The Dreadfort

**Oznerol** · August 21, 2016, 02:41 PM

THE DREADFORT

The Dreadfort: House Bolton’s ancestral seat. Perched on a rocky hill and only accessible through a fearsome gorge, the castle once was a mere mud-and-wood fort from which the early Boltons taxed and tyrannized their serfs. Later on, when the Boltons already ruled as the Red Kings, from the Last River to the lands south of the Hornwood forest, the castle was rebuilt with stone foundations, becoming a fearsome fortress overlooking the nearby lands and Weeping Water's pale and gleaming surface. Thanks to its location and the redoubtable defences erected, House Bolton was able to maintain its independence for the many centuries to come. More recently, Lord Edwyle Bolton once again rebuilt the whole fortress with the help of Andal builders and draughtsmen, all of whom were killed and flayed after they demanded payment for their services. The Dreadfort thus become a castle almost as powerful to Winterfell itself and one of the very few fortresses entirely built in stone. How Lord Edwyle could fund such a grievously expensive enterprise it’s hard to explain, but it took forty years of forced labours and gross expenditure. The lands sworn to the Dreadfort, even after all these decades of House Stark’s continued depredation, are quite extense and yield a hefty yearly income; the wheat grown and harvested there is one of the very best in the whole North.

Ruling Through Intimidation: +2 to AI reaction rolls for its vassals.

House Bolton has a storied history, some even rumour the Night King was indeed a Bolton and the merciless rulers of the Dreadfort take pride on it. None are as fierce, unforgiving and ruthless than those born and bred between the tall walls of the Dreadfort, and we have unleashed more pain and bloodshed upon the North than they. Before they were subdued, the Red Kings extorted all the petty lords around their lands and enacted a bloody toll on those who rejected Bolton’s suzerainty. A long line of cold-hearted lords succeed the bloody kings after they were subdued by Stark’s unrelenting efforts. However, customs die hard, and the Bolton continued ruling through pain, fear and blood. Many pillories stand on the crossways and stone pillars with bronze rings loom over the villagers’ head; there Bolton displays their bloody trophies and the exemplar punishment delivered to those foolish enough to disturb peace on their lands. For through fear the Boltons have managed to rule over the most peaceful lands in the North. Lately, and since the last rebellion over a century ago, the lords of the Dreadfort have been more merciful and it’s told they didn’t flay their enemies anymore. Lady Cerenna’s gentle and firm rule has managed to keep a bloodless peace. Still, it’s stated by the smallfolk that deep inside the Dreadfort there’s a chamber where the flayed trophies of House Bolton are stored, including the leathery skins of several Starks. No-one knows. The past enmity between House Bolton and Stark is cold: Lord Artos granted his sister's hand in marriage to Jon Stark, King of the North; thus, House Stark's heirs bear the blood of the late Lord Arron Bolton.

LADY AND HOUSEHOLD

HOUSE BOLTON

~Our Blades are Sharp~

Lady Bolton

LADY CERENNA BOLTON

Status: Widow of Harrald ‘Longspear’ Bolton.
Children: Harrion Bolton (9).

Traits (8):
+2 Wealth: Able and resourceful.
+2 Charisma: Beautiful, with a soothing voice and charismatic.
+2 Survival: Nimble and graceful, has a robust health. Loves to ride and hunt.
+2 Battles: Expected to lead her men in battle.

BIOGRAPHY:
Lady Cerenna Bolton (31) was the sole surviving child of Lord Artos Bolton and his wife, the kind-hearted Lyra Woolfield. One after another, all

their male sons died while still on the cradle or were stillborn; the last one was to blame for Lady Lyra’s untimely death. Lord Artos was a man of high-stature, appetites and ambition, and could not be left without a wife, so he remarried to Erena Flint; a daughter was clearly an unfit heir for the Dreadfort and all its lands. However, he was grievously injured during a boar hunt, the wound got infected and Lord Artos died less than a year after marrying his nubile bride, who had an unfortunate miscarriage. Cerenna thus inherited all his lands. But, Cerenna’s father only bequeathed her the Dreadfort provided that she married Harrald ‘Longspear’, his long-time and most prominent retainer. Harrald was in fact Lord Artos’ second cousin; being a grandson of his grand-uncle Harras ‘One-Eye’ and he stood to inherit the keep after Bolton’s own daughter. ‘Longspear’ was thus dubbed for being certainly well-endowed and nor for fighting with a spear. Perhaps, it was his only remarkable trait, for he was mean, rude and wrathful.

Cerenna was expected to rule over a large domain, spreading from the Last River to the Sheepshead Hills. However, she was locked in a miserable marriage with the cruellest man formerly at his father’s service. Fortunately, he died only a mere year after Lord Artos’ death while fighting some raiders, leaving behind a relieved and pregnant widow. Since his husband died, Lady Cerenna took the reins and ruled more ably than both his father and husband: resourceful, wilful, iron-willed and authoritative, she was revered by the smallfolk and respected by her household retainers. Bolton refused to remarry, and her latest suitor, Cregan Redbeard, was publicly flogged for his improper and daring behaviour. She has been rumoured to have taken several paramours during her already long widowhood, but Lady Cerenna dismissed such petty whispering. Her son and heir, Harrion (still a boy barely past his ninth day of the name), is nothing like his late father and inherits both the looks and the character of Lady Bolton.

FAMILY TREE

UPGRADES

MILITARY

TRADE

VASSALS

**Gandalfus** · August 22, 2016, 10:42 AM

An offer of trade arrives from House Dustin. The Lords of Barrowton find that they need ample supplies of food to feed their soldiers, and in return are willing to pay with gold mined from the Barrow Hills.

**Pinkerton** · August 22, 2016, 06:34 PM

A letter arrived from the Rills, it was signed by Lord Norbert himself. It was a proposition of trade between the Dreadfort and House Ryswell's lands.

(Salted fish. +600 militia points, +1 charisma).

**Pontifex Maximus** · August 22, 2016, 06:44 PM

Yoren Glint-Fist arrived at the Dreadfort after a week's hard ride through light snows and freezing rains. The tall, plump man dismounted outside the ring fort and passed through the gates. Several of his attendants left to spend a few coppers at the inn on drinks or women. Yoren would have joined them but he was here to do business.

**Oznerol** · August 23, 2016, 03:29 AM

Originally Posted by Pontifex Maximus

Yoren Glint-Fist arrived at the Dreadfort after a week's hard ride through light snows and freezing rains. The tall, plump man dismounted outside the ring fort and passed through the gates. Several of his attendants left to spend a few coppers at the inn on drinks or women. Yoren would have joined them but he was here to do business.

The keep, rebuilt by Andals in stone, towered over his head, tall and fearsome. The Bolton banners fluttered with the wing, the flayed man screaming in agony. Before the first ring he could have witnessed the stone pillory, erected by late Lord Artos, currently unoccupied, but still bloody. On the fortified gatehouse, across the bridge, one could glance several rotting heads impaled over the gateway. Bolton ruled by fear and intimidation, even if Lady Cerenna had softened their customs of late. The courtyard was brimming with activity, dozens of men sparring, all of them clad in lamellar and mail hauberks; as per Stark's command, the Dreadfort was preparing itself for war. A truly old man, white-haired and long-bearded, approached the newcomer, coming from the keep; he wore leather, bronze plate and a cloak made from a bear's pelt. He looked still quite nimble and robust, having the frame of a much younger man.

"Be welcome to the Dreadfort. I am Hother Bolton, the Castellan"

**Pontifex Maximus** · August 23, 2016, 05:35 PM

"Well met." Yoren grumbled, shaking the snow from his shoulders. "I am Yoren, called the glint-fist by some. Steward of Winterfell. The King seeks to establish trade, and that is my mission here. But gods I have a thirst."

**Oznerol** · August 23, 2016, 05:41 PM

"Come, come"

The castellan ascended the wooden stairs leading to the raised entrance, then they traversed a vaulted room and entered a great hall through a staircase built in the wall. Once there they sat on a bench, near one of the large tables, the surface of which was burned and scarred by a thousand meals, feasts and drunk outbursts. The dais remained empty.

"Bring some wine you useless brat!"

He yelled to a frightened servant. Wine was brought. Hother grabs the servant arm in a very akward way before letting him go.

"Well Yoren, I fear your travel was for naught. Lord Ryswell sent a request several days before you arrived"

**Pontifex Maximus** · August 23, 2016, 05:44 PM

Yoren pulled off a massive wedge and stuffed it into his mouth, wiping his fingers no his surcoat. "And...Lord Ryswell...." he said between bites "Is not...the King." he concluded. He washed it down with some wine, belched, and smiled. "Do you take my meaning?"

**Oznerol** · August 23, 2016, 05:52 PM

Hother leaned his weight on the tabble.

"Perfectly"

He said, his unflinching gaze on the steward's.

"Lord Ryswell will be offended. And we might have need of salted fish when Winter comes. And Winter always ends coming"

Bolton stroke his white beard.

"What does the King offer?"

Beyond leverage.

**Pontifex Maximus** · August 23, 2016, 06:52 PM

"To Ryswell?" Yoren bit hungrily into a chicken leg

**Oznerol** · August 23, 2016, 06:57 PM

"To us. The Dreadfort has no use for that frozen pee, those trinkets you use as jewelry"

Said Hother, blunty. The old man wasn't friend of subtleties or niceties.

"But you might need our wheat... No-one ever has enough grain, ya' know"

**Pontifex Maximus** · August 23, 2016, 07:07 PM

"The gratitude of the King." he replied shortly, blistering at the insult "Or is that not good enough for House Bolton?"

**Oznerol** · August 23, 2016, 07:13 PM

"Of course, of course"

Said the castellan.

"We might sell those pebbles to the Skagosi. However, if King Rickard wanted grain he should have just requested it. The last crop was bountiful, we could have send him enough wheat to feed his army during the next campaign"

He drank from a decorated horn, heavily carved with wolves, stags and eagles.

"Don't be offended"

The castellan pats the other's man back strongly, enough to break a cat's spine.

"Drink"

He filled the other man's horn.

**Pontifex Maximus** · August 24, 2016, 06:39 AM

The chill leaving his bones, Yoren loosened up. "The King will be pleased." he concluded "Ryswell will be assuaged and House Bolton's friendship will not be forgotten." he concluded. "Now where is that cheese..."

**Oznerol** · August 24, 2016, 01:46 PM

Choke on it fatass

"I will tell her Ladyship how gallantly did her nephew asked for trade. She will surely come to appreciate your amber, ser, at least more than I do"

He orders more food to be brought.

"You are free sleep here tonigh, steward. The ride back Winterfell is quite tiresome"

**Pontifex Maximus** · August 24, 2016, 05:19 PM

"If only I was going back to Winterfell. I am off to Least Hearth next, to double the distance of my travels." he said miserably

**Oznerol** · August 24, 2016, 05:59 PM

"Pack this man two cheeses. The large ones"

Said the castellan.

"They come from Sheepshead Hills, close to the Hornwood. Good sheep, those, many were brought by Lady Lyra, Cerenna's mother, from Ramsgate"

Added Hother. He started walking towards another staircase, leading to the upper half of the keep.

"My blessings, steward"