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A Sword Without a Hilt: A Song of Ice and Fire/D&D 3.5 Crossover

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Adhoc vote count started by DragonParadox on Apr 22, 2021 at 1:46 AM, finished with 68 posts and 13 votes.
  • [X] "The Ministers serve at the crowns leisure and while I see no value in artificial limits on how long that may be, I can assure you that I have no desire to see the state ossify in the hands of immortals."
    -[X] "As the world changes, so will the state have to change in the small things, such as those who wield power in it, and in the great things, such as what shape that power takes. In fifty years, there might be no more need of a Minister of Magic at all. In a hundred, the office might be sorely missed and will be reinstated. It is a ministers duty to serve the crown to the best of their ability and that includes to step down when fresh blood is what is needed."
    -[X] "If you ever come to feel that such is the case, Duke Reed, then I ask you to speak up in this matter. It is after all the purpose of the Curia to advice me on such matters."
    [X] "The Ministers serve at the crowns leisure and while I see no value in artificial limits on how long that may be, I can assure you that I have no desire to see the state ossify in the hands of immortals."
    -[X] "As the world changes, so will the state have to change in the small things, such as those who wield power in it, and in the great things, such as what shape that power takes. In fifty years, there might be no more need of a Minister of Magic at all. I a hundred, the office might be sorely missed and will be reinstated. It is a ministers duty to serve the crown to the best of their ability and that includes to step down when fresh blood is what is needed."
    -[X] "If you ever come to feel that such is the case, Duke Reed, then I ask you to speak up in this matter. It is after all the purpose of the Curia to advice me on such matters."
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It was kinda stuck in the end though.

Our birth rate could never have kept up with the attrition of regular wars, but quite a few people were against connecting to the local population and becoming just another faction of more-or-less regular humans.
 
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Part MMMDCCLXVIII: Of Principle and Practicality
  • Threadmarks
    • Of Principle and Practicality ​

    Eighteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

    As you look down at Lord Reed and more as you consider the hush that had fallen over the chamber, longer and more watchful than on any of the matters discussed before, even the question of devils in the halls of power. You consider giving some sop, a term for reconsidering appointments, five or ten years, or mayhap even twenty... no, you are already looking for excuses to make it as long as possible so as not to create the expectation of changing ministers too often and little would it serve them to know there shall be a review once every generation. The best you can do is give your word and hope enough of them trust it for all the ways you have so far ruled: "The Ministers serve at the crown's leisure and while I see no value in artificial limits on how long that may be, I can assure you that I have no desire to see the state ossify in the hands of immortals."

    Well other immortals, you add mentally, but you tell yourself, hopefully not in vain, that you can change with the times or at the very least listen to the counsel of those who do change. "As the world changes, so will the state have to change in the small things, such as those who wield power in it, and in the great things, such as what shape that power takes. In fifty years, there might be no more need of a Minister of Magic at all. In a hundred, the office might be sorely missed and will be reinstated. It is a ministers duty to serve the crown to the best of their ability and that includes to step down when fresh blood is what is needed."

    Ah, not as much trust as you might have hoped, you look over the hall again and see that even some of the Loyalists seem dubious, not that would stop most of them from supporting the policies wherever they might lead. Thus looking back to the Duke of the Neck you add plainly as an be: "If you ever come to feel that such is the case, Duke Reed, then I ask you to speak up in this matter. It is after all the purpose of the Curia to advise me on such matters."

    All hereditary Curia Princeps more likely to test how often Ministers are to be changed as a test of the Curia's influence

    It seems almost a relief to all concerned that Hern Lampmaker, the new Minister of Health, is a man whose temperament and skills seem to fit the job so well, compassionate yet competent and very open to bringing the benefits of low magic healing to Westeros, eager to do so in fact. That he is far less eager to deal with the Faith of the Seven in most of its guises does not even come up and you doubt it ever shall in open Curia sessions unless something goes quite far wrong.

    The next post is also filled by a low magician, though one no longer practicing and much of Emyle of He'nekar's interview is spent first literally then metaphorically finding He'nekar on the map. There is much talk of 'valiantly resisting the brigands and monsters' and less of the blood wards and how they may have been drawn. You shall have to thank Yrael for helping to smooth this over. As Governor of Mantarys many looked to him to take the lead, and as a celestial few yet thought his questions might have a political bent.

    As the light of evening begins to fade in the high windows of the chamber Valens of Andalos passes muster without much comment, though that may be more by virtue of his background than his winning charm. To criticize a former inquisitor too deeply likely seems to many, especially among those lords without a proven record of loyalty, too close to criticizing the throne. Still, you have no doubt their hesitation will fade sooner rather than later, the Ministry of Information is too important not to be in the eye of the Princeps and soon of the Vox as well.

    By the time Randyll Tarly arrives to give his own accounting of what his tasks and priorities shall be as Minister of War you almost expect to have another interview without many waves or questions to the throne. That notion is put paid to when Mace Tyrel rises from his seat for the first time to ask his once-bannermen a question. "Ser Tarly, it is to be understood by any who have access to the Imperial briefing papers on the matter or even glance at the times that we live in a world beset by foes of dark and hideous designs on the world of men. I do not doubt that the doughty hearts of the Legion will protect us all against much of that peril as indeed Highgarden was guarded, but we cannot count upon the Legion alone for garrison duty else why are we to be called Dukes and Counts, Barons or even Knights? I ask then if there is any plan to help arm our own armsmen with weapons more suited to this new age, to train them in the ways of war made strange?"

    The new Minister of War looks at his former lord with a sort of familiar weariness that must have been worn deep into his brow in all the years of their acquaintance. "I have no such plans in mind for such a sweeping decision of arming and training must come from the throne," he answers dryly.

    What do you reply to Mace's question?

    [] Write in

    OOC: Well I did a roll to see if he would find his courage when faced with a man he used to be able to order around. The answer is yes.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Canon Omake: Different Tempers
  • Threadmarks
    • Different Tempers​
    Eighteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

    On the first glance, the room could have been in any keep of the North. Not quite any, for the great cast-iron screened hearth in the centre, and all the furs, trophies, and wood carvings on the walls, implied a certain wealth that was not exactly common among the Northmen houses. However, the darkness of the room was not the result of small windows that concerned themselves more with keeping the cold out than the sun in, but of heavy fur drapes covering tall crystal glass windows. Likewise, the hearth roared like a bonfire, but the faery fire within shed only light and no warmth.

    For Maege Mormont though, the hall was slightly off-putting. The windows and the false hearth were things she could excuse, but not how overdone everything else was. The carvings were good northern craftmanship, even painted in all the right colours and patterns. The trophies were suitably impressive, and it was excusable that the lord of the house had them bought, as his actual trophy hall had much more impressive things than boars, deer and a direwolf. She did not even mind the bear pelt adorning one of the walls, even though seeing one always made her neck itch.

    It was too much though. And slightly wrong placed. The decorative axes were tools for woodcutting, not battle as the shield they rested behind implied. And nobody would hang blades in a sitting room in the first place. It was a northern room as someone would decorate it who diligently had read of the North, but never visited it. The room was a Southrons North. She glanced again to Roose Bolton, who was sitting near the fire and staring into the false flames, wondering why he had picked this room for this meeting of his. Gods knew this palace would have had plenty others to choose from.

    "Can we finally start with whatever you want to do here, Bolton?" came the voice of Greatjon Umber, yet again complaining. What for, she had no idea. He and his son had spent most of their evenings in a tavern as far as she had heard. To say nothing about the smell of booze, barely a hint of apple and honey to it, that wafted from the wineskin he waved around like a spear right now.

    Bolton did not let himself be roused by Greatjons outburst though. The man was calm to a fault, much unlike his father. Maybe he was on to something with the leeches, as long as you did not overdo it like him. "We wait for one more," he finally replied, just as Umber seemed ready to complain again.

    "Bah!" the large man cried in response, and Maege wondered if all the leeches of the Neck would be enough to get some calm into him. "We already got two wildlings for company," he spoke while jabbing his wineskin into the direction of the plain looking greenseeress and the earless man that had been introduces as Magnar Styr. Greatjons arm made a wide arc, spilling a few more drops of the faintly golden alcohol as he pointed at the other group in the room, consisting of the two Essosi governors from Skagos and the Vale. "And those two, who would wish to be wildlings themselves."

    Governor Tyos mumbled a reply, doubtlessly griping about Umbers belligerence when the topic of proper worship of the gods had come up briefly, though he large man thankfully did not seem to heard it. Though the wait was indeed getting long. "He has a point, Bolton, " Maege finally raised her own voice. "Whoever you are waiting for seems not to be coming and I wonder who it would even have been. Can't see you inviting Eddard Stark to whatever this is. Manderly and Reed wouldn't show if Stark ain't coming either."

    In response, Boltons mouth twitched. Calling that a smile was definitely overselling it, but the intention was clear at least. She briefly wondered what it could mean, but before she could think of a reason, or a way of asking without making the Leech Lord look even more smug about it, the servant opened the door again. "Announcing his grace, the Duke of the Neck, Howland Reed," the man called into the room before disappearing again, leaving the small and reedy looking Crannogman in their midst.

    Maege just stared at him for a moment and when she glanced to Greatjon, he seemed even more dumbstruck, both of them silently asking the same question. "I apologize for my tardiness. Some other affairs delayed me," Reed answered with a smirk that made it quite clear he knew what they actually wanted to know from him.

    Not that Umber was noticing. "What are you doing here Howland? I thought you were friends with Ned." He made it sound as if just being in this room was some kind of betrayal of said friendship.

    "I could ask you the same, Lord Umber," he hedged again, though after noticing Maege's glare, he finally spoke. "Lord Stark and I did not quite see eye to eye lately. Though wisdom ultimately prevailed, he entertained some rather dangerous plans for a long while."

    Greatjon looked as if someone had switched his booze for piss, but Maege only snorted. "Didn't fancy pitting Moat Cailin against mages and dragons?" She shook her head. "Can't blame you."

    "Cowards talk," the huge man grumbled, spitting on the ground afterwards, but there was no fire to it. If anything, he sounded defeated.

    "We saw his machines fly over the Neck in the last months. The same ones that had burned down an entire city to the east, if the broadsheets are to be believed." Reed sighed, then spread his arms as if in apology. "We all know that Ned would have called us to arms, if Robert Baratheon had still drawn breath at the time. And we all know how it would have ended."

    Umber did not speak at first, instead pacing through the room like a caged bear, gulping down more booze. "Doesn't make it right," he spat finally. "Doesn't make it right that we now plot behind his back. If he had called, we should have answered." There was something else that he was not saying, that much Maege could easily read from him, though not what exactly weighed on him.

    The earless wildling rose from his seat and walked straight to Greatjon, coming up all the way to his chest, yet seeming not the slightest bit intimidated for it. "There is no dishonour in not following a madman, and there is no greater madness then to ask your sworn brothers to die for nothing but empty words."

    "What would you know about honour?" Umber glowered down on Styr. "I'm not Crowsfood. I haven't forgotten what your ilk gets up to."

    She had already made a step forward, ready to get in between the two of them before this escalated any further, when Bolton finally deigned to actually speak. "If I were to go out of the palace and take one of the people from the streets, brought him here and asked him who of you is the Duke of Last Hearth and who the Magnar of Thenn, what do you think they would answer me?"

    "Careful here, Bolton," the great man warned, wagging his wineskin at the still sitting Leech Lord. "I can take both of you if that's what you want."

    Finally, another voice joined into the spat. So far, the Braavosi that had been put in charge of Skagos had barely said a thing and Maege had already wondered if he really had the guts to deal with the Stoneborn. "With all due respect, you are making his point for him, Duke Umber. I know that there is bad blood between your house and the feral raiders from beyond the Wall, but neither Magnar Styr, nor the High Chieftess have been anything but courteous to us so far."

    "You didn't have to haggle with her yet," Lormar cut in with a small laugh. "Tongue like a dagger and she'll skin you like a rabbit with it, if you are not careful."

    "Is that an attack on my honor?" Dalla, replied, clutching her chest in mock outrage. "Maege, wasn't it? What's us womanfolk supposed to do now, when we have no dick to wave around?" As she spoke, she shook her hips to emphasize the point.

    The gods knew that to those born on Bear Isle, the only thing nearly as bad as an Ironborn was a Wildling. Though she couldn't deny that the two of them were growing on her. Especially Dalla, who would likely get along far too well with Alysanna. "I wear a mace on my belt. Got not many men who want to measure up against two feet of iron."

    That got some more laughter from everyone, or at least a smile-like twitch of the mouth in case of Bolton. Nearly everyone at least. She carefully looked at Greatjon, hoping that he would join in, but the man looked just as grim as before, arms folded in front of his chest and now glaring at her for cracking jokes with the enemy. At least he did not look as if he wanted to bash someone's skull in, but it was pretty clear that it would not be Reed who would spoil whatever Bolton was cooking up.

    "Amusing as it may be," the man in question said in that tone barely above a whisper he so favoured. "I did not ask for your presence to make crude jokes. I wish to speak with you about the future of the North and our future as a people."

    "What's there even to talk about?" Umber groused while starting his pacing again. "Didn't we just call Ned Stark a lunatic for even thinking about fighting the Imperator? We are back under a dragons boot, like it or not."

    "That is not what I am talking about," Roose vaguely spoke in Greatjons direction, though his piercing blue eyes were roaming across all others in the room, searching for something in their faces. "The new order is a chance for us and even if we could, it would be folly to throw this away. Many have used the Dragons favour to step out of the shadows others had cast them into and so can we."

    "Bah," came another cry from behind Bolton. "The only wrong you want to right is that the last Red King had to bend the knee before the King of Winter."

    "How often did a southern knight call you an oafish brute?" The reply came as soft was any other of his words, though Greatjon Umber stopped dead in his tracks as if punched. "Hadn't your son nearly started a feud with Lord Graves last year over being called a savage brute unfit for a tourney with civilized folk?"

    The large man didn't join the circle and neither did he answer the questions, but instead begun to grumble something about limp-wristed whoresons who should keep their dainty sons out of the melee, leaving Maege puzzled where Bolton had gotten this story from. She certainly hadn't heard of that event. Hells, she wasn't even aware that Smalljon had been to a tourney.

    With Umber quieted down and the attention back on him, Bolton continued. "Torrhen Stark spared us to lose the war against Aegon the Conqueror, but we lost the peace instead. We knelt before a throne that cared little for the backwater full of trees and barely civilized Wildlings, save that the taxman got it's due. And ever so slowly, they ground us down, made us bow to their ways, swallow their ridicule, and become more like them. Became more Andal. Torrhen Stark would weep if he knew that there is now a sept in Winterfell. Built by his own descendant no less."

    Maege shook her head, though the Braavosi spoke faster than her. "I must admit some confusion, Duke Bolton. Sorcerers Deep is even farther from the North than King's Landing was, and I see not quite where I fit into the picture you are painting, save as the foreigner coming to destroy your ways."

    "Is that your intent, Governor? I was led to believe that it was your faith in our gods that made the Imperator consider you a good pick for Skagos." It took a moment before the other man nodded and Bolton continued. "I am no Valyrian to measure a mans worth by counting his ancestors and praising him for having as few as possible. You are closer to us than many others for following our gods as it was done in the old days."

    "Hear, hear," the other Governor cut in. "It is good to hear some sense being spoken on that matter."

    Was it sense? Bleeding men before the trees for power and the gods favour? The Magnar and Dalla nodded along and though Reed's expression was unreadable, that he had not objected was telling enough. The Imperator certainly found no fault in doing it, as long as the man was deserving of such a fate, and there was little restraint to what he was doing with fiends and their ilk. Baring those he hired instead.

    Maege was still not sure what to think, but Bolton spoke on. "We never had the luxury of forgetting what it means to survive. That one bad harvest before a cold winter could spell our end. Or that there are worse things than wolves and occasional brigands in the depths of the forest. We did not need to invent chivalry and pageantry to remember the worth of an oath."

    "Be that as it may, Duke Bolton," Reed spoke during a lull in the Leech Lords speech. "You certainly did not call us to remind us of our shared heritage, so what is it that you want to us to do?"

    Again, those cold blue eyes roved over the assembled group, briefly resting on Greatjon, who had taken a seat some distance from the others. Maege couldn't quite shake the feeling of being played by him, though she could not tell what the others were thinking.

    "We all have heard the Imperators words," Bolton continued. "He will pick those with the most skill for a given task and beyond that, only loyalty matters to him. If we repeat Torrhen Starks folly, it will be the end of us. More Braavosi will come, and the next ones will bring their own gods to our shores. Soon we will sell our forests to the Volantene, our cattle to the Lorathi and our daughters to some Tolosi bureaucrat."

    He left a pause there, for any of them to gainsay him, but no one spoke up, not even the two Essosi among their number. So, he spoke on. "The Imperator will not force this upon us, not with malice or even callousness, but it will happen all the same. Wide and empty lands, he fills with people to make them useful, and those people will not be like us. If we stand by and do as we always did, there is no other future for us."

    "And what's your great plan to save us then, oh great Red King?" Greatjon called from afar and though he tried to sound belligerent again, he too seemed to know that the Leech Lord was right.

    "That's an Andal title. King. And my ancestors decided that 'Red' was less likely to scare away the traders coming from Whiteharbor after the Manderlies were settled there." For once, you could hear emotion in his voice, though which one was harder to guess for Maege. Did he truly care about this? He of all people seemed the type to sell even his name if the prize was great enough.

    For a brief moment, his eyes stared into the nothingness, pondering something all present could only guess at. Then it was gone and back was the flat monotone. "This blade cuts both ways. If we work hard, harder than we ever did before, we can change our path. Our legacy must not fade. We can make it prosper instead."

    A sharp clap cut through the moment, then another, followed by slight chuckle from Dalla. "Pretty words, Northman, but wasn't your son in the Vale until a while ago? Could have sworn I saw a flayed man on some knights shield. He didn't ride to our rescue from the vile Andals, that much is sure."

    The Leech Lord nodded in return, though it was so long that it almost counted as a slight bow. "True. Years ago, when that choice was made, it seemed sensible for him to learn more about the Southern ways while squiring for a good First Men lord. But the world has changed, and I would rather leave him the true heritage of house Bolton then to make him better suited to see it fade away."

    While the Essosi seemed not to care one way or another and Styr seemed pacified, Dalla was not. She still glared at Bolton. "I wanted him blooded too. I would not suffer my house to pass to a boy who is too faint of heart to see it through hardship." He almost hissed the words, seeming ready to spark the woman's ire even more, though instead she seemed mollified. Her glare relented at last.

    Again, Maege looked around and most seemed thoughtful. Reed was a mystery to her, his thoughts solely his own, whereas Greatjon was an open book. There was still plenty of seething anger in the Umber, but Bolton seemed to have hit more than a few sore points with his spiel. That Sal fellow seemed not entirely impressed, though she suspected there would be other ways he could be bought than pathos. Tyos instead seemed rather pleased with everything. Dalla and the Magnar were harder to read, though their silence seemed to mean approval.

    That left herself. Could she trust Bolton to do what was best for the North? It seemed a lot more likely than before this meeting, though he might also have just been putting on the airs. Maybe that was the wrong question though. Maege wasn't queen of the North. In the end, it would be enough that Bolton made sure his ploys were good for house Mormont and Bear Isle, and there were ways to ensure that.

    "So, I take it your son will now marry a good northern woman and forget about any silliness about gallant knights and fainting princesses he might have picked up in the Vale?" The words came without much thought to them and Maege inwardly cursed as they left her mouth. Some things were hard to forget. It did not matter though. What mattered was the future. "If so, then I could see you gaining some more support."

    A short pause followed as her meaning sunk in. Then the Leech Lord nodded, and the deal was made. Lyra or Jorelle would be the right age. They could hash out the details later.

    "You all are pretty eager to bow before the Red King," Umber groused from his chair again. "Sure that the Imperator will like this, Bolton?"

    "I claim no such title, Umber, and it would be appreciated if you stopped using it as if I were." He still sounded calm to Maege's ears, though she was fairly certain his left eye had twitched. Trust Greatjon to enrage a man who was as lively as a corpse. "The Imperator as favoured our gods and our people. We are pragmatic, direct, and reliable. All qualities he values highly. If we instil those qualities in our people while we strengthen our culture, then I foresee him to be quite pleased. And with the help of the esteemed Governors, we will soon have the North bring enough taxes that we will have the time to see it happen."

    At some point, Gtreatjon had gotten rid of the wineskin and so he was now jabbing a sausage sized finger at the Essosi. "That those two are fine with this is no surprise. Neither the two wildlings. I'm sure they'll help you dry the skins. But you…" and here he jabbed it towards Reed. "That you are willing to go behind Ned's back and entertain this nonsense from Bolton."

    The small man shook his head. "You don't understand, Jon. I love Ned like a brother, but I have to think about my people too. We have bled plenty for his involvement in the south and he nearly would have bled us all again for it. Taking care of our own affairs is the most sensible thing I have heard in years. I would prefer Ned to be part of this, but this is how things have fallen and I am willing to follow Duke Bolton in this."

    "What a sorry lot we are when we name one like him our champion. Bah," Umber spat on the ground again, right before Boltons feet this time. "You Boltons were always of the false sort. Scheming cowards. This here fits you well."

    "That's enough, Jon!" Maege cried out, but she could hardly ram those words back into his big mouth, no matter how very eager she would have been to do so.

    From next to her, Bolton spoke and for once his voice rose above a whisper. "You are forgetting yourself, Duke Umber." Maege could have sworn that his eyes were glowing, the right one blue as the freezing ocean, and the left red as the fires of the pit.

    "No. I know perfectly well who I am, but you seem to have forgotten who you are." With this Greatjon went towards the wall and tore two of the axes down. For any other man, each one would have to be wielded with two hands, but in his, they looked almost too small. One he wanted to throw over to Bolton, but stopped when he was waved off. "What? Is the new champion of the First Men afraid? You are just a bloodless traitor who needs to be taken down a peg or ten."

    Nobody spoke as a faint mist came from the small ring on Boltons right hand, coalescing into a white weirwood staff topped by a blade made from blue ice. When he spoke again, it was barely louder than a normal man spoke, but for him it seemed like shouting. "I am Roose of house Bolton, heir to the Blothrauth Kynmund of the Dreadlands." He grinned as he slowly lowered himself into a fighting stance.

    "And I will carve these words into your flesh until you squeal them with the proper reverence."


    AN: This is what Roose was cooking in the Background.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • DragonParadox said:
    I do not doubt that the doughty hearts of the Legion will protect us all against much of that peril as indeed Highgarden was guarded, but we cannot count upon the Legion alone for garrison duty else why are we to be called Dukes and Counts, Barons or even Knights? I ask then if there is any plan to help arm our own armsmen with weapons more suited to this new age, to train them in the ways of war made strange?"
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    HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! No.
     
    I get the impression the only reason Greatjon even appeared at the meeting was to try and boycott it. That or he is an unrepentant hypocrite.
     
    So what is plan to arm armsmen outside of Legion?

    @Azel I'm not entirely sure I understand the argument there. Bolton wants to just increase the North's cultural supremacy within it and its overall productivity so seen as peers to other provinces?
     
    Massgamer said:
    @Azel I'm not entirely sure I understand the argument there. Bolton wants to just increase the North's cultural supremacy within it and its overall productivity so seen as peers to other provinces?
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    He basically wants to form a cultural block apart from Westeros and foster something akin to a neo-pagan First Men culture. Obviously with him as the leader of that block.
     
    Azel said:
    He basically wants to form a cultural block apart from Westeros and foster something akin to a neo-pagan First Men culture. Obviously with him as the leader of that block.
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    And the fact that will make him an equal (or superior) contender to House Stark is just a happy little accident, I'm sure?
     
    Azel said:
    He basically wants to form a cultural block apart from Westeros and foster something akin to a neo-pagan First Men culture. Obviously with him as the leader of that block.
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    Could share that block with parts of the Vale that now belong to the clans and elsewhere when possible.

    Ned might still join it later since he is a Northman through and through and still holds a lot of influence, even if other disagree with his past actions.
     
    I'll note that Qyburn never actually discussed actual actions, but stuck entirely to establishing shared fears. Very on-brand for him and probably a good way to get everyone sharing a goal, but this does mean that if one of the Lords doesn't know how to go about "defending a culture" without simply kicking out immigrants then this won't have helped them much.
    Although to be fair, saying stuff we "we should sponsor music festivals" sounds less grandiose, and "we should suppress foreign cultural institutions that attempt to move in" could quickly start being discussion of treason depending on how they go about it.

    Regarding the "armsmen suck" thing: @DragonParadox, are they looking for money and resources? Because if all they wanted was guidance, then they should simply replicate the Legion's equipment :D
    I mean, we could start making available Legionnaire Armour in a different color scheme or something. That's not a huge issue, and we could even subsidize it or do it at cost. Same for alchemical stuff (although production would definitely have to expand). We could also provide training to their masters-at-arms (I'm thinking of knowledge like "what to expect from basic mages and fey", so they have proper tactics). But providing mages and Wyverns to every Lord seems like a bad idea from a centralization point of view. And we probably don't have the capabilities to spread magelings in every keep either. They can send their guys to the Scholarum, I guess?
     
    Massgamer said:
    Could share that block with parts of the Vale that now belong to the clans and elsewhere when possible.

    Ned might still join it later since he is a Northman through and through and still holds a lot of influence, even if other disagree with his past actions.
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    The north of the Vale is where Lormar Tyos, the sacrifice happy guy, is in charge of.

    Getting Ned to join later on would be one of Roose's goal since Stark deferring to him would fully cement his position, but for now the part about becoming the leader was more important. And luckily for him, Ned has other things than politics that occupy his mind, even beyond his known issues with doing politics in the first place.
     
    TalonofAnathrax said:
    I'll note that Qyburn never actually discussed actual actions, but stuck entirely to establishing shared fears. Very on-brand for him and probably a good way to get everyone sharing a goal, but this does mean that if one of the Lords doesn't know how to go about "defending a culture" without simply kicking out immigrants then this won't have helped them much.
    Although to be fair, saying stuff we "we should sponsor music festivals" sounds less grandiose, and "we should suppress foreign cultural institutions that attempt to move in" could quickly start being discussion of treason depending on how they go about it.

    Regarding the "armsmen suck" thing: @DragonParadox, are they looking for money and resources? Because if all they wanted was guidance, then they should simply replicate the Legion's equipment :D
    I mean, we could start making available Legionnaire Armour in a different color scheme or something. That's not a huge issue, and we could even subsidize it or do it at cost. Same for alchemical stuff (although production would definitely have to expand). We could also provide training to their masters-at-arms (I'm thinking of knowledge like "what to expect from basic mages and fey", so they have proper tactics). But providing mages and Wyverns to every Lord seems like a bad idea from a centralization point of view. And we probably don't have the capabilities to spread magelings in every keep either. They can send their guys to the Scholarum, I guess?
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    They are looking for actual legion trainers given out in an organized manner and access to things like alchemy and enchanting.
     
    We don't have the capacity to produce alchemical and magical weapons for the Dukes and neither any desire. The reason we made a centralized army is to take away their rebellion capacity.
     
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