A/N: Hey guys. I would like to say thank you for all your support. It's great to see that people like what I write. To ImageViewer, I have never written a gamer fic or a RWBY one for that matter. You might have me confused with someone else. Lord Trump, I'm going to use Rome 2 Total War units because it would be easier to describe units there. That's not to say all of the units will be like that but it's just simpler that way. It's not like they didn't research their history either. I'll try and check the unit's accuracy before writing them in. Oh and please log in to comment so I can PM. I try to make A/Ns as short as possible. And here's the second chapter. Hope you guys review.
Chapter 2
The Eagle Nests
The horns of the sentries alerted the camp to the arrival of Mark Anthony's scouting expedition. They rode through the completed gateway of the fortress at a good clip. Behind them trailed captives tied to each other. Caesar grunted, seeing the success of his subordinate's mission. He returned to his tent to await Anthony's report. He didn't have long to wait.
Anthony strode into the tent and went straight to the corner of the tent where a small table held Caesar's wine. He poured himself a liberal amount before downing it in one gulp and pouring another. Caesar raised an eyebrow but kept silent. When Anthony was finally finished, he turned to Caesar and pointed at the maps on his war table.
"You may want to search those maps of yours again, Julius."
Caesar frowned. "Your expedition must have been successful."
Anthony downed another cup. "Enough to know that we may not even be in Britannia." He signaled to one of his men who had been standing at the entrance of the tent. The man left before bringing in a curiosity that Caesar had never seen before. It was a leather covered thing, it's inside was a form of parchment that had been cut to a uniform size and then bound together. Caesar slowly flipped through the strange thing. He focused, in particular, on the runes written in the book. They were unlike anything he had ever seen. His classical education had taught him to read and write in Greek and Latin. None of those were close to this. Neither was it similar to any of the Gallic or Briton runes they had encountered before.
"We found these in a small hillfort to the west, along the river. About a day's ride away. A druid was trying to hide them. We captured him alive, unfortunately, the hillfort's chieftain refused to surrender. We had to kill him. We caught his wife though," He grinned. "And his daughter."
Caesar rubbed his chin. "You could not communicate with them at all? You brought Gallic cavalry with you, after all."
"No." Anthony snapped his finger and his man brought in a sword with a set of armor.
Caesar inspected the armor. It was good craftsmanship. A whole breastplate made of steel. It had armored gloves and a form of plate armor to cover the wearer's arms. Its chest had a small stag embossed on it. There was even armor for the thighs, legs and feet. And all of it made of steel plate. The helmet was of particular interest as it was steel and yet two prongs of a stag's antlers sprouted from its sides.
"Was he the only one wearing this?"
"Yes, though his warriors had lorica hamata on most of them. Undisciplined though," Anthony sniffed. "more berserkers than soldiers."
"That at least is comforting." Caesar sighed. "Well bring in that druid you captured. Let's see if we can't communicate."
The druid that was brought before him was a short man. His feature's would not be amiss among Caesar's own legionnaires whether Gallic or Italic in origin. Black hair, small nose, thin-ish mouth. Caesar shook his head as the man began babbling in his language. Caesar had learnt some of the dialects of the southern Gauls himself and this man was speaking none of them. He sighed.
Ignoring the still babbling man, he turned to Anthony. "Did you scout the immediate area?"
"Yes. There's another of their hillforts about a half a day's ride north and another two hillforts a full day's ride to the north east. Only these ones aren't hillforts anymore. They're built of stone and have towers. I don't think these are barbarians, Julius."
Caesar nodded. "That may be but they will all kneel to the might of Rome. Order the centurions to ready their centuries and-"
At this point he was interrupted by the druid who had sat up from where had been slumped and stopped babbling.
"Senturiii-" He said or repeated. Caesar and Anthony recognized this as a type of word association they had themselves used when they had studied Greek. They would find common terms in the languages and repeat them. The two had been speaking in Greek on a whim but when Caesar had begun giving Anthony his orders, he had switched to Latin. The druid had understood, at least, some Latin.
Caesar then turned and spoke to him in Latin. Every once in a while, the druid would nod and repeat a word to signify he understood that word. After a few hours, they had begun to establish a base line of vocabulary. Seeing the druid was tiring, Caesar ordered him to be placed in his own tent. He gave strict orders that the druid was to be fed and treated with care until such a time that he ordered different.
In the meantime, he debriefed Anthony on the operation. The cavalry expedition had mainly scouted the land and maintained distance from the villages situated around the large fortresses. These they had spotted when they had headed north along the coast. They alarmed Anthony, as each was built of stone and looked nothing like the hillforts they had assaulted the last time they were in Britannia so he avoided them. To avoid detection, they had turned west. Several villages were found on the way. Around some of the smaller ones, Anthony personally crawled up within stone's throw of the village's inhabitants.
He had immediately noticed a difference in their attire from those he had encountered in Britannia. He also could hear what they were saying, and though it was almost gibberish to him, he had brought along Gauls who did understand the dialects of the Celtic tribes of the coast. None of his men understood a word.
It was then that he began to have doubts. Needing more information, he decided to find a target to attack that would yield him more information. None of the villages he had found were suitable as they were within the operational arc of the garrison of the land's forts. Since he lacked the siege equipment to breach any of the forts he saw, he was forced to find a weaker target. He found what he was looking for when he found that small hillfort along the river that emptied into the bay.
It was isolated, having no other forts or towns except for the small village that was built at the foot of its hill. After carefully reconnoitering the area, he had bedded his men down to wait for darkness. As soon as it was dark enough to move without being detected, his men snuck up the hill. At a signal, two hundred of he personally led his men in scaling the low wooden walls using ropes while the rest of his men provided a distraction by attacking the village with lighted torches.
It worked. The defenders of the fort were drawn to the commotion and left the fort in force to confront the force attacking their villagers. They numbered only a hundred men and although well equipped with mail armor and longswords, they were quickly overwhelmed by the Gallic cavalry working in tandem with their dismounted Roman counterparts. The cavalry showered them with darts until the dismounted Romans slammed into the disorganized mass. Once this was accomplished, the cavalry rode around the fighting and attacked from the rear. This finished the smaller force and what remained of them fled into the night.
Within the fort, the fight was expected to be relatively easy as most of its defenders had been lured away. Anthony's men had successfully opened the gate for the rest of their men when the chieftain of the fort had emerged, clad in a form of armor that Anthony had never seen before, what they discovered later was full plate armor.
The courtyard was lit with the torches of his men as they poured in. However, the figure of the chieftain brought pause. As mentioned before, he was clad in full plate armor with even his head covered with a helmet. Two metal bands twisted and hammered to form the antlers of a deer sprouted from the sides of his helmet. The plate covered him from head to toe with even his hands covered with metal gloves. A massive sword… actually Anthony hesitated to call it a sword anymore and seeing the sword for himself, Caesar agreed. The damned thing was almost twice the size of a gladius. Anyway, on to the report.
The chieftain had stood stoically as Anthony's men had poured in, forming a semi-circle facing the chieftain. The chieftain had placed himself between the Romans and the only entrance into the main inner building of the fort, his massive sword planted like a cross before him, his hands resting on the cross of the sword. An immovable last guardian for those that lived within. Behind him was a brace of ten of his household warriors along with a woman, presumed to be his wife, and a man dressed in the garb of a druid.
Anthony's men hesitated. Most of them were Gauls, who had served with the Romans for years as light cavalry. As such, they were not heavily armored, many of them eschewing even the light mail hamata as too constricting. The Roman equites who accompanied Anthony were more willing than their Gallic counterparts, evidenced by their presence in the front ranks of the semi-circle, but the full plate and menacing helmet intimidated them.
Anthony saw this from his position atop the wall. He grimaced and walked down a set of stairs that led down to the gate. His men noticed him and parted before him. He came out of the crowd, slightly to the left of the chieftain's view. The antlered helmet turned toward him. Anthony walked a few steps along the line of his men, his scutum facing the enemy. The chieftain's helm kept its gaze on him with every step.
The two warriors stared at each other for several seconds. Then chieftain lifted his right hand and pointed at Mark Anthony. A few words came, none that Anthony understood, but then words were not needed. A challenge to a duel was universal.
Maester Janos of the newly built keep of Water Rush was terrified. He had been in the library, studying some of the books on the lands of Westeros. Just twenty-three, he was one of the youngest to ever forge a chain at the Citadel. As a reward and as a bit of punishment, he had been assigned to this newly built wooden keep. He was a bastard of Highgarden, one of many that Garth Gardener IV had. Following in the footsteps of their acclaimed ancestor, who populated noble houses of the Reach, the current Garth Gardener loved wine and women hence the bastards.
He was particularly blessed. His father at least took responsibility for his spawn especially those from a noble mistress. Seeing as how his mother was one of the Tyrells, who served as stewards of Highgarden, he was probably the closest thing to pureblooded as possible. Alas close isn't the same as the real thing. Nonetheless, he could have still worked toward a knighthood and an eventual name but he decided to go against his mother's wishes and instead entered the Citadel. Possessing a sharp mind, he quickly showed his skill with mathematics and management. Added to this was his eye for detail and love for history, the maesters were suitably impressed.
Wars in Westeros were as common as the wind blowing in from the Narrow Sea. Some wars would end in territorial gain, others in minor agreements and an exchange of hostages. The recent war with the Stormlands had ended in minor defeat. His lineage of being both Gardener and Tyrell made him the perfect solution to the problem of hostages, said several sallow pig-eyed Maesters jealous of his intelligence. They shall forever remain unnamed. The end result was that he would be one of the youngest maester's to be assigned to any keep. It just so happened that the keep belonged to the Stormland who had defeated said Maester's father was only a coincidence, said aforementioned jealous sallow pig-eyed and forever shall not be named maesters.
Despite his misgivings, he had served his lord ably for three years now. It wasn't all that bad. Lord Durran was a fair lord to those of his household. His wife Lady Anna of House Connigton was a kind and caring woman. Their daughter, Elise, was a bundle of energy constantly running about and used to having her parents wrapped around her little finger for the past eight namedays of her life. Besides that, he had his books. The keep was a temporary affair as they waited funds to build a proper stone castle but it contained an extensive library filled with books on history and geography of Westeros and Essos. One of his prized possessions was a large tapestry painting of the Known World. It was so large that it covered a large part of a wall.
He had just entered the library that night after visiting the rookery to send of a raven to his mother, assuring her of his safety when he heard a commotion. He quickly moved to his liege's solar where he knew the lord spent his early evenings before retiring to his bedchamber. When he entered, Lord Durran was already putting on his armor.
"What is it, my lord?"
Lord Durran turned his gaze to the solar's window that looked over the village. They could clearly see torches approaching the town. A few moments later a war cry erupted.
"We are under attack. It must be the Ironborn. We must move quickly to secure the villagers."
Janos hesitated. "My lord, wouldn't opening the gates and sending out the men leave us open to attack?"
His liege growled. "I refuse to leave my smallfolk out there, maester. I 've already sent out orders to the men. They're marching as we speak."
Janos was silent. He didn't know why but his gut felt that this was the wrong move. He cursed himself at that thought. His idea would have doomed the smallfolk of the village to the horrors of the Ironborn. And yet, he was supposed to give counsel, whether or not it was the counsel the lord of the castle desired.
"My lord, it may be a trap to lure you and our men out of the keep."
His liege paused in tightening the straps of his right boot. Lady Anna appeared in the doorway, her brown hair flowing in disarray over her sleeping gown. The terror in her eyes shook his liege more than any words he could have spoken. He opened his mouth to say something when a cry came.
"They're over the walls!" The cry turned his blood cold. Lord Durran snapped into action. He hurriedly donned his helmet and grabbed his greatsword. He ran down the stairs and through the dining hall to the courtyard, his wife and maester at his heels.
By the time they reached the courtyard it was too late. The castle had only a hundred and twenty men-at-arms. The enemy's ploy had successfully lured a full hundred of them out. Another ten had been manning the walls. These were all dead, killed swiftly in the early moments of infiltration. It was the last three who had been stationed at the gatehouse that had put up a fight and were able to raise the alarm.
When they arrived, the sounds of fighting outside the keep had dwindled to silence and the enemy had men muscling the heavy oak gates open. Lord Durran knew it was now futile but looked resolved to go down fighting. He drew his heavy greatsword from its sheathe and walked a few steps from the entrance. He then planted his sword and waited.
Janos observed the invaders. They seemed a mix of unarmored raiders and mailed professionals. They hesitated at the sight of his liege as they rightly should. Lord Durran was well-known as a swordsman in the Stormlands, winning many a tournament at Storm's End. Then the semi-circle of the enemy shifted and parted to let a man pass.
The light of torches shone on the man's armor. It looked like it was supposed to mimic a man's muscular physique. It looked like it was of burnished bronze and was decorated with silver figures that he could not make out. His helmet was a open-faced thing with two cheek pieces protecting the face. A red plume flowed from the top of the helmet and waved in the slight breeze. The man's thighs were slightly protected by strips of leather and his legs with greaves of the same make of his armor. The armor alone set him apart from the others. Then there was his shield. It was a rectangular affair with wings and lightning bolts painted onto it that covered most of his body. It was almost like a tower shield but it curved inward, the purpose of the curve escaping the maester. Janos recalled no house with that as their symbol. He must be some mercenary from Essos, hired by the Ironborn. His short sword was almost a third the size of Lord Durran's greatsword.
The stranger paced a few steps before stopping at the center of his men's semi-circle, his shield facing Lord Durran.
Lord Durran stared at him in silence for a few moments, judging his enemy before finally speaking. With his right hand he singled out the warrior. "In the name of the Seven I challenge you to single combat for the lives of my family." He said.
His opponent said nothing, merely raising his strange shield and placing his short sword on top of the shield, pointed at Lord Durran. The enemy's men started cheering, saying one word over and over.
"Antoniii! Antoniii! Antoniii!" Janos then realized it was the enemy leader's name.
In reply, the Stormlander men-at-arms jeered at the puny sword that the enemy's leader wielded. Both opponents took a few steps forward to give them some space to fight in. Lord Durran's height and reach advantage was immediately made clear.
Lord Durran attacked first, raining furious blows on this Antoniii, hoping to batter the man's shield into pieces or hit the more exposed head. None of the blows had any effect as Antonii would duck behind the shield before the little sword would flick out like the tongue of a lizard.
While Lord Durran's blows merely were intercepted by Antonii's shield, Antonii's sword flicked out and stabbed at Lord Durran. It was made ineffectual by Lord Durran's front armor plate, the best money could buy. Slowly Lord Durran grew more and more confident as none of his opponent's strikes were able to remotely injure him. He began making wide swings to provide more power to his blows.
The cheers of his men were getting louder, as well as those from the enemy. Lady Anna was watching with hopeful eyes, a prayer to the Seven on her lips. Janos should have felt elated that the enemy seemed close to being overwhelmed. The blows of his liege seemed to force Antoniii to hide behind his shield, his own attacks dwindling to almost nonexistence. Something didn't feel right but Janos could not pinpoint it.
Then he saw the man's face. Whereas before it could have been carved from stone, it suddenly blossomed into a grin so savage it caused all to shiver, the gleam in the man's eyes was almost like candlelight on burnished dragonglass.
Janos cried out a warning just as the enemy made his move. Lord Durran had become more labored in breathing and his strikes lacked the earlier speed. They still carried power yet they were slower. As Lord Durran's blow descended the enemy raised his shield higher than he had done throughout the entire duel. In the center of the shield was a large metal boss. It was this that struck, not the sword but the fingers of Lord Durran's right hand. The sound of the crack silenced both sides as a blood curdling cry of pain came from within Lord Durran's helmet.
A second later, the same boss slammed into the chin of Lord Durran, disorienting him. In a flash, his opponent was behind him and stabbing into the back of Lord Durran's unarmored right thigh. Lady Anna gasped as her husband was brought to his knees, her hands covering her mouth as tears flowed.
The enemy's men were once again noisy in their jubilation. Their leader pulled the greatsword out of Lord Durran's weak grasp and threw it to the side. Lord Durran was gripping his right hand when his opponent cut the straps of his helmet and pulled it off him.
Lord Durran glared in defiance. His opponent merely shook his head and pointed with his sword at Lady Anna. Lord Durran's defiance melted as he turned his head to look at his wife. A silent look of apology was the last thing on his face before his opponent separated his head from his body. Lord Durran's now headless body convulsed a few times before falling to join its separated head on the ground.
The next moments right after his liege's death were a blur to Janos. He remembered muscling Lady Anna up to the library where he was joined by Lady Elise and her nursemaid while the remaining men-at-arms bought them as much time as they could. He remembered thinking that the Stormlands needed to know of this attack. He remembered releasing a raven but not what he wrote or where he sent it. He remembered taking down the tapestry painting and rolling it up. He remembered the door bursting into pieces and the Ladies Anna and Elise as armed men entered. The very man who had killed Lord Durran strode into the room. Lady Anna begged for Elise to be spared the rape that they all knew would come and the man stared uncomprehendingly at her.
He remembered an order being barked and all of them being roughly grabbed and tied. They were then pushed down the stairs and put on horses. He remembered crying out for them to leave his books alone as they loaded those on wagons, from where they got them he knew not. He remembered flames as they rode into the night and then darkness.
The Westerosi have a saying. "Dark wings bring dark tidings." As Maester Janos's raven flapped its wings, it turned its intelligent eyes to watch as the castle that had been its home burned to ash. It flew on for three days until it came upon the massive keep of Storm's End.
It's ruling family claimed that their ancestor built the keep with the help Brandon the Builder of House Stark to defy the god of the sky and the goddess of the sea. His defiance was for taking their daughter to wed despite their refusal. Several castles were smashed by the rage of the gods of winds, storm and sea but he remained resolute in his defiance and built another, each bigger than the last. Finally, the seventh one withstood all that the gods could throw at it. It was named Storm's End and the man was given the name of Godsgrief. That man's name was King Durran "Godsgrief" of House Durrandon and it was his descendants that ruled the Stormlands ever since.
The raven made its way to the rookery of the castle and loudly cawed for attention. A short time later, a maester came and took its message out, leaving a bowl of meat scraps for the hungry raven. The maester opened the message but upon reading it, the shock was enough for strength to leave his hands and the message floated to the floor from nerveless fingers. A moment later the message was grabbed of the floor and the sound of running feet and shouts came to the raven's hearing. The raven gave an avian shrug and focused on the tasty meaty treats.
Lord Durran lies slain, the keep is lost.
Janos
The Last message from Water Rush, newly established seat of Lord Durran III of House Durrandon, second son of King Barrick II of House Durrandon, Lord of the Storm's End and King of the Stormlands.
A/N: Well guys, what do you think? I've fixed this up as much as I can but I got no beta so there might be errors. Please review. I worked really hard on this chapter and reviews are the only payment I get. Not reviewing is like not paying the pizza guy. XD
