march west as well. That should be sufficient defense against a youngling like Bran.”
“You are most cunning, your Grace.”
“One more thing, what of Flints Finger. Will they march against Moat Cailin?”
“Your Grace, Lord Flint of Flint’s Finger has held himself inside his castle. He fears a raid from the Ironborn across the bay at Rills. His men and commonfolk are held tightly in the castle until it is safe, he claims.”
King Domeric made a scowl at the setting sun. “The fool. The Ironborn come within a hundred leagues of his shores and he cowers in fear. Send a rider. The King of the North commands he march against Moat Cailin. The Ironborn have their own worries north of Rills. Only a fool would plunder Lord Flint’s castle.”
“As you command, your Grace.”
“We set out in a few hours, not on the morrow. Sound the horn, we march north.”
“As my King commands,” the Master of Horse pursed his lips around the dark red horn of House Bolton. Baaaaa-RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!
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Anders Yronwood, Bloodroyal
The day was hot and humid amid the Great Hall at Yronwood. The winds were absent today, the sun glaring down through the pale yellow panes of glass decorating the roof of the hall. King Anders decided on a golden silk robe inlaid with black gates of Yronwood around his sleeves. He was seated in his cushioned throne of light brown wood and iron, shaped in the likeness of the mountains surrounding the boneway pass. His sons Arron Yronwood and Quentyn Yroonwood entered the Great Hall through the main door. A herald announced their entrance. “All hail the Princes Arron and Quentyn Yronwood!” a trumpet played some notes, although the King could not make them out with his pounding migraine. Arron was a lean and handsome man, with the same light brown hair the King once had. It fell to his shoulders, combed nicely to flow with his steps. He wore leather breaches and jerkin under a robe of dark brown linen. Quentyn was more fashionable, however; donning a pale green robe of velvet, gold and red scrollwork flowing throughout his sleeves. He preferred a shorter haircut, a close-cropped head of dark brown, in the likeness of his mother.
His sons kneeled before the steps to his throne. Arron was the first to speak, “Your Grace, father. We arrived as soon as we could to meet Prince Oberyn and Princess Obella. May we have leave to greet them?” The King rubbed his fingers into his temples before he spoke.
“The Prince and Princess of Martell have left, Princes. I was left alone to court with them and discuss politics. Nonetheless, it was the hundredth time we did not decide upon a truce. I understand you were raising the banners at Kingsgrave, so I do not hold your tardiness against you.”
This time, Quentyn spoke. “Father, the lord of Kingsgrave is ready to march south at your command. Skyreach will fall within the month if we move hastily.”
“I had the same idea, but his bannermen will be held on reserve for now. I will need them should our main forces fall under the command of the Sword of the Morning. That is highly unlikely, however. There is a higher chance I will grow back my hair than he falls in battle.” The King’s court made delight of it, smirks and grins appearing on their faces.
Arron was not as fond of the words. “Father, Ryone Dayne will surely give us victories, but we cannot expect him to win them all. His forces will slowly dwindle. He cannot be expected to march to Sunspear by himself. I advise he wait for the forces at Kingsgrave to meet him; once Skyreach falls. The full force of Yronwood should march east together.”
Quentyn added, “Reinforcements march east as well, from Starfall, Hellholt, and Sandstone. There is also word that King Olyvar himself marches west.”
King Anders leaned back on his throne and peered up at the sun’s rays. “Aye, he challenges me to single combat in the eyes of the Seven for all of Dorne. He means to shame me in the eyes of all the Kingdoms if I deny. I am not as warm-blooded as he is though. I already replied to his challenge.”
Quentyn responded hastily, “If we may learn of this response, father. What did you say?”
“I told him to stay out of the sun. The heat devours his wits. Is he such a fool to believe I will fight him in single combat? Whomever lives or dies, none of us will bend the knee after one death. This war will only end when one or the other’s Houses are wiped from existence.”
Arron smiled at his words, but Quentyn appeared discontent. “Leave me now, my head is about to burst in this heat. I will hear my people’s grievances and return to my solar once the day is done. I expect both of you at my door come the morrow, we have tactics to discuss.”
Both his sons fell to one knee and bowed their heads, together singing “As my King and father commands.”
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Chapter 2
Preparing the Banners
Axell Gardener, The Warrior’s Son
Axell Gardener was walking along the battlements of Oldtown in the early morning. It was his favorite thing to do since arriving at Oldtown with the Warrior’s Sons and his Faith Militant. He had not seen a town or castle for years prior, gathering volunteers and training knights in the arts of chivalry throughout the Reach. He was expecting his nephew any time now, hoping he would bring with him the might of Highgarden. All week he donned his ceremonial dress; steel-plated armor buffed to a bright shine. A seven-pointed rainbow colored star decorated his breastplate, producing its own rays if the light struck at the correct angle.
The sun was rising in the east when Prince Martyn and the Knights of Highgarden were seen riding over the hills east of Oldtown. Axell could count no less than 300 knights behind the Prince, a worthy number. The sun’s rays pierced through the gaps of the riders, creating an aura of hope for the soldiers manning the cities walls. Levies and Warrior’s Sons alike united in a loud cheer, “HIGHGARDEN! HIGHGARDEN!! HIGHGARDEN!!!”
Axell strode to the entrance of the main gate as a large oaken door 4 feet thick opened as the portcullis in front of it began to rise. The commonfolk lined around the entrance, waiting to see their Prince in his shining armor and white destrier. Lord Gerold Hightower’s litter was seen down the long avenue, a large tented bed of white and grey silk, carried upon by six of his servants. “Make way for the Prince!” Axell heard himself shout.
Martyn Gardener was trotting into the city with a long column of knights behind him, all in steel plate and plumed green feathers on their helmets. A loud cheer went up throughout the commonfolk crowd. Spearmen on the battlements threw green colored roses down at their horses feet as the peasantry crowded around them and offered the knights white roses. It was going to be difficult to control the crowd. With no way for Martyn to move about, he looked for Axell, spotting him at the stairs leading down from the walls.
Axell caught his gaze, and made motion to the gatekeeper to disperse the crowd. A loud buzz came from the keeper’s horn, daaaa-REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! “Make way for the Prince! Make way for Prince Martyn!! Move about NOW!!!”
The crowd slowly dispersed, and Axell found himself standing aside the Prince atop his destrier. Martyn Gardener was a comely man in his twenties, with a close kept black beard and hair shined to a gleam.
“My Prince, the city erupts with your arrival. The men now know they fight behind the Prince and the Seven together.”
“Uncle, you look well. I expected no greater than this great welcome. However, I will leave on the morrow, with my knights.”
“You will not stay to await the Ironborn?”
“I will, but not inside the city.”
Lord Hightower made his arrival and stepped down from his litter. He moved toward the Prince and fell to one knee; An old bald man with a long silver-grey beard. “My Prince, Oldtown welcomes you. You are welcome in my palace as long as you desire.”
The Prince smiled toward his uncle, “Lord Hightower, rise. I am honored by such a welcome. Let us discuss the matters at hand.”
Axell, the Prince, and Lord Hightower rode to the tall white tower jutting towards the sky. It was the palace of the Hightowers, constructed of pale white stone and with a massive hearth burning at the top.
Inside the Lord’s solar, the three seated at the round white table. Lord Hightower was the first to speak.
“What news in the east? I have been informed that King Lancel marches south to Highgarden.”
“Aye,” spoke the Prince, “Prince Kevan as well. They will march straight for Highgarden, but it will be months before their arrival. Months more with Wilbert Osgrey and Emmon Tyrell fortifying the crossing at the Mander. Highgarden is recruiting more levies, and Lord Tarly rides west with the far-eastern forces of the Reach. We will have sufficient defenses to hold the Lannisters behind the Mander, I believe.”
Axell responded, “That is excellent news, my Prince. You mentioned you would be leaving on the morrow.”
Lord Hightower gaped his eyes at the words. “So soon, my Prince? The Ironborn are sailing towards Oldtown.”
“Aye, Lord Hightower has given me command of the defenses. I pulled back every ship into port save for a few scouting galleys. One reports that the Iron Fleet will soon enter the bay towards the city.”
The Prince gazed at the replica of the Hightower of Oldtown centered at the table. “Good. The sooner we defeat them, the sooner we can focus on King Lancel. Aye, I will leave on the morrow, but I will camp my men in the forests east of the city. I mean to surprise King Qhored when he decides to scale the walls of the city.”
“How so?” asked Axell.
“Let them storm the walls. They have no siege weapons. They will not damage them. When their forces are climbing to meet the Warrior’s Sons, I will appear over the hills with the might of Highgarden at my back. Not with 300 knights, but 300 knights and a full host of spears and swords. I will catch his tail and we will bite down on his raiders together. I cannot afford to have my entire army besieged inside the city. There is a risk of starvation and plague with tens of thousands of men in the city.”
“A most excellent plan, my Prince. However, the commonfolk and faith will sadden at your departure. The men on the walls will fight half as strong without you.” Mentioned Lord Hightower.
“I will not leave publicly. I will leave long before daybreak and disperse my knights at random intervals. Whether the commonfolk take notice or not, I will nonetheless return when the Ironborn strike. My camp in the forests is eager for battle, Lord Hightower. We will come in haste, do not worry.”
Axell caressed his chin as he thought over the strategy. “A most excellent idea, my Prince. We will await your reinforcements when the time comes.”
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