GOT/ASOIAF: A Game Of Ice And Fire - Chapter 14
[TITLE “SEPTON” HAS LEVELED UP 5x!]
It seems I’ve finally found a way to properly gain experience for both of my new titles.
Added to the fact that the system had finally worked retroactively, acknowledging all my actions and skills in favor of the Faith of the Seven.
From the fact I was squire to a Kingsguard, study a lot about the Faith of the Seven, had made a generous donation to the High Septon, had won both the archery and melee in the first Tournament I participated in, worked tirelessly to perfect both Alchemy and Blacksmithing, and even acted as an extension of the Stranger himself.
Leveling up to become 5 level Knight and Septon as a result.
But the best part, and perhaps the most broken aspect, was that each level earned me two Perk Points.
Making me 20 PP richer.
As a level 5 Knight I’ve earned:
[DIVINE SMITE PERK UNLOCKED – COST: 2PP]
[At 2nd level, you gain the ability to imbue a weapon to deal radiant damage to your target, in addition to the weapon’s damage. The extra damage grows progressively stronger as you level it up. The damage doubles itself if the target is an undead or a fiend. *This perk is necessary to have access to “Harness Divine Smite”.]
[HARNESS DIVINE SMITE – REQUIREMENT NOT MET]
[At 3rd level, you gain the ability to use your Divine Smite to fuel your spells. As a bonus feature, you touch a holy symbol, utter a prayer, and instantly regain a bit of mana, how much of it depends on the level of this Perk. The number of times you can use this ability and feature per day is based on the level you’ve reached in this class: 3rd level, once; 7th level, twice; and 15th level, thrice.]
[DIVINE HEALTH PERK UNLOCKED – COST: 1PP]
[At 3rd level, divine magic begins flowing through you, making you immune to disease.]
Later…
As a level 5 Septon I’ve earned:
[CHANNEL DIVINITY PERK UNLOCKED – COST: 2PP]
[At 2nd level, you gain the ability to channel divine energy directly from your deities once per day, using that energy to fuel magical effects. You start with one effect: Turn Undead. *This perk is necessary to have access to “Harness Channel Divinity”.]
[*TURN UNDEAD]
[Each undead susceptible to its effect that can see or hear you within 10 meters of you is turned for 1 minute or until it takes any damage. A turned creature must attempt to move as far away from you as it can, and it can’t willingly move to a space within 10 meters of you.]
[**DESTROY UNDEAD]
[At 5th level, when an undead fails to resist your Turn Undead feature, the creature is instantly destroyed.]
[SELECT DIVINITY FEATUR…
So, at the moment I had 21 Perk Points to spend.
Some options were more for safety.
Like Divine Health, locking my immunity to disease would be a great safety net in case I went “astray” in the middle of an expedition to Sothoryos, the green hell.
And Lay on Hands would be a really neat upgrade to my Mending Cantrip and Healer Perk, but not an emergency yet.
Since I’ve grown fond of my Mental Map Perk and Observe Skill, I will be taking Divine Sense.
[-2 PP]
[19 PP remain]
Although my Valyrian Gladius already had the Infusion to deal Radiant damage, being capable of Harness Divine Smite into my Eldritch Blast would just make a boss in any Magical Dungeon.
Not to mention imbuing some Crossbow bolts with radiant damage and one shooting a horde of zombies.
[-2 PP]
[-1 PP]
[16 PP remaining]
Not to mention the usefulness of a field control Perk such as Channel Divinity.
[-2 PP]
[14 PP remaining]
For now I believe that will suffice.
—————————————————————
After a long time traveling through the Crownlands, it was refreshing to get away from the metropolitan Capital and emerge into the lush green Riverlands.
The King’s Road headed north, and we could see the mountains of the vale appearing on the horizon, but our carriage was taking us to a road eastwards, around the Antlers and approaching the massive castle named Harrenhal.
The very name of it conjured images of mighty ruined towers and whispers of curses, of legends of King’s follies and Dragon fire.
It has packed more history and tragedy into its three hundred year history than most Westerosi castles have in ten times that.
Such was its reputation that one might’ve expected the approach to it would be equally imposing, but it wasn’t.
These lands right into the middle of the Riverlands were lush and fertile, farms stretched out in every direction as far as one could see, all parts of the rich estate attached to Harrenhal.
This was flatland.
The castle was not built here for defensive purposes, it didn’t sit atop a crag or hill, nor was it bound on all sides by rivers like Riverrun was.
It was as if the builders were saying that the castle itself was enough.
So wellbuilt, so indomitable, that it didn’t need any other physical advantage.
Indeed, so large was it that it appeared on the horizon when we were still a day’s travel away, its walls and towers dark against the sky.
As we slowly approached, it grew to dominate our view like nothing else south of the wall would, and that included both the Erie and Casterly Rock.
Or so Tyrion said.
Huge, sprawling and ominous.
Harrenhal charred walls were in stark contrast to the sunlight blinking off the Godseye lake that loomed over.
Perhaps its immensity could best be described in comparison to another massive castle, one could fit at least three Winterfells inside Harrenhal’s curtain walls.
“I’ve never been to Winterfell.” Jalabhar admitted, having a hard time to understand my comparison.
“Bigger than the Red Keep, trust me.” Syrio helped me out.
These walls that now loomed above us were so high we could only see the tops of five towers inside, the shortest of these was half again as tall as the tallest tower in Winterfell.
The gatehouse our path led towards was on its own as large as Winterfell’s great hall, and awaiting us on the other side would be a Godswood seven times the size of Winterfell’s.
“Again, trust me, it’s quite big.” Syrio recalled one of his visits.
“But you are short man, anything must be big to you.” Thoros laughed.
“What’s your point?” Tyrion barged in, faking being offended at the comparison of heights.
“Let the prince continue his story.” Jalabhar said, still paying attention to what I was saying.
Both Sandor and Lothor remained silent, either hearing attentively or not caring at all.
To call Harrenhal impressively large would be an understatement.
But although the building of Harrenhal was undoubtedly an astonishing physical feat and it now dominated the landscape like little else in Westeros, we cannot ignore for any longer that it is but a shell of what it must have been when it was first built.
For although it is still in many ways a functioning castle, it is also a ruin, and has been since almost the day it was finished.
The tops of the five stone towers were, for want of a better word, melted.
Deep cracks run down its misshapen sides and the whole place was blackened and eerie.
The story of how it came to be that way was a familiar one to all students of Westerosi history.
“Eye.” Tyrion nodded grimly.
It was built under the orders of Harren the Black, who was the King of the Isles and Rivers before the Targaryens invaded; his kingdom extended from the Iron Islands right across the continent.
He was a vain man and wanted a castle to match his kingdom and ego, and to spread fear among his enemies.
“Like most Ironborn bastards.” Thoros joked.
Harren ordered the construction of the largest castle in Westeros, and not just the largest by a little bit, he wanted something that dwarfed all others.
“Heh!” Thoros laughed.
“Not one word.” Tyrion replied in a friendly manner.
So, for forty years, slaves and subjects alike put stone on stone, day after day.
The weirwood grove that had stood on this spot for millennia was cut down and used in the construction.
Harrenhal took form and it was everything Harren the Black had dėsɨrėd, he felt invulnerable inside its walls.
But his confidence was no more than hubris.
“I told you.” Thoros announced puffing his ċhėst before noticing his wineskin was already empty.
It was said that the day the last stone of Harrenhal was set in place was the very day that Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys landed on the continent, demanding that all lords and kings of Westeros bend the knee to them.
Harren refused.
He had Harrenhal after all and believed that nothing could harm him inside his mighty castle.
But of course, the Targaryens had Dragons, and Balerion the Black Dread, the mightiest Dragon of them all, flew overhead and burned him alive in his castle.
Balerion’s flame was so hot that the very stones of the stronghold melted and deformed, leaving it the smoking husk that it is today.
“Almost poetic that The Black Ironborn would be cooked alive by the Black Dread.” Tyrion mused to himself and Jalabhar nodded in agreement.
Since then, it has passed from house to house, with tragedy never far behind.
The line of House Qoherys ended with murder, House Harroway were the victims of Maegor the Cruel rage, House Towers was simply died out for the lack of heirs, the Lord of House Strong died in a fire, House Lothston descended into insanity and so on.
“All silence by the God of death.” Syrio remarked, finally understanding a little about Westerosi history.
There’s a good reason why people say that this place is cursed, and yet it stands here.
Too immense to ignore, too iconic to leave completely to ruin, so massive that it would take an army to garrison and so feared that few would willingly stay here.
Broken and ruined, and yet was still breathtaking to me.
The seven of us stared at it as the Lannister retinue made its way inside.
Courtesy of Lady Whent.
—————————————————————
Making small talk with the Lady of the castle who had offered us the guest rights, I trusted Tywin to do the rest of the talking until we were ready to leave, so I left my unofficial party behind and went exploring.
Since I’ve got close enough to this place, my Divine Sense has been tingling, telling me this place was cursed.
So I concluded the good old Harren the Black had somehow gotten his hands on some sort of blood magic curse or shadow binding hex that he performed as a middle finger to the Targaryens who might’ve attempted to use his castle.
Sadly I knew not of how to lift a curse, and I believe Thoros was not yet a firm believer of the Faith he preaches.
Regardless, the effects only seemed to actually affect people after months of prolonged exposure to the miasma.
So I continued my quest…
As I mentioned previously, the gatehouse was immense, as all of Harrenhal was.
I counted a dozen of muder holes above our heads as we had passed through, and it was clear that the curtain wall wasn’t just prodigiously high, it was also thick.
Stupidly thick.
The scale of everything here was nothing less than overwhelming.
But as tempting as it was to just stand and stare at the immensity of it, I decided to take a wander, for it really would take days to explore every nook and hidey hole here.
Everything I have seen or experienced in the Red Keep was here, only bigger.
There was a stable, of course, except this one could house a thousand horses.
There was a bear pit with six tiers of marble sitting around it.
The Great Hall was called the hall of a hundred hearts, but if I was to be picky here, then there were probably only thirty-something.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve read that plenty of noble houses have only one fireplace in their Great Hall.
Two or three would be a luxury even for a King, but more than thirty?
I believe that speaks more of the ego of the man that ordered the construction of this place than the actual need to heat this, admittedly, cavernous room.
Moving on…
The kitchens were in a peculiar domed building.
Beyond that, were the barracks, sleeping quarters were a set above an armory with its own forge and beyond this…
The thing I’ve been looking for.
The Godswood.
At twenty acres it took quite some time to cross, even with my Running Skill.
I’ve mentioned previously that it was seven times the size of Winterfell’s Godswood, the irony of course was that this was never even intended to be a place of worship, or somewhere important in the castle.
Since Harren the Black was an Ironborn, he had no need or respect for weirwood trees or the people who revered them.
So this Godswood was here just because he wanted to have the biggest Godswood of Westeros.
The Heart Tree itself, perhaps appropriately given the number of weirwood trees that were chopped down to help build this castle, had a twisted and a terror-filled face on it, its red eyes seeming to stare with unmitigated venom at all who come close.
I walked straight up to the tree, curious.
My eyes roamed the bark of the trunk until I focused on the face carved into it.
Just like the show and books described, the eyes seemed to follow me.
And the oppressive weight of the gaze was almost enough to make me into a believer immediately.
But I would hate to become an Oathbreaker or Forsaker so soon without even trying.
Expecting to feel something I reached out and put a hand on the tree.
Immediately a window popped up to me.
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO BECOME A ‘DRUID’?]
[YES/NO]
I read through everything the window showed me quickly and efficiently.
I could become a Druid …easily by selecting yes.
And it didn’t seem to conflict with my allegiance to the Faith of the Seven.
For the hell of it, I read through the entire thing one more time to see if anything changed.
I just couldn’t get over how broken this was.
It was all but decided.
I looked at the prompt in front of me and accepted the title.
=================================
[NEW TITLE ACQUIRED!]
[YOU ARE NOW A DRUID!]
[TITLE “DRUID” HAS LEVELED UP!]
[TRUE TONGUE PERK UNLOCKED – COST 1PP]
[You know True Tongue, the secret language of the Children of the Forest. The language originated from the sounds of the natural world that the children of the forest were surrounded by. When speaking the True Tongue, the children were described as sounding like the wind through leaves, rain on water, or the sound of stones in a brook. Their songs were said to sound as beautiful as they were, with their voices as pure as winter air. You can speak the language and use it to leave hidden messages. You and others who know this language automatically spot such a message. Others can also spot the message’s presence with great difficulty but can’t decipher it without magic. In addition, it is possible for ravens to speak the True Tongue, and they can be made to repeat words in it in order to send messages over great distances.]
[BLOCKED PERK – REQUIRES HIGHER LEVELS]
[BLOCKED PERK – REQUIRES HIGHER TITLE LEVELS]
[BLOCKED PERK – REQUIRES HIGHER TITLE LEVELS]
[BLOCKED PERK – REQUIRES HIGHER TITLE LEVELS]
…
+50% Poison Resistance
+25% Fire Damage Resistance
+25% Ice Damage Resistance
Whether calling on the elemental forces of nature or emulating the creatures of the animal world, druids are an embodiment of nature’s resilience, cunning, and fury. They claim no mastery over nature, but see themselves as extensions of nature’s indomitable will.
With a power that hails from regions that have strong ties to the Feywild and its dreamlike realms. They provide guardianship of the natural world, making for a natural alliance between them and good-aligned fey while seeking to fill the world with dreamy wonder. Their magic mends wounds and brings joy to downcast hearts, and the realms they protect are gleaming, fruitful places, where dream and reality blur together and where the weary can find rest.
Made up of mystics and sages who safeguard ancient knowledge and rites through a vast oral tradition. Some meet within sacred circles of trees or standing stones to whisper primal secrets in True Tongue. The wisest members preside as the chief priests of communities that hold to the Old Faith and serve as advisors to the rulers of those folk. Their magic is influenced by the land where they were initiated into the path’s mysterious and long forgotten rites.
Fierce guardians of the wilds, gathering under the full moon to share news and trade warnings. Haunting the deepest parts of the wilderness, where one of them might go for weeks on end before crossing paths with another humanoid creature, let alone another druid. Changeable as the moon, a druid might prowl as a great cat one night, soar over the treetops as an eagle the next day, and crash through the undergrowth in bear form to drive off a trespassing monster. The wild is in the druid’s blood.
Communing with the spirits of nature, especially the spirits of beasts and the fey, and calling to those spirits for aid. They recognize that all living things play a role in the natural world, yet they focus on protecting animals and fey creatures that have difficulty defending themselves. They ward off monsters that threaten them, rebuke hunters who kill more prey than necessary, and prevent civilization from encroaching on rare animal habitats and on sites sacred to the fey. Many of them are happiest far from cities and towns, content to spend their days in the company of animals and the fey creatures of the wilds. They someo oppose forces that threaten their charges or seek knowledge and power that will help them safeguard their charges better. Wherever they go, the spirits of the wilderness are with them.
But some find beauty in decay. They see within mold and other fungi the ability to transform lifeless material into abundant, albeit somewhat strange, life. They believe that life and death are parts of a grand cycle, with one leading to the other and then back again. Death isn’t the end of life, but instead a change of state that sees life shift into a new form. They have a complex relationship with the undead. They see nothing inherently wrong with undeath, which they consider to be a companion to life and death. But they believe that the natural cycle is healthiest when each segment of it is vibrant and changing. Undead that seek to replace all life with undeath, or that try to avoid passing to a final rest, violate the cycle and must be thwarted.
Draw on the power of starlight, tracking heavenly patterns since time immemorial, discovering secrets hidden amid the constellations. By revealing and understanding these secrets, they seek to harness the powers of the cosmos. Some druids keep records of the constellations and the stars’ effects on the world. Some groups document these observations at megalithic sites, which serve as enigmatic libraries of lore. These repositories might take the form of stone circles, pyramids, petroglyphs, and underground temples, any construction durable enough to protect the sacred knowledge even against a great cataclysm.
Others understand that destruction is sometimes the precursor of creation, such as when a forest fire promotes later growth. Bonding with a primal spirit that harbors both destructive and creative power, allowing them to create controlled fires that burn away one thing but give life to another.
Some even seek to exterminate undead creatures and preserve the natural cycle of life and death that rules over the cosmos. Their magic allows them to manipulate the boundary between life and death, sending their foes to their final rest while keeping their allies from that fate. Some druids seek out lands that have been tainted by undeath. Such places are grim and foreboding. Once vibrant forests become gloomy, haunted places devoid of animals and filled with plants dying a slow, lingering death. They go to such places to banish undeath and restore life.
[ASTRAY]
A Druid who has lost his way typically seeks guidance from the Old Gods in front of a Weirwood Tree.
The lost sheep will then spend an all-night vigil seeking inner peace and altering their state of mind, or undertake a fast or similar act of self-denial, an act of letting go of the self as with altruistic abstinence, the willingness to forgo personal pŀėȧsurės or undergo personal trials in the pursuit of the increased good of another.
After a rite of understanding, the Druid starts fresh.
Until then, they lose all their initial benefits as a Druid, safe for bought perks.
[*THE CHILDREN OF THE FOREST WILL ACKNOWLEDGE THAT DURRANDON BARATHEON IS A DRUID AFTER SPENDING SOME TIME IN HIS PRESENCE*]
=================================
Oh, the poison resistance was a very welcomed addition.
Perhaps I will be lucky enough to find another title that will grant me what’s remaining to make me fully immune, to one being able to drink Manticore’s poison as if it was just water.
And the 25% of resistance to both Ice and Fire Damage added to my Skill made me capable of enduring the harsh winters on the north, or the harsh summers in Dorne.
Although not nearly as resistant to resist dragon’s Fire or the White Walkers frosty touch.
But the True Tongue Perk solved a problem I came across, since humans weren’t physically capable of reproducing its sounds.
[-1 PP]
[15 PP remain]
What else could help me level this title?
Would it be against the Faith of the Seven to start planting Weirwood trees?
Was it even possible to plant one of those?
…
As I amble about elsewhere, drinking in my surroundings, a few thoughts spring to mind.
I had countless times noted the scale of the buildings, which was apparent inside and out.
The ceilings of most of them were far higher than normal, for example, and the steps wider.
This was impressive, but the implications of this scale were obvious.
To man the castle when it was first built must have taken an entire army, and to feed that army, and keep the building maintained, while maintaining it provisioned and warmed… would have required many thousands more civilians.
It would be wrong to think of this as merely a castle, it was a small city.
Just to keep it going and heat those massive rooms would cost astronomical sums of money, and perhaps that was why Harrenhal has never been rebuilt or fully occupied since the Targaryens invaded.
To repair it and to run it would be financially crippling for any noble family, and if they did, which King would want a rival in a stronghold such as this.
Harren the Black may have been guilty of hubris in the extreme to imagine that his castle could withstand Dragon fire, but if there were no Dragons, this would undoubtedly be the mightiest castle in the land.
Nevertheless, some of the castle was still in use, and has been since Harren’s downfall, it was too amazing of a structure to just abandon.
The ground floors of most buildings are still in use, or parts of them at least, but three of the five main towers have been abandoned completely.
Standing at the foot of even the shortest of these towers, I had to crane my neck to see the top.
And it’s clear that the blackned, charred and melted are just part of the damage that has been sustained, in three centuries of neglect.
Great cracks run down the blackned side of all the towers, the original masonry was excellent, but Balerion the Black Dread has left his mark.
The original names of this towers are now lost to history, but they are now known as:
The Tower of Dread.
The Wailing Tower, which got its name by the agonizing howl of the north wind through the fissures in the stone there.
Its noise reaches almost every corner of the castle, and the more supernaturally minded say it’s the wail of the dead killed here by Dragon fire.
There’s the Tower of Ghosts, before which lies a vast ruined sept.
The Widow’s Tower, was connected via a vertiginous curving bridge to Kyngspyre Tower, the largest and tallest of them all.
It was these last two towers that were still in use, the bottom third of them at least.
And there was nothing else for it.
Ascending the broad spiral staircase of Kyngspyre Tower, this was where the Lord’s chambers were.
As one would expect, they were spacious and as well cared for as any part of the castle.
But the higher I got, the more it became apparent that this tower was leaning, weighed down on one side by slagged stone which had melted and run down the side of the tower until it sat once more, in an unnatural looking globules of stone.
As the lean became more pronounced the higher I got, so too did the proportions of the insides become more… unnervingly misshapen.
There were no torches this high up, so I had to cast a ball of light using Minor Illusion, and on some floors the windows were completely covered over by stone, or at least where I think the windows once should have been.
And eventually, the stairwell itself becomes too twisted for regular people to continue.
Thanks to my Climbing and Balance skills, I was now not risking falling like Bran did in the beginning of the books.
The highest room in the highest towers wasn’t what I was expecting.
The flutter of leathery wings echoed softly downwards for me from the roof of the top of this tower, bats I ȧssume, although it was hard not to imagine it was the echo of Balerion the Black Dread.
Searching around with both Observe and Divine sense, I notice a familiar piece of golden paper stuck in between a fissure on the wall.
Grinning from ear to ear, I proceed to read the clues for my next Magical Dungeon.
Thankfully I had already made myself acquainted with the Castle’s Layout.
But as I stood at the highest room of Harrenhal, I could see southwards, through a ruined window on the wall, and the view was a beautiful one, out of the Godseye lake twinkling in the afternoon sun.
The water seemed flatter and still from up here, with just the occasional boat picking its way across to Harrentown far below me on the shores of the lake.
But my eyes were drawn to the distance, to the Island in the middle of the lake, the Isle of faces.
A reddish and greenish burst of color that somehow seemed shrouded in mist, even in this fine weather.
Perhaps one day I will sail there and see what I can find, but for now, I am going Dungeon hunting.
—————————————————————
As I sliced what must’ve been the thousandth undead under this cold and dark place, having put to test both my resistance against poison and necrotic damage, I blasted the four beams of Eldritch Blast and got rid of the last remaining zombies.
Couldn’t believe my luck that I’ve actually got my hands in so many Perks optimal for dealing with undeads, otherwise I’m sure I would’ve taken an entire day of nonstop fighting to get through this dungeon.
Which certainly would have prompted Tywin and my unofficial party to begin searching for me throughout Harrenhal.
But by my account, it would still take around an hour until the sun rises.
And they still thought I was resting in the room Lady Whent provided to me.
I almost felt sorry to leave her exposed to this castle curse.
Speaking of it, as I reached the literal end of the tunnel, I came face to face with a familiar wall.
Though this one wasn’t a plain bricklayer like all the others.
It had some carvings that, if my Heraldry skill served me right, represented basically all of the entire Houses in Westeros.
This certainly got my attention.
Thrusting my fist inside the central triangular hole on the wall, I waited as the solid pieces of stone rose up, prompting the entire chamber to shake.
Even now, after learning the True Tongue, I still heard the familiar whispers in a mysterious language greeting me and probably congratulating me for completing this dungeon.
Walking inside the treasure room, I noticed that the massiveness and luxury of Harrenhal was carried over to this chamber.
A massive version of the already big circular room under the Red Keep, lit by even more torches spread around its walls.
And at the center, another massive ċhėst could be seen.
Noticing the video of mosaic tiles depicting what looked like a black skull was certainly unexpected, but even more than that was what I got as loot from the treasure ċhėst.
[BOOK OF BASIC NECROMANCY]
[BOOK OF INTERMEDIATE NECROMANCY]
No Valyrian Steel weapon or actual Spell Book.
But I actually got another potion.
[POTION OF ULTIMATE MAGIC]
[A POTION THAT COMPLETELY RESTORES THE DRINKER’S MANA BAR]
Although this time I only got one, which would make testing with it even more hard.
Well, at least I still got the good and old piles of gold.
But before I made my way to leave, my Mental Map called my attention to a peculiar silver ring that framed the Black Skull on the ceiling I had previously inspected.
The silver ring had countless carvings, that to the regular eye didn’t seem like much, but looking carefully with my Observe skill, I almost gasped.
Some of the signals stood for the Castles I’ve already completed.
But I was sure I had never noticed it in the previous Dungeons.
While the entrance and exit to the treasure rooms were usually opposite one another in the circular rooms I’ve been visiting after exploring the Magical Dungeons, I noticed a carving in between them that really resembled a doorframe.
But it was placed against a plain wall.
Wiping the wall with my hand, a window popped up.
[INTERDUNGEON TRANSPORT GATE]
[A method of long-distance transportation between cleared dungeons.]
[WARNING! Players must first clear all the Great castle’s dungeons in each Kingdom, in order to be allowed to transport themselves to a specific destination]
You must me fuċkɨnġ with me.
Can I really unlock fast travel like this?
That’s just too Game-changing, or perhaps even Game-Breaking.
But I’m not complaining.
Perhaps just a little.
‘Great castles’?
Are you referring to the Great Houses?
Let me see…
North obviously has Winterfall, Vale has the Erie, Riverlands has Riverrun, Westerlands has Casterly Rock, the Iron Islands has Pyke, the Reach has Highgarden, Stormlands has Storm’s End and Dorne has Sunspear.
Thankfully I already got the Red Keep from the Crownlands, so it’s 1 out of 9.
Man, that’s gonna take quite some time.
Regardless, I got some books of necromancy to study, my gold to spend and potion to study.
Perhaps this transport gate was meant to be more of an endgame feature.
But one thing was sure, if I was once unsure about making Harrenhal mine one day, I no longer was.
I will achieve what Harren himself failed to.
For now I will continue my travel towards Casterly Rock.
As the sun rose and Tywin’s retinue began preparing to move on, I came out of my room and had Sandor follow me towards the others.
Oh, and I had managed to seduce a pretty servant named Pia.
A pretty, giggling girl, she was sweet and simple. And if I recalled correctly, would eventually have a reputation for promiscuity
I’ve managed to have her agree to travel with me so we could continue to know each other.
—————————————————————
Traveling north along the King’s Road was a pretty but tiresome journey.
To the west flowed the Green Fork River, deep wide and uncrossable for hundreds of miles south of the Twins.
And to the east, the mountains of Arryn rose up, the impenetrable but for the occasional donkey track heading off towards promised passes through the mountains.
Main problem further along would be the vicious Vale mountain clans.
Very few paths branch off of the main road and there are fewer travelers than one might expect for the kingdom’s main arterial road.
But eventually, the King’s Road did start to pass through settlements once more, as we entered the Riverlands proper.
Lord Harroway’s town was probably worth a
mention as it was technically the last
crossing point over the river south of
the Twins.
It was here that the Green Fork River merged with the Blue Fork and the Red Fork, three rivers merging into one, the Trident River.
Although now the home of house Roote, Haraway was still named after House Haraway who were the unfortunate victims of King Maegor the cruel.
He took Alys Harroway as his second wife, but then his third wife convinced him that Alys was having a series of affairs, something he clearly
allowed himself to do but wouldn’t allow his wife to.
Maegor’s response to this possibly even untrue allegation was to wipe out every living Harraway, men, women and children.
He was not called Maegor the Cruel for nothing.
Today, Harraway the town was a simple place, much like any other, with a Sept, a round stone tower and an inn.
The ferry itself however was a bit of an oddity.
It was a wide flat bottomed boat decorated with carved horse heads and possessing a wooden house on its deck.
It was perfect for traders and travelers who
wanted to get across and didn’t mind helping with the rowing, but it would take an eternity to get an army across the river here.
For that they would need to travel a few miles further south, to the Ruby Ford.
The Ford was not new, but it wasn’t always called the Ruby Ford, in fact that was quite a recent name.
For it was here that the decisive battle of my father’s rebellion took place, as in all good tales of war and rebellion though, this seemed to have actually happened, the heir to the throne Rhaegar Targaryen and the Pretender to the throne Robert Baratheon found themselves facing each other in the middle of a battle, and
became locked in single combat.
For a time they were well matched, but eventually Robert brought his Warhammer crashing down on Rhaegar’s ċhėst, killing him instantly.
Rhaegar’s brėȧstplate was encrusted with many hundreds of rubies arranged in the shape of a mighty dragon, as Robert’s Warhammer caved in Rhaegar’s ċhėst the rubies went flying in every direction.
The battle was won.
Rhaegar forces were routed and the survivors soon turned to scrabbling in the mud and blood of war’s aftermath, seeking the rubies.
Even now, several years later, some claimed to have found some of them that had washed up miles downstream.
So the Ford became known as Ruby Ford.
But let us go on just a short distance further.
My destination now was a place equally steeped in history but much less celebrated.
I have and will continue to spend most of my travel seeking castles and palaces, but these were the homes of only a small fraction of the population of Westeros.
For most people, their lives were concentrated more on the field and family home, and for relaxation at an inn.
And the most famous and central inn on the entire continent was the Inn at the Crossroads.
As the name implies, it stood at a crossroads.
North on the King’s Road takes you to Winterfell and the Wall, south takes you to King’s Landing, go east from here and the high road takes you to the Eyrie and the Vale of Arryn, westwards along the River Road leads to Riverrun and Casterly Rock.
It’s hard to say how long an inn has stood here, but this building before me dates back to the reign of Jaehaerys the first, and at various times has been called the Two Crowns in honor of Jhaeherys and his Queen Alyssane; The Bellringer and the Clanking Dragon as well as several other names.
It was a three-story building surrounded by a low white wall; a thatched stable building lay separate to the main inn as did a bell tower.
The inn itself is undistinguished as buildings go other than a few white stone turrets and the curiosity that part of it the rooms on the south side were built on pilings.
Apparently when it was built, the Trident River passed underneath, and guests in those rooms could lean out and fish for their supper if they so wished.
The Trident has of course changed its
course through the countryside since then and what was left is a patch of soggy weed ridden ground underneath the inn.
But I didn’t come here to stare at weeds.
Going in, the air inside the inn was heavy with smoke from the roaring fire, the smell of roasting meats wafts from the kitchen, mingling with that of ale and wine, and to be frank if it has been raining damp leather from the cloaks of
passing travelers.
The wonder of this place was that it was a stopping off point for everyone, lords and ladies stood here while on their travels as the merchants and traders, local farmers gather here in the evenings and soldiers from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms drink and talk and gamble here.
The crossroads made for odd companions; dyers with black and purple hands shared a bench with rivermen reeking of fish, an ironsmith thick with muscle squeezed in beside a wizened old septon, hard-bitten sellswords and soft plump merchants swapped news like boon companions.
The politics of the Seven Kingdoms was not forgotten here, but this was as close as there was to neutral ground in the Game of Thrones.
This was my kind of place.
All kinds of people from all corners of the realm mingling, chatting and sharing bread.
There was a ready supply of Dornish red, a minstrel tuning up in the corner and a knight in a warm bed to look forward to.
After so many nights on the road, this was hospitality and community.
While some of the major individuals at Tywin’s retinue enjoyed their second rest in this calm and pleasant place, I noticed Lord Lannister himself staring at me from time to time, probably trying to understand why I had requested that we make a pause here.
Letting Thoros challenge the others for a drinking and singing contest, I sneaked out when nobody was looking, casted Disguise Self and went to greet the establishment.
A few Gold Dragons was more than enough to have a letter be sent to Chataya detailing what sort of business I was expecting to have between this Inn and her Tavern.
Besides, I had paid in advance to have one of my half siblings living in the Stoney Sept taken care of.
Bella Rivers if I’m not mistaken.
And to my great satisfaction, I’ve managed to locate the most notorious sellsword of the TV Show.
Bronn, son of you-wouldn’t-know-him.
A tall man, thin and hard as a bone with a wolfish smile, and was as quick as a cat, if his Mobility stat was to be believed.
With his black sense of humor, and a pragmatic, thoroughly amoral philosophy I was sure he would fit right in amongst my unofficial party.
Though my Observation skill continued to inform me of some random piece of information about the people I used it on.
This time for example, it said that Bronn was…
A fuċkɨnġ Rayne?!
Now that’s just utter crap.
Well… at least he didn’t seem to know.
Besides, It is an alternative universe I’m living in.
Since both Jaime and Cersei were children of the Mad King, and Young Griff was a Blackfyre, why not this.
But seriously, this kinda makes me worried about what else is different from canon.
What else, will Jon Snow actually be the son of Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne?
—————————————————————
Traveling upriver to Raventree Hall, home of the mysterious house Blackwood.
As I approached, trudging slowly uphill from the river, it was hard not to imagine this as a northern castle, despite being firmly rooted in the Riverlands.
The curtain wall was high and ancient and covered in moss with massive towers at each corner and the gatehouse flanked with two more huge towers.
Even from outside the walls, House Blackwood’s massive Weirwood Tree was visible against the skyline.
And of course, there’s a reason for this.
House Blackwood are descended from the first men like most northerners.
Indeed, legend has it that before the rise of House Stark and the kings of winter they ruled a vast swath of what was now thought of as the North, including the mighty Wolfswood.
But they like everyone else in the north eventually had to bow to the Starks, and they were driven southwards ending up where they are now.
And they clearly landed on their feet, for they ruled as kings over the river lands during the
Age of Heroes, around which time, or perhaps a little later, started their feud with House Bracken.
This is surely the longest-running and bitterest feud between two major houses in all of
Westeros.
I will come back to that in just a moment because me and my grandfather’s retinue have now just reached the gates of Raventree Hall.
As I described it from the outside, it was more of a castle than a hall, an impression underlined by the secured gatehouse I passed through and the moat I passed over.
But now, as I stood in the muddy outer bailey and looked up at what lay inside, it was clear that this was a defensive structure on the outside only.
There is no squat stone built Keep here, with narrow arrow slits for windows, no… there is a hall, wooden and tall.
And as I go in, it is hard to dislike, woollen tapestries hang from the walls, and large windows let the light in.
The main hall itself was nothing less than cavernous.
But it’s the Lord’s solar that I was heading to.
It was at the back of the building, and despite the dark wood beams of the walls, floor and ceiling, it feels airy and spacious.
Most of the light in this room comes through the
large windows and lattice work doors that
look out over the Godswood.
And it is impossible to look out over this God’s
Wood without being awestruck by the colossal weirwood tree at its heart.
It is surely the largest south of the wall, even said to be bigger than the one at Winterfell, but it is also very much dead, its trunk and branches petrifying slowly over the centuries.
And this is at the heart of the feud I mentioned earlier with House Bracken, for the black woods
claimed that millennia ago the Bracken’s poisoned the tree, killing it.
This wasn’t the start of the feud that happened well before the Andal invasion as the Brackens jostled with the ruling Blackwoods for power.
But after the invasion, their political rivalry became a religious one too.
The Brackens converted to the faith of the seven while the Blackwood stayed true to the faith of
their forebears.
There are territorial disputes as well that have lasted centuries, if one traveled a few miles east
from here to the village of Black Buckle, they would find themselves in lands still claimed by both Houses.
There have been many attempts at peace, including one period of 300 years where the
descendants of a bastard born of both houses ruled, but these have always seemed to end with cries of bloody betrayal on one side or the other.
But it was nearly dusk and so nearly time for the daily spectacle I have heard so much about.
One hears it before they see it, the cause and cries of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Ravens rising to a crescendo as they approach, as they do every night.
And I could understand what they were saying.
Some echoed the past while others sent messages that I ȧssumed were being exchanged by the remaining Children of the Forest.
Turning the twilight sky dark with their maelstrom of wings before settling as one, on the weirwood
tree, roosting for the night before setting off again when dawn breaks.
They have done this everyday, for thousands of years.
It was how Raventree Hall got its name, and house Blackwood its distinctive coat of arms.
It was also a reminder of perhaps the most famous son of Blackwood, Brynden Rivers, Bloodraven.
His mother was Melissa Blackwood, and his nickname Bloodraven came from his birthmark, but also as a nod to his heritage here.
More recently, Black Betha Blackwood was queen consort to Aegon V, egg to his friends.
This may seem like a genealogical footnote, but it means that the Targaryen bloodline today, or what was left of it, was part Blackwood, and quite a strong part.
Aegon’s son Jhaeherys married his sister, and their son the Mad King married his sister, so their children were also a large part Blackwood.
I wonder how Rhaenys was doing without me.
Certainly I’ve trained her enough to make me trust her skill, otherwise I would have forbidden her from continuing her night raids without me.
But enough of history lessons.
Let me instead enjoy the coming pleasant early evening in Lord Blackwood solar at his invitation and this unique view over the Godswood, the massive white tree covered in black Ravens merging into gray in the evening’s gloom.
This would be the last time someone would see it like that.
One of my relatives from the Frey House even came to visit me since I couldn’t visit the Twins without risking traveling through winter before arriving at Casterly Rock.
His name was Cleo Frey, son of Genna Lannister and Emmon Frey, and father of a boy named Tywin.
Not a very impressive man, much like the rest of his miserable family, but I saw an opportunity to have him around during my stay at the Crownlands.
Back to the most interesting part about the castle.
Approaching the massive white branches of an ancient weirwood tree that could be seen from any point on the castle grounds, and sneaked past the guards at the front gate to the Godswood.
I had no idea why they would waste the manpower guarding such a place, were they really afraid that someone would attempt to poison an already “dead” weirwood tree?
As I continued to follow the path, which was lined with roses, and other pretty flowers along the way, I concluded that Lord Blackwood obviously spent a lot of gold and manpower on the upkeep of the Godswood.
I turned a corner in the Godswood, and suddenly I could see it again.
This close to it, I noticed how the trunk was absolutely massive.
If one were to hollow it out and make a bed out of it I was certain that an average man could lay in it, spread eagle and not touch the walls.
Well it looked dead at least, from what I could see of the bark on the trunk.
I walked up to it, becoming more curious the closer that I got.
There was a face carved on to the tree, like any other weirwood.
Except this one wasn’t weeping red sap.
But if it’s dead, why haven’t the branches fallen or broken from a windy day?
Was it merely because that weirwood didn’t rot?
I reached my right hand out to the tree.
I wanted to touch it, to feel the dead bark.
My first thought was that the white bark was not as hard as I initially believed it would be.
It still felt like the bark of a tree, as there is only so much deviation you can have when it comes to that.
But I didn’t feel anything overly powerful from it like I expected.
I expected to be able to feel something, like a spark of power that I could use to activate its dormant power.
Nothing.
I frowned at the tree, but continued to rub the bark unwilling to believe that the ancient weirwood was dead.
On a whim, I bought the Lay on Hands Perk and placed my left hand on it.
[-2 PP]
[15 PP remain]
Trying to heal it with divine energy, I soon noticed a sharp stream of energy jolting through my arm as something stabbed into my palm.
I tried to yank my hand back, but I couldn’t.
Something was holding it there to the tree.
A window then popped out to me.
[ACTION ACCEPTED!]
All of a sudden, my hand had fallen from the bark of the tree, and was dangling by my side.
I looked down to my palm to see that there was a small circle of white puffy skin where the tree had pierced me, but my quick healing immediately got rid of it.
[TITLE “DRUID” HAS LEVELED UP 3x!]
My gaze went back to the weirwood tree to see if it would give me any indication of what just happened.
But the tree didn’t look like it did before.
For starters, the face on the front of the tree was weeping red sap, as most weirwood did.
I looked up after that, to confirm what I thought had happened.
What I saw was not the look of a dead weirwood with no leaves.
No, now there were red leaves sprouting from the massive branches that reached over the city.
The white bark looked more alive, and less cracked.
I revived the ancient old weirwood tree, and leveled my title again.
Thrice.
Before I went looking for what I got, I stopped.
What would happen if everyone realized that the ‘dead’ weirwood tree had been revived?
They would all certainly come rushing to see what happened.
So I turned away from the tree, and quickly made my way deeper into the gardens before anyone came to investigate.
—————————————————————
[WILD SHAPE PERK UNLOCKED – COST: 3PP]
[At 2nd level, you gain the ability of magically ȧssuming the shape of a beast that you have seen or studied about. You can use this feature twice per day. Your title level determines the beasts you can transform into. You can stay in beast shape for a number of hours equal to half your title level. You then revert to your normal form unless you expend another use of this feature. You can revert to your normal form earlier by using a bonus action on your turn. You automatically revert if you fall unconscious or drop to 0 hit points. While you are transformed, the following rules apply: Your stats are replaced by the stats of the beast, but you retain your personality and Intelligence. You also retain all of your skills in addition to gaining those of the creature. When you transform, you ȧssume the beast’s health bar. When you revert to your normal form, you return to the number of Health Points you had before you transformed. However, if you revert as a result of dropping to 0 hit points, any excess damage carries over to your normal form. For example, if you take 10 damage in animal form and have only 1 HP left, you revert and take 9 damage. As long as the excess damage doesn’t reduce your normal form to 0 HP, you aren’t knocked unconscious. You can’t cast spells, and your ability to speak or take any action that requires hands is limited to the capabilities of your beast form. Transforming doesn’t break your concentration on a spell you’ve already cast, however, or prevent you from taking actions that are part of a spell, such as manipulating an illusion that you’ve already casted. You retain the benefit of any features from your classes, race, or other source and can use them if the new form is physically capable of doing so. However, you can’t use any of your special senses, such as darkvision, unless your new form also has that sense. You choose whether your equipment falls to the ground in your space, is stored into your inventory, or is worn by it. Worn equipment functions as normal, but its effectiveness depends on whether it is practical for the new form to wear a piece of equipment, based on the creature’s shape and size. Your equipment doesn’t change size or shape to match the new form, and any equipment that the new form can’t wear must either fall to the ground or be added into your equipment. Equipment that merges with the form has no effect until you leave the form.]
[WILD COMPANION PERK UNLOCKED – COST: 3PP]
[At 2nd level, you gain the ability to mark an animal to become a familiar spirit, and you can expend a use of your Wild Shape feature to conjure it without material components. When turned into a familiar, the beast turns into a fey, unable to die permanently. Your familiar acts independently of you, but it always obeys your commands. While your familiar is within 30 meters of you, you can communicate with it telepathically. Additionally, you can see through your familiar’s eyes and hear what it hears while concentrating, gaining the benefits of any special senses that the familiar has. During this time, you are deaf and blind with regard to your own senses. You can also temporarily dismiss your familiar. It disappears into a pocket dimension where it awaits your summons. Alternatively, you can dismiss it forever. While it is temporarily dismissed, you can cause it to reappear in any unoccupied space within 10 meters of you.]
[*REQUIREMENT: A beast that’s loyal to you.]
[21 PP remain]
Not the Skinchange abilities I was expecting to become an unstoppable Professor X of the X-man.
But still, perhaps this could prove to be even better.
With Disguise Self I can be almost anyone, perhaps this Wild Shape can make me almost any beast.
[-3 PP]
[18 PP remain]
Let’s see…
Wow, I’ve literally become Beast Boy with only five levels.
1)Ant, Bee, Butterfly, Spider, Seahorse.
Not that useful besides helping me out with my stealth.
2)Fish, Frog, Dove, Rat, Swallow, Squirrel, Raven, Crow, Cat, Goose, Duck, Rooster, Crane, Owl, Bat.
Overall, interesting scouting and infiltration options.
3)Salamander, Octopus, Otter, Little Valyrian, Scorpion, Serpent, Falcon, Turtle, Fox, Beaver, Vulture, Swan, Hawk, Eagle, Ape and Crocodile.
Some are a little niche, but I’m sure I will grow addicted to flying.
4)Hound, Sheep, Goat, Wolf, Dolphin, Boar, pony, mule, Zorses, Unicorn, Steed, Stag, Porcupine, Panther, Leopard, Shadowcat, Tiger.
Much better.
And I was just one level of unlocking the next batch.
5)Reef Shark, Camels, Brown bear, auroch, Direwolf, Hrakkar, Frost spider, Elephant, Walking Lizard, Lizard-Lion, Basilisk, Griffon.
…
Wow.
Just… wow.
I will cross that bridge later.
For now…
“Come here, Shadow!” I said after returning to the room Lord Tully had offered me to rest.
“Meow!” She replied before obeying my orders.
“If I get this right, you will be basically immortal with it.”
[-3 PP]
[15 PP remain]
“Shadow, I want you to be my Familiar.” I said while activating the perk.
My trusty cat that I had trained and befriended for years now had then ȧssumed a faint glow, some magical marks began moving around her fur almost as if they were alive, and she disappeared in thin air.
When conjuring her for the first time, my heart almost stopped when it took more than a second for anything to happen.
But eventually, Shadow had appeared out of nowhere, and began inspecting her surroundings.
Wanting to make sure she was the same cat, I scratched her head before casting Observe, noticing she had gained a much simpler version of my System.
Almost as if she had entered my party.
But I could see that she didn’t have even the simpler version of my Inventory that both Alysse and Rhaenys had.
Though I was sure her version had its perks as well.
Concentrating for a moment, I was surprised to find my vision shifting towards Shadow’s, as I could understand simple thoughts of my pet.
‘Hungry.’ She thought.
It seems that even the supposedly immortal fey creatures could have basic needs.
It was either that or Shadow simply didn’t care if she required sustenance.
I smiled at her and mentally ordered her to follow me. We were going to level up my Fishing Skill before Twin informed me that we were continuing our trip.
Speaking of the old lion, he has indeed connected the fact that I had magic to the ‘rebirth’ of the weirdwood back at Raventree hall.
But to his credit, he knew better than to sound crazy trying to explain it to someone.
In my free time before my departure, I went searching for this castle’s Magical Dungeon, and soon enough found it near the River, go figure.
After dealing with some undeads capable of casting spells at the Red Keep, and cutting through a literal Zombie Apocalypse on Harrenhal, it was a little bit boring having to clear this one.
Although the stream of water up to my knees was a little annoying at first, it did little to prevent me from making small work of the armored zombies.
Sadly, my wild shapes couldn’t compare to how broken my Enchanted Twin Valyrian Steel Gladius were.
By the end of the underground tunnel, I confirmed my theory.
Harrenhal was indeed the key to unlocking fast travel.
As for my loot, no potion, no Valyrian steel, just more golden coins and…
[BOOK OF BASIC DIVINATION]
Guess the Northerners do have an inclination for greenseeing and scrying.
Works for me, I like to be a jack of all trades.
It’s just up to me to become a master of them all.
—————————————————————
Traveling along the River Road through the Riverlands was an easy ride, the ground was level and the road itself well-maintained.
Grasslands and farmlands extended for several leagues on both sides of the road and river, all of which meant that I could see my destination in the distance while Tywin’s retinue was still miles away.
As was fitting for the seat of the Lords paramount of the Trident, Riverrun seemed to rise up out of the river itself.
Its curious triangular shapes sit nestled in the confluence of two rivers the Red Fork and the Tumbledown.
And as I approached, it was clear that the other side of the castle was protected by a massive ditch with sluice gates at either end.
At times of war and siege, these gates can be opened letting the rivers rush in, turning Riverrun into an island.
I could get to the castle by road I suppose, leading the horses over the drawbridge
and through the imposing Barbican, but to really get a feel for this place it was best to approach it by boat.
And so here I was, packed into a small ferry being rowed across towards the water gate.
The sandstone curtain walls before me were
marked by many arrow slits, and if I crane my neck upwards, I could see soldiers peering down from its crenelated top, their fish Crested helmets and livery silhouetted against the sky.
Towers at each corner of the wall offer excellent views over the surrounding area and guard the shores of the river.
If an enemy got too close to the river’s edge, they were in longbow range.
This may not be the largest castle in Westeros, but it was surely one of the more easily defended.
Locals here told us that the castle was always provisioned to survive a siege of up to two years and could be manned fully with just two hundred guards.
It was easy to see how it has never been successfully captured.
Given over to enemies certainly, but never stormed.
The Watergate itself was a large arch protected by a portcullis, the bottom half of which sank deep into the water down to the bed.
As it rose to let me and the others in, the sounds of the creaks of the machinery and the ŀȧpping of water against the castle walls, I could see that the bottom half of the portcullis was red, rusted by being in the water, and I was waved through.
Although this was called a gate, it is actually more of a docks under the castle.
As my eyes adjust to the gloom of torchlight, I could see several other boats here tied up to iron
rings set into the walls.
Provisions were being unloaded from one of these boats and goods put on another presumably to be taken downstream to Saltpans, or perhaps even Gull Town, and from there they could go anywhere.
Riverrun may be situated far inland, but the rivers
connect it to the wider world.
This part of the castle is damp and windowless, and I have no doubt that there are dungeons
here that is even worse.
So heading up the water stair to the lower Bailey
and into the castle proper.
Here I could see that despite the fortified exterior, Riverrun was actually quite a pleasant space.
It is not as large as the Red Keep, but there was a lot here.
The wheel tower next to me which sat over the tumbledown River had a large water wheel in it.
Ensuring the castle’s residents have a secure supply of flour for bread.
There was of course a Keep, which I would come to in a moment, and a Great Hall which stood separate.
This was where the Lord of Riverrun held his
counsel and, I dare guess feasts at harvest
and for special occasions.
Above the Great Hall was a smaller audience chamber for more day to day activities.
Perhaps the most tranquil part of the castle was the Godswood, through which I must pass in order to get to the keep.
It was more like a garden, with elms and redwoods spaced well apart to let the sunlight in, streams tinkle through the grass before disappearing back down into the ground, birds singing overhead and the air was filled with the smell of wildflowers.
Standing amidst all this it was hard to remember that I was in the middle of a castle at all, there was a weirwood of course, but it was slender and elegant rather than overgrown and disconcerting like so many others I have seen.
This was a place for family play and relaxing afternoons, not a place of veneration for
the old gods.
For the Tully’s did not worship the old gods.
Here, and in many other southern cities, the presence of a Godswood and a heart tree, whether or not it was actually a weirwood, was more of a statement of political inclusivity than religious adherents.
When the Andals invaded they rather wisely decided to keep the Godswoods in some of the key castles they captured like here, knowing that destroying them would only anger the first men who still lived in the south.
House Tully was an ancient house, being descended from the first men, but this was not an
ancient castle, by Westerosi standards, being just a thousand years or so old.
And it was only with Aegon’s invasion that the Tullys were elevated to being Lords paramount of the Riverlands.
So the Tully’s were followers of the faith of the seven, and the Sept here which sat inside another garden was a real delight, made from sandstone with the traditional seven sides, inside it was a kaleidoscope of color, with light shining through multiple stained glass windows, casting yellows and blues and greens across the floor, paintings of the seven on the marbled inner walls
complete the vibrant decor.
My final place to see here was the Keep.
The outer castle’s walls were triangular in shape, and so were the keep at the eastern end of the castle.
The Tully family’s private chambers were here,
decorated with leaping trout and other River based imagery, and at the top of the Keep reached by a spiral staircase, was the Lord’s
Solar.
Triangular as well, and with a balcony that gives a view out over the river, as it flows gently away.
The evening sunlight filling the castle
around us with a golden hue.
Before leaving for the Westerlands, I took the opportunity to have some alone time with the castle’s Weirwood tree.
Soon enough, after a brief walk, I reached a small opening that represented the entrance.
There were no guards this time, and there was no gate, so I walked on through unhindered.
As I’ve mentioned before, it was a true garden, with flowers and fauna that were obviously well taken care of.
I walked through the well worn paths, taking in the sights on the way to the weirwood.
When I found it, I was eager to touch it.
There were only the white branches and red leaves of the weirwood in the vicinity.
Grass grew on the dirt around it, but other than that it was untouched by anything else.
There was no brush or anything like that to obscure any of the tree.
And in front was a single bench for someone to sit on.
I walked straight up to the tree, curious.
My eyes roamed the bark of the trunk until I found the face carved into it.
Just like the show and books said, the eyes seemed to follow me.
Reaching out and putting a hand on the tree, a familiar window popped up.
[TITLE “DRUID” HAS LEVELED UP!]
[SELECT WILD FEATURES (2)]
—————————————————————
(13/10/2021)
*Hope this chapter is of your liking.
Anything you wish to ask, feel free to do so.
Check out my auxiliary chapter if you still haven’t.
Thanks as always for your attention and please be safe.
Any problems with my writing, just point them out and I will correct them as soon as possible.
** So, as some of you have already guessed, I’m taking quite a lot of inspiration from D&D, more specifically the fifth edition.
The classes I’ve been introducing are some of the classics. Knights are Paladins, Septons are Clerics and Druids are Druids (wasn’t capable of finding a more appropriate name ????).
You might be wondering what are those “Features” I’ve hinted at. They are basically which subclasses I will be leading my MC toward.
As a Paladin, he will “Swear the Oath of Vengeance”.
As a Cleric, he will “Choose the Twilight Domain”.
And as a Druid, he will “Join the Moon Circle”.
