The Fifth Blackfyre Rebellion

[Oznerol]

From the city of Tyrosh a great army rode out, its banners held high and its soldiers resplendent, their arms polished and their armor well oiled. At their head a tall foreboding figure sat atop a white destrier his blonde hair being blown back to reveal sharp almost regal features. Emblazoned upon his breastplate a three headed dragon can be made out. The man being none other than Haegon II Blackfyre, the Savior, the Star-Gazer, the Black Dragon, the King across the Sea. Marching with him the Golden Company; loyal men formed by ‘Bittersteel’ a generation ago, Along with sellswords, mercenaries, brigands, and hundreds of odd soldiers. The ships were lined in the great harbor, one by one the thousands upon thousands of men marshalled by the Blackfyre pretender made their way into the wooden bellies of the many galleys, carracks and large transports, swallowing them like voracious whales. The many ships covered the waters, like a floating forest. The flagship was a thing to behold, all painted black, with the red sails blowing in the morning wind. The many banners of Blackfyre and his exiled followers covered the gaze of any men standing in the decks, from black castles to fearsome bats, passing by an assortment of Essosi heraldic devices and bastardized coat of arms products of long years of exile and mingling with the continent's colorful inhabitants. With the army gathered and the sails ready, the fleet leaves the harbor amidst the song of trumpets and triumphal clarions, acompanied by the ominous rythm of the galleys' drums. And thus started the fifth attempt by the Blackfyre pretenders to seize what they considered their birthright.

[Gandalfus]

Bittersteel stood upon a galley of his own, venerable and powerful of stature still despite his advancing age. Youthful strength and vigour had given way to experience and grim determination, and though a much weaker warrior than in his prime he remained an extremely formidable opponent upon the battlefield, his command of the ways of war honed by decades of endless skirmishes and sieges in the Disputed Lands. This would be the last time he would cross the sea to Westeros. Aegor Rivers had vowed to either place Daemon's line on the Iron Throne at the fifth time of asking or die in the attempt. There would be no running. Not again.