Night was wearing on around Riverrun, yet a pale red light danced in the fields and forests surrounding the castle. It drew nearer and soon he silence of the night was broken by a terrible din, the voices of thousands of men with malice in their heart. The Drox Host is come. Abelar wore his house colors proudly as dawn broke, slowly revealing the host gathered outside the castle. The outbuildings had already been torched and hundreds tracked down and killed. A grim, dolorous tune was heard growing louder as the army moved closer
Oh, not now for songs of a kingdom's wrongs,
not the groans of treachery labor;
Let the long-bow ring and the arrow sing
to the clash of the flashing sabre!
There are Wester ranks on the tented banks
of the Riverlord's guarded ocean;
And an iron clank from flank to flank
tells of armed men in motion.
And frank souls there clear true and bare
To all, as the steel beside them,
Can love or hate with the strength of Fate,
Till the grave of the valiant hide them.
Each seems to be mailed aright,
whose sword's avenging glory
Must light the fight and smite for Right,
Like Lann's in olden story!
With pale afright and panic flight
Shall dastard traitors base and hollow,
Hear a Wester race, from their battle place,
Charge to the shout of "Oaths unhallowed!"
By the soul above, by the land we love
Her tears bleeding patience
The sledge is wrought that shall smash to naught
The brazen liar of nations.
The Lefford Red no longer dead
as our fallen brethren bore it,
A burning wind from the West behind,
and the Northmen rout before it!
The Queen's red hand shall purge the land-
Rain a fire on men and cattle,
Till the Tully snakes in their own cold lakes
Plunge from the blaze of battle.
The knaves that rest on the Trident's breast,
and the voice of true men stifle;
we'll exorcise from the rescued prize-
Our talisman, the long-sword;
For a tyrant's life a dragonbone knife!-
Of Arryn knot dissolvers,
The best we ken are stalwart men,
Of sharp steel and slaughter!
Whoe'er shall march by triumphal arch
Whoe'er may swell the slaughter,
Our drums shall roll from the Capitol
O'er the Trident's fateful water!
Rise, bleeding ghosts, to the Lords of Hosts
For judgement final and solemn;
Your fanatic horde to the edge of the sword
Is doomed line, square, and column!
| Drox Host |
Commanders: Ser Abelar Lannister
12,734 Light Inf
6,374 Heavy Inf
674 Polearms
3,949 Archers
1,701 Light Cavalry
981 Heavy Cavalry
------------------
1,000 Light infantry
2,500 Westerlander Knights (heavy cavalry)
Skill: If fighting in the Westerlands, they gain +2 to rolls, subject to ratio calculations
these troops stationed one hex to the west as vanguard support troops.
|
Claws of the Lion
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