Crittark Saga - Agot ARR of a Vale Clansman (Now with narration)

Ran Miller · Nov 19, 2024

A Recommendation from Maester Orwyn to Maester Thaddeus
To Maester Thaddeus, Keeper of Histories at Goldharbor Citadel,

Within this bundle, you will find the four volumes collectively known as The Crittark Saga — a remarkable account chronicling the improbable rise of a Moon Clansman chieftain to the status of a landed lord within the Vale. It is a tale of stubborn resolve, blood-oaths, and the uneasy marriage of wild tradition with Andal law.

The saga follows the life of Crittark the Ramlord, from his rough beginnings as a mountain chieftain to his hard-fought recognition as a lord among the Vale's nobility — though 'accepted' may be too generous a word. The chroniclers do not shy from his flaws, nor from the disdain with which many of the Vale's lords regarded him. Yet, one cannot deny the weight of his deeds, nor the mark he left upon the history of the region.

These four volumes conclude with his death, though the tale is far from finished. I suspect there are further records of his line within the library, and I mean to search them out. If fortune favors me, I shall see the continuation of his house's story. Should you wish for the full measure of how the untamed become tamed (or perhaps how the tamed are shaped by the untamed), you would do well to begin here.

By quill and candle,
Maester Orwyn
Bearer of the Grey Chain

Pov 001 Maester Merald of Strongsong - Introduction
Narration

“My Lord Allard,

I must report on the strange arrival today of a clansman from the mountains, who entered Strongson with neither prior notice nor formal summons. The young man calls himself Crittark Crittark Hoofcrag, and claims leadership over one of the smaller clans from the region they call Halfvale. Word has it that he seeks an audience with you, though for what purpose he has yet to share. I must note, my lord, that this Hoofcrag fellow is an unusual sight for our castle. His rugged appearance commands a strange respect. The guards have whispered of his unmistakable resemblance to some wild fable out of the Old Tales, though I would caution against taking their musings too seriously.

This Crittark, I am told, has gathered a small following of Vale Clansmen who were granted shelter in the lower courtyard by Captain Yohn's instruction. The man carries himself with a confidence that belies his youth, and there is no mistaking the sharp intellect behind those mountain-hardened eyes. I dare say he could make a formidable impression if allowed to speak before you, though his ambitions are yet to be unveiled. Rumor has it that his people, despite their isolation, hold him in the highest regard—it seems he is known to rule with both a stern but fair hand. Brave and just, they say, but of course, such titles must be judged by a lord's own eyes rather than through the gossip of lesser men.

As a strategist, he has apparently proven more than capable, or so I have gathered from a visiting trader who claims to have heard of Crittark's exploits during his travels beyond Halfvale. His clan is described as small but disciplined, able to endure the roughest of mountain terrains and trained to excel in warfare against both man and nature. Such tales are prone to exaggeration, of course, but they might be worth your ear, should you desire insight into the strength of those unaligned with our southern garrisons. For now, I shall see to it that the clansman remains in the courtyard, watched but treated civilly, until such time that you decide whether to receive him. I remain, as always, your loyal servant.

Maester Merald”

This Saga will start with Crittark (Random name), the just brave and ambitious leader of the tiny Hoofcrag Clan for the Halfvale (unsettled lands across Vaernon Keep). He is a doo-gooder who wants to find a home for his people to settle.

This is very loosely an ARR, as I write it as it happens and not strictly 'after', so, for the most part, I do not know what is going to happen. What events or characters will end up being important to properly foreshadow... It's not uncommon for someone to be introduced in one POV only to die in the next. It is more akin to a 'grim slice of life' in which I document what is happening without a 'great story' in mind, just a loose direction. My previous ARR started with the ambition of converting the arbor to the Drowned God, but I somehow ended up as the First Drowned King Beyond the Wall, King of the Seaborn, the Frozen Shore Men, and the Thenn - so who knows where this will end. (More on the process: FAQ about my process )

Hope you guys will enjoy my strange style.
PS - I am now also slowly integrating a narration of the chapters.
PPS - I am also adding a raw text dump for easier reading - as per feedback.

Greetings,

This is my 2nd ARR, which I've been posting on the AGOT Discord. People there seemed to like the style... I was also told some here might enjoy it...
I honestly forgot about the Paradox Forum and haven't been here since the Ck2 days, if people here also seem to like it I will post the rest in a more organized manner.
If it's the same 3 people from Discord, just lol for sending me here

For the curious and impatient, I made this rudimental site to curate my images, where you can find the current sage, the OG saga that started it all (Unwin Saga), and for now, that one collab I did with a fellow Discordian (Sanguinius Starfyre).

I hope this makes at least one person hyped for the Agot mod.

Cheers,
Would love some feedback,
Oga

Chac1 · Nov 20, 2024

Welcome @Ran Miller (Oga). Always good to see folks here with new AARs. We like to think the forums are still where AARs can be found.

Are there more than three folks following AARs on Discord? Some of the discussion these days does revolve around the best place to post. Usually, there are quite a few readers who like AGOT themed AARs. So you will likely find a readership here.

Good luck to you.

Ran Miller · Nov 20, 2024

Chac1 said:
Welcome @Ran Miller (Oga). It's always good to see folks here with new AARs. We like to think the forums are still where AARs can be found.

Are there more than three folks following AARs on Discord? Some of the discussions these days revolve around the best place to post. Usually, there are quite a few readers who like AGOT-themed AARs. So you will likely find a readership here.

Good luck to you.

Thanks for the kind words.

'Are there more than three folks following AARs on Discord?'

I honestly do not know, 3 of them bothered to contact me... so I can confirm them. Discord isn't really suited for ARR, at least not the Ck3 Agot one, it has a section named 'playthroughs' where people talk about their playthroughs. That's my 'hang' when playing and I enjoy seeing what ppl do, like marrying Cercei to free folk and now having Jumping Wolf as the head of house Lannister.

I make my stuff for me mostly, as it's just a fun exercise in creative writing, and I also make the AI read it back to me and it feels epic. I started posting my 'Storyboards' and people commented there, but it mostly gets drowned by all the traffic, so I made the site. Then someone asked me why I don't post here... so here I am... Everything I do regarding this is an afterthought.

Since you are so encouraging, I shall try and make a proper effort of it...

Ran Miller · Nov 20, 2024

Pov 002 Syrona the Scarlet Web - 'Surveying Party pt. 1'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Syrona ‘Scarlet Web,
Interpreter for the Hoofcrag Clan
Circa 82 A.C.

I met the Ramlord at some dingy tavern near Strongsong. He was a mountain of a man, sitting there, looking utterly clueless as he wrestled with the common tongue. Now, I’m not saying I’m perfect, but I know when an opportunity drops in my lap. I was on the run from the guards, you see—petty crime just isn’t appreciated the way it used to be, apparently. So, what did I do? I walked right up, told him I'd help him with his "common tongue problem," and just like that, I had a small clan to shield me from my own troubles. He has no idea I’m on the run, but honestly, he doesn’t seem the type to care.

Weeks later, and I’ve somehow worked myself into being his official interpreter. Call me his second if you want—I practically run his business dealings, such as they are. I’m not getting paid, but who needs coin when you’ve got protection, free food, and people suddenly thinking you’re important enough to avoid crossing? It’s strange how quick things change. I went from a sneaky Strongsong criminal, ducking guards left and right, to someone people nod at when I pass. Funny how that works. Not bad for a girl with two braids and a talent for talking, if I say so myself.

The Ramlord is more than he seems, though. He isn’t just some brute looking to smash heads and spill blood—though don’t get me wrong, he can certainly do that. He’s got some bigger scheme in his head, something beyond the usual clan nonsense. It’s almost unsettling how focused he can be. I can tell he wants something, something more than just the thrill of a good brawl, but damned if I know what it is yet. And I can’t say I’m not interested—I’ve always loved a good mystery, especially when it means I might just stumble into something bigger than I ever imagined.

So, the first contract we took on was for Lord Desmond of Harrowpool. Not exactly highbrow work—he basically wanted us to bash in the heads of some folks who’d rubbed him the wrong way. I could practically see the disappointment in my reflection; here I thought we’d be diving into some grand scheme, but no, just another thug job. Crittark, though, seemed fine with it. He said it was a “reputation builder.” If I’m being honest, I suppose he’s right—everyone’s got to start somewhere, even if it’s with some Lord’s dirty laundry.

When we got to Castle-at-Harrowpool, they slapped us with a local guard named Lyn. He was supposed to help us find these poor souls we were meant to knock about. It didn’t take long to realize Lyn had his own set of problems—his mates called him “Greedlyn” behind his back, and honestly, it wasn’t hard to see why. The man reeked of paranoia and didn’t trust anyone, not even the guys he was supposed to be working with. To be fair, they weren’t exactly treating him like the golden boy either. I can’t say I was too surprised; the whole thing felt like a recipe for disaster from the start, like throwing oil on a flame and expecting it to make tea.

And disaster it was. Greedlyn spent more time chatting with Crittark about how to pronounce words properly than actually finding our targets. By the end of it, we’d barely managed to track down half the people on the list. Lord Desmond was furious, spitting out insults faster than Crittark could fail to understand them. We left with empty pockets and bruised egos. Yet somehow, Greedlyn decided to tag along with us. Apparently, he was fed up with his so-called comrades mocking his failures—something about a botched goat herding attempt. I don’t know what to make of him yet, but manpower is manpower, and frankly, we could use another set of hands, even if they belong to someone as twisted up in his own mind as Greedlyn.

Ran Miller · Nov 20, 2024

Pov 003 Lyn the Greedlyn - 'Surveying Party pt. 2'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Lyn the Greedlyn,
Caravan Master of the Hoofcrag Clan
Circa 82 A.C.

The moment I heard that our next contract was for Lord Otho Hungerford, I could feel the bile rising in my throat. Surveying the land? For Lord Otho, no less! It was one thing to try and track down a few measly merchants hiding in a small town—and these so-called warriors couldn't even manage that—but now we were supposed to handle something as delicate as surveying entire estates? These mountain savages don’t know the first thing about subtlety, let alone precision. I must have been mad to throw my lot in with them. I started wondering if I'd made the biggest mistake of my life, and I’ve made plenty already.

But I’ll be damned—I stand corrected. Somehow, these clansmen managed to survey the lands in record time, and I’ve got no idea how they pulled it off. They even managed to get us an extra payment from Lord Otho. I can’t say I’m not pleased, especially after I wasted an entire month being sick and slowing them down. Maybe joining them wasn’t the worst decision after all. But there’s still that nagging thought: why was I the only one to get sick? I can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right. Either it was just dumb luck, or someone made sure I’d be out of commission. I need to keep my eyes open; I won’t let anyone swindle me out of what I deserve.

Back at the main camp near Strongsong, Crittark decided we needed a little celebration—our first real success, he said. I was skeptical; a bunch of mountain folk trying to throw a party isn’t exactly the kind of festivity that comes to mind when I think of celebrating. But then the surprise of the evening hit me: they made me the Caravan Master for the Hoofcrag Clan. I accepted, of course—why wouldn’t I? A title is a title, and titles mean power, even among this lot. But let’s be honest: it’s not my skills they’re after. I’m just the one who looks halfway presentable, someone who can string together sentences without sounding like he’s swallowed a mouthful of pebbles. Still, if it means I’m the one in charge of the caravan, I’ll take it. Just means more leverage for me in the long run.

The party wasn’t over with just that surprise, though. Crittark showed off in a way I hadn’t expected. Syrona, or Scarlet Web as they call her, decided to quiz him with riddles—probably to make a fool out of him. I was ready for a laugh, but Crittark managed to answer each one, and the crowd lapped it up. Honestly, it made me uneasy. A man like him, with muscles like an ox, shouldn't also be able to match wits with a woman like Scarlet Web. It’s unsettling. I don’t like it when people surprise me—especially not someone I’ve hitched my future to. It makes them unpredictable, and unpredictable means dangerous.

Later, Crittark took me aside and showed me how to use a bow. Now, I’ve used weapons before, obviously, but a bow’s always been something I considered beneath a proper soldier—until he showed me otherwise. The way he handled it, the focus, the precision... I almost admired it, though I’d never admit that out loud. Maybe these clansmen aren’t just mindless savages after all. If they have skills like this and still think I’m worth keeping around, maybe there’s something in it for me beyond just surviving day-to-day. More skills mean more power, and I intend to use every bit of it.

Ran Miller · Nov 20, 2024

Pov 004 Lyn the Greedlyn - 'Hunting Bandits for a Lady pt. 1'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Lyn the Greedlyn,
Caravan Master of the Hoofcrag Clan
Circa 83 A.C.

Word travels fast—too fast, if you ask me. Before I knew it, our third contract was yet another survey, this time for Lord Elwood Seasons. Apparently, our success with Lord Hungerford got us noticed, and now we were being passed around like a favorite tool. I can’t say I hated it though; I was at the helm this time, and I made sure things ran smoothly. The clansmen were surprisingly adept at marking the land and keeping an eye on the terrain, but it was me who sped things up on the roads. Whenever we crossed paths with patrols or travelers, I was there to do the talking, to convince them we weren’t some ragtag raiding party. I had to admit, it helped that I looked like one of them—a man of civilization. The way people seemed ready to panic the moment they spotted our group, it’s a wonder they didn’t send troops after us. But with my charm—and a good amount of paranoia keeping us careful—we got through without trouble.

Our reputation is clearly spreading, but not all the attention is bad, I suppose. Once we returned from Lord Seasons' lands, a local lowborn woman approached us. Colianne—known as 'the Ovenmistress'—apparently heard tales of our so-called 'civilized' nature and had grown tired of baking bread and serving roasted boar to the local lordlings. She was adamant about joining us, and Crittark took her in without hesitation. I can't help but wonder what she's after. No one just ups and leaves a stable kitchen position for a life with a roaming clan without reason, and I doubt her motives are as simple as she claimed. Still, I have to admit, her skills could prove useful. If she keeps the hearth warm and the food on the table, I’m not complaining. But I’ll be keeping an eye on her—after all, in a camp of would-be savages, it pays to watch for anyone who might be playing a deeper game.

Our fourth contract landed us in quite the entertaining situation. Lady Jyrenna Morris hired us to deal with a small gang of thieves who had set up an impromptu toll booth on her lands. Now, I can respect a hustle when I see one, and these thieves had a good thing going—easy money from anyone foolish enough to travel through without an armed escort. It was almost a shame to dismantle it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to take a slice for myself, but Crittark was eager to please the lady, and I knew better than to cross him on something like this. Still, I had to admire the thieves for trying; if they had a little more muscle, they might have kept their operation going.

Speaking of pleasing the lady, Crittark got it into his head that he needed to look the part. He went out and spent a small fortune of our hard-earned coin on a proper set of armor—something more fitting of a knight, or at least a mercenary trying to impress a highborn lady. The look on his face when Colianne 'the Ovenmistress' casually mentioned that Lady Jyrenna was already married was worth every silver stag. The man was crestfallen, though he tried not to show it. It’s amusing to see someone like him, so formidable and determined, stumble when it comes to the subtleties of noble etiquette. At least the armor will come in handy, I suppose—assuming we can keep it from rusting in all this damp.

I think I’m starting to see what Crittark’s aiming for now. The way he talks, the contracts he takes—it’s all lining up. He wants to become a lord himself. Imagine that! A clansman, a proper lord of the Vale. The idea is almost laughable, but there’s a part of me that thinks he might actually pull it off. He’s got the drive, the ambition, and people seem to gravitate towards him. If he keeps playing his cards right, who knows? If he manages to climb that high, I’ll be there, too, making sure I get my share of whatever he claims. After all, a lord needs someone who knows how to navigate the tricky parts of civilization—and that’s where I come in.

Chac1 · Nov 20, 2024

Love the storyboards, but it is going to take me a little bit of time to catch up with all the posting.

As someone who likes to create a graphic novel approach to an AAR, I very much like what you are doing here and it appears to be a style that is rather unique, at least at this moment.

Might I ask a bit about your process in how you are creating these? Thanks for any insights.

Ran Miller · Nov 21, 2024

Chac1 said:
Love the storyboards, but it is going to take me a little bit of time to catch up with all the posting.

As someone who likes to create a graphic novel approach to an AAR, I very much like what you are doing here and it appears to be a style that is rather unique, at least at this moment.

Might I ask a bit about your process in how you are creating these? Thanks for any insights.

Glad you like it.
Please don't copy my style as it's my OC!
jk, imagine having that mentality lol

My process;
I usually play in short bursts while I work, and I take short notes on what happens in the game and take screenshots.
I used Notepadd++ but recently switched to Obsidian as I take more elaborate notes and to archive for when it will become a series on HBO.
Then I think of whose POV I should write it from, and write 2 or 3 paragraphs, trying to keep to their character.
I then have Grammarly spell check it, as my ignlish bad.
I then generate the AI art, specifically the DALL-E option from ChatGPT.
(I know some ppl have a hate boner for AI Art and ppl complained before, but I think AI Art is the best thing since sliced bread)
I then put it all together in PowerPoint of all things, as I find it the fastest and most straightforward tool to do it.
Photoshop is just 'too heavy', although it took me a while until I found the option to change the ratio to get 2k images (otherwise most sites and discord downgrade the quality to the point it can't be read).

I've been reading some of your stuff, what's your process btw? I like that you also add music... I was experimenting with AI narration, but it costs too much... although the results were quite interesting;
A Sermon
A Shady Character
A clueless Arborian Lord.
A Lusty Follower.

Ran Miller · Nov 21, 2024

Pov 005 Colianne the Ovenmistress - 'Hunting Bandits for a Lady pt. 2'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Colianne 'the Ovenmistress’,
Hoofcrag Clan member
Circa 83 A.C.

After taking down what the bandits so humorously called the "citizens toll booth," our next job was to find them and bring them to justice. Now, I’m no fighter, but they handed me a couple of weapons and a handful of men, men who could barely understand a word I was saying, and told me to take a stroll around the countryside, looking intimidating. And by the Seven, did I take my task seriously! I might not be able to swing a sword like Crittark, but I can bark orders, and I made sure those men knew exactly what I expected of them. It didn’t hurt that I cooked for them too—nothing wins over a band of half-starved clansmen like a proper meal. I think I even impressed them, not that I’ll let it go to their heads.

While I was off doing my part, Crittark kept himself busy. He managed to catch one of the bandits, but the real surprise came when he made himself a new friend—a noble friend, no less! Lord Garett Shett, or "Blacklips" as they call him, happened to be crossing the bridge, and somehow Crittark managed to rope him into joining our little hunt. Apparently, Lord Blacklips found the whole affair "exhilarating"—just the sort of excitement a bored nobleman looks for, I suppose. What surprised me more was how quickly the two of them hit it off. It seems they’ve forged a genuine friendship.

But Crittark’s charm didn’t stop there. Another fellow showed up, a trader named Bradwyn—though everyone calls him "Half-a-Haggle." He’d lost his recent fortune due to his impatience, which isn’t much of a surprise given his nickname. Still, the man seems to see some kind of "business opportunity" in throwing his lot in with us. Imagine that, a trader wanting to join a band of roaming clansmen! I suppose he thinks we can provide him with protection or connections—or maybe he’s just desperate. Either way, Crittark accepted his offer, and now we’ve got ourselves a would-be merchant tagging along, looking for the next chance to turn a profit.

It didn’t take long for Half-a-Haggle to prove his worth, though. With his knowledge of the local area, we managed to track down the rest of the bandit gang. Apparently, he knew a few of their potential hideouts, which made our job a whole lot easier. Of course, Greedlyn wasn’t having any of it—he spent the entire time glaring daggers at Bradwyn, as if the poor man was one of the bandits himself. I swear, that man’s paranoia knows no bounds. No wonder his fellow guards couldn’t stand him. He’s insufferable, always assuming everyone’s out to get him. He’s useful, sure, but he’s also a pain in the neck to deal with.

Lady Jyrenna was over the moon with our success. Not only did we catch the bandits, but we also managed to impress and win over a few influential people passing through her lands. We were well paid for our troubles, though I could see that Crittark had hoped for more—something beyond just coin. He’s got stars in his eyes when it comes to Lady Jyrenna, and it’s almost sad to watch. I had to explain to him, once again, that the lady has a living, breathing husband, and she’s not about to throw it all away for a clansman, no matter how charming he thinks he is. But Crittark never did know when to stop dreaming.

Chac1 · Nov 21, 2024

Ran Miller said:
Glad you like it.
Please don't copy my style as it's my OC!
jk, imagine having that mentality lol

My process;
I usually play in short bursts while I work, and I take short notes on what happens in the game and take screenshots.
I used Notepadd++ but recently switched to Obsidian as I take more elaborate notes and to archive for when it will become a series on HBO.
Then I think of whose POV I should write it from, and write 2 or 3 paragraphs, trying to keep to their character.
I then have Grammarly spell check it, as my ignlish bad.
I then generate the AI art, specifically the DALL-E option from ChatGPT.
(I know some ppl have a hate boner for AI Art and ppl complained before, but I think AI Art is the best thing since sliced bread)
I then put it all together in PowerPoint of all things, as I find it the fastest and most straightforward tool to do it.
Photoshop is just 'too heavy', although it took me a while until I found the option to change the ratio to get 2k images (otherwise most sites and discord downgrade the quality to the point it can't be read).

I've been reading some of your stuff, what's your process btw? I like that you also add music... I was experimenting with AI narration, but it costs too much... although the results were quite interesting;
https://whyp.it/tracks/227626/seaborn?token=auCEx - A Sermon
https://whyp.it/tracks/227627/lord-crab-01?token=PfNOA - A clueless Arborian Lord.
https://whyp.it/tracks/227628/thirsty-dwarf-partial?token=oIj9w - A Lusty Follower.

Apologies. I remain woefully behind on your narrative. But I vow to catch up. Both your process and the visuals intrigue me.

Plus from your comments, I very much appreciate your sense of humor!

My process is probably too complicated but it has worked for me in the past. Like you, I play and write notes. I have an ongoing outline of what is happening plus ideas. Sometimes I get ideas for the supporting characters and that takes me in interesting directions.

Then, I write out the chapter. I do this in prose (unless it is poetry or a song). Then I make a new document (usually in Google docs) where I adapt the prose chapter and add in the character art. Final step is pasting all that into the forum and then adjusting all the images. However, I like how you have created a canvas effect. That could work a bit better. (Your OC is safe. No worries, even though I know you were joking.)

Like you, I use AI art. Some of us shared our thoughts on AI Art in the SolAARium and also in this thread. I cannot afford to pay artists although others have done just that! (More power to them. If I had the funds that is what I would prefer, but the process would no doubt lengthen.) I tend to use both Microsoft Bing's various DALL·E versions and Playground.

I have not considered AI narration. Some folks here have done their own narration. All credit to them. I could do that but then again it would lengthen the process.

I will check out your tracks and offer more feedback as I go along. Love the concept you have put forward.

Ran Miller · Nov 22, 2024

Pov 006 Syrona the Scarlet Web - 'Hunting for A Language'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Syrona ‘Scarlet Web,
Interpreter for the Hoofcrag Clan
Circa 84 A.C.

On the way back to our camp near Strongsong Castle, we stumbled upon a local tomb—just the sort of place that would have most clansmen foaming at the mouth, ready to plunder whatever treasures they could find. And I have to admit, the trinkets inside looked tempting. But Crittark—surprisingly—managed to hold himself back and, even more shockingly, kept the rest of the men from taking anything as well. It’s not the kind of self-restraint you usually see from a mountain clansman. Most of them would sell their own mothers for a chance at a bit of gold. Crittark, though, is different. He wants something more. Maybe it’s power, maybe it’s respect—I don’t know yet, but I do know he’s made of a different kind of steel than the rest.

Crittark, in his usual fashion, decided that we needed a celebration after our success dealing with the bandits, and what better way to celebrate than with a hunt? I doubt he realized that hunting on Lord Alladar’s lands came with a price tag. Sure enough, we hadn’t even gathered the men before some of Alladar’s guards showed up, demanding payment. They took one look at us—a ragtag group of clansmen with barely-matching armor—and knew they could squeeze us for a few coins. Crittark didn’t like it, I could see it in his eyes, but he paid them off anyway. He’d promised his men a hunt, and he wasn’t about to break that promise. After that, he turned to Lyn, the ever-paranoid Greedlyn, and ordered him to get the caravan ready to move once we were finished. I must admit, I’m curious. Wherever we’re going next, it’s bound to be interesting. Crittark doesn’t make moves without reason, and I want to see where this all leads.

The hunt turned out to be quite an event, though not necessarily in the way Crittark had envisioned. Greedlyn—bless his paranoid little heart—managed to find some raptor eggs, as if he could sense money even in a nest. Meanwhile, Half-a-Haggle brought down a vole. Yes, you heard that right, a vole. Not exactly the mighty kill of a skilled hunter, but then again, Bradwyn’s never been one to let realism get in the way of ambition. The real action came when we stumbled upon a group of poachers, hunting without paying Lord Alladar’s fee. They were like us, but without the coin to cover their backs. We chased them off and made off with what they’d caught—some decent hauls, I have to say. Still, my ears in Strongsong tell me Lord Alladar is none too pleased. It seems even when we pay, the good lord resents the sight of clansmen on his lands. Can’t say I’m surprised. No matter how “civilized” we try to look, to them, we’ll always be nothing but barbarians.

But, at least for us, the hunt ended on a high note. Crittark’s men worked together in a way that I hadn’t quite seen before—focused, determined, almost like a proper military unit. They brought down the largest boar I’ve ever seen, a beast so big I half-wondered if we’d need a dozen men just to haul it back to camp. It was impressive, I won’t lie. The kind of display that makes me think maybe—just maybe—there’s something more to all this than wandering aimlessly. There’s a unity here, and a strength that’s starting to take shape. And if we can manage that, maybe we’re more than what these lords think we are. Maybe we’re something they should be worried about.

It seems my question has been answered—Vearnon Keep is our next destination. Lord Victor Vearnon, the very man whose lands include our so-called "beloved" Halfvale. It’s funny how little the people of these keeps know about the lands that are supposedly under their rule. Halfvale is hidden beyond the local mountains, and most Valemen couldn’t be bothered to make the trek. To them, it's just a patch of wilderness, something they claim without having ever set foot on it. But to us, it’s home—well, to Crittark and the others, at least. The irony that we’re headed to the lord who’s never even seen the lands he rules isn’t lost on me. There’s something oddly satisfying about the thought. We’ll see if he knows what to do with a band of clansmen knocking at his door.

The journey itself had its moments. Crittark finally learned the common tongue—it only took him three years! But credit where it’s due, he’s gotten almost fluent now. What’s even funnier is how he decided to put his new skills to use. The first thing he did was turn to Colianne, the Ovenmistress, and start tossing his words at her like a challenge. It’s like watching a child with a new toy, eager to show off. The flirting is blatant—Crittark puffing out his chest, Colianne trying not to roll her eyes too hard. It’s honestly quite amusing, though part of me wonders if there’s something more to it. Either way, it’s entertaining to watch, and if it keeps morale up on this endless road, I’ll take it. I just hope Crittark keeps his head clear for when we reach Vearnon Keep—because if he thinks charming Colianne is tricky, winning over a noble lord will be a whole different game.

Ran Miller · Nov 24, 2024

Pov 007 Syrona the Scarlet Web - 'A Bitter Encounter'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Syrona ‘Scarlet Web,
Interpreter for the Hoofcrag Clan
Circa 84 A.C.

We ran into Berdys the Blamed while we were at Vearnon Keep, sniffing around for more work. He’s an interesting character, I’ll give him that—disgruntled, bitter, but with plenty of skill to back it up. He used to be the master of the hunt for Victor Vearnon, but he got thrown under the wagon when some noble got poisoned at a feast. Blamed for it, scapegoated, and sacked. Typical lordly nonsense—someone always has to take the fall, and it’s never going to be one of them. Crittark, in his usual fashion, didn’t let the man’s attitude deter him. He approached Berdys in the common tongue, and when words didn’t quite do the trick, they had a little tussle. Crittark bested him, of course, and that seemed to be enough for Berdys to agree to join us. I have to say, watching Crittark fight always makes me realize just how good he is. And Berdys? He’ll be an interesting addition—talented, but there’s something raw about him. He’s still carrying that betrayal, and it makes him dangerous.

Our next contract is almost laughable. We’re working for Lord Torgold, and he wants us to improve his reputation. Imagine that—hiring a band of clansmen to boost your standing. It seems we’ve come a long way from being just another group of roaming barbarians. Now we’re a political statement. It’s fascinating, really. People are starting to see us not just as thugs but as something more. We have power—maybe not the kind of power these lords are used to, but power all the same. And now they’re trying to use it for themselves. It’s ironic, really; they look down on us, resent us even, but they still want us on their side when it suits them. I wonder how long it’ll be before they realize we’re not just pieces on their game board—we’re playing the game too.

Pov 008 Berdys the Blamed - 'Ram Remedy Wedding'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Berdys the Blamed,
Sworn Shield ofthe Hoofcrag Clan
Circa 84 A.C.

While we were on retainer for Lord Torgold, Crittark the Ramlord lived up to his name—he "rammed" Colianne, the Ovenmistress, if you catch my drift. Once word spread through camp, it was all anyone could talk about. The jokes and jabs flew in every direction, and let’s just say they weren’t kind. Colianne took it badly, apparently, all that mockery rubbing her the wrong way. And what does Crittark do? The unthinkable. He actually goes ahead and marries her, all official-like. It seems our so-called Ramlord is full of surprises—who would've thought a clansman would care so much about someone’s feelings? Softhearted fool, if you ask me. But I suppose everyone has their weaknesses, and for Crittark, it’s Colianne.

The wedding became the talk among the nobles—of course, it did. They can’t resist a bit of scandal among the "lesser folk." We had to parade around, bowing and smiling while Crittark spewed nonsense about the nonexistent virtues of Lord Torgold, all to boost the man’s pathetic reputation. After what felt like ages of bowing to his every whim, "His Highness" finally decided we’d done enough and paid us. A fair sum, I’ll admit, but I can’t stomach these nobles. They’re all the same—snakes dressed in silks, whispering lies while we do their dirty work. I’d rather fight a hundred battles than endure another moment of their smug grins and false pleasantries.

Ran Miller · Nov 25, 2024

Pov 009 Lyn the Greedlyn - 'Road Injuries'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Lyn the Greedlyn,
Caravan Master of the Hoofcrag Clan
Circa 85 A.C.

To curry favor with the local lord, Victor Vearnon, we took on a contract to escort his cousin, Colin Vearnon, from Vearnon Keep to Heart’s Home. It was a short enough journey, nothing too exciting, but Crittark decided we’d take the scenic route on our way back. Apparently, the Ramlord has never laid eyes on the Eyrie or the Bloody Gate. Can you imagine? A supposed leader who hasn’t even seen the most famous sights of his own land. It makes me wonder how "worldly" he really is. Still, I have to admit there might be some value in showing him these places—might make him look a bit less like a clueless hill barbarian the next time we’re rubbing shoulders with nobles.

The journey itself, though, started on the worst possible note. Crittark, in one of his heroic fits, decided to jump in and save a knight who was being mauled by a rabid hart. The fool ended up with a nasty injury for his trouble, and the knight—Ser Crowyn Whinmy, they called him—died anyway. Turns out the man was known for his cowardice. Figures. We dragged his body all the way to Bluewater Hold, thinking we might get some sort of reward, but no, nothing. Not even a coin tossed our way for the effort. A lot of pain and no gain—it’s exactly the kind of foolish venture that grinds my gears. Helping people doesn’t put silver in your pocket; it just gets you hurt, or worse.

With Crittark injured, we had to name a proper physician, and of course, the job went to Colianne the Ovenmistress. Not because she’s particularly skilled—no, it was purely because she’s Crittark’s wife. A bit of nepotism, if you ask me, and it’s a joke considering how poor her healing abilities are. She’s good in the kitchen, sure, but stitching wounds? Not so much. Unfortunately, she’s the best we’ve got, which says more about our sorry state than her abilities. I don’t like relying on half-measures, especially when it comes to keeping the Ramlord on his feet. But here we are, trusting an Ovenmistress to patch up a warrior. If we survive this, it’ll be sheer luck.

Near Sallocks, we ran into Cercei Knytmark—a woman pretending to be a knight. Now, that’s not something you see every day, considering how much trouble she’d be in if anyone of importance found out. Apparently, she was so horrible to her "squire" that he ran off and left her in her armor. Or maybe it was some joke that backfired—either way, she ended up stuck in her plate, unable to get out without help. It was almost laughable. She offered us coin to get her out before anyone caught on to her charade. Naturally, I wasn’t about to pass up a chance to profit from someone else’s desperate situation. I made sure to haggle a bit and made her sweat. The way I see it, if you’re going to take such risks, you’d better be ready to pay when it all falls apart.

Once we delivered Colin Vearnon safely to Heart’s Home, he wasted no time getting rid of us. He and Lord Corwyn Corbray immediately started whispering and scheming, dismissing us as soon as the coin was handed over. It’s always the same with these nobles—smiles and pleasantries until they don’t need you anymore, and then it’s off to their secretive little games. I can only hope they’re not scheming against us. Trusting any noble is like trying to warm yourself with a snake—inevitably, you’re going to get bit.

Our next stop was the Eyrie, and it was quite the sight, I’ll admit. Crittark was practically awestruck by the place, staring at the views like a starry-eyed boy seeing the world for the first time. It would have been amusing if it wasn’t so naive. Of course, while he was there, he managed to make a new friend—Lord Arnel Lynderly, of all people. An elderly man who fancies himself a scholar, apparently interested in our “clansman culture.” I find it all very suspicious. No lord takes an interest in us without wanting something. I can’t help but think there’s an angle here, some hidden purpose behind all those friendly questions and smiles. I’ll be keeping an eye on him—mark my words, there’s more to Lord Arnel than meets the eye.

Ran Miller · Nov 26, 2024

Pov 010 Lyn the Greedlyn - 'Angering the Gods'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Lyn the Greedlyn,
Caravan Master of the Hoofcrag Clan
Circa 85 A.C.

Our next contract had us back working for Lord Elwood Seasons. He wanted us to protect a bridge—again. It seems Crittark’s made himself something of a reputation in the bridge protection business. I won’t lie, it’s not exactly the kind of work that brings in the glory or the coin we deserve, but work is work. And if there's one thing Elwood knows, it’s that a group of clansmen loitering around a bridge tends to keep trouble away. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work—keep the bandits away, collect our pay, and be on our merry way.

But this time, things went wrong. Bandits were robbing travelers right under our noses, and we couldn’t seem to stop them. Crittark was too distracted by his new wife—Colianne the Ovenmistress—and before long, she was pregnant. By the third time the bandits struck, Lord Elwood had had enough. He sacked us, and there was no pay for our troubles. I can’t say I blame him; it’s hard to keep a bridge secure when your supposed leader has his head up in the clouds, focused more on expanding his family than keeping his promises. No coin in our pockets, no praise for the work, just another failed contract and a tarnished reputation. It’s enough to make a man wonder if we’re losing our touch.

In a desperate attempt to cover our losses, Crittark went crawling to Lady Jyrenna Morris, asking for a "monetary gift." I can only imagine the whispers this will cause—reminding people of the days when we actually got things done. There’s at least some silver lining in it; if people are talking about us, they’re not forgetting us. We need that, especially after this disaster. But still, relying on charity from a noble—never thought I’d see the day. It makes me wonder how long before the next lord decides we’re not worth the coin they’re paying. And when that day comes, I’d rather not be left with empty hands.

Our next contract came from Lord Torgold, who wanted us to supervise a building project. Something new for us, I suppose—normally we’re just hired muscle, but this time it seems we were expected to do more. Not just protection, but also logistics, making sure everything was running smoothly. I was immediately suspicious. I mean, why hire a bunch of clansmen for a building project if not to make sure we end up doing all the grunt work? My gut told me this was more than just keeping an eye on some workers, and sure enough, I wasn’t wrong.

Turns out, Torgold wanted us to do everything—down to lifting stones and helping with the actual construction. And what were we building? A new Sept. As if I needed another reason to hate this job. Crittark’s face was priceless when he found out, though. He’s stubbornly set in his old clansman ways, still worshipping the Old Gods of the Vale, and here he was, being told to build a Sept to honor the Faith of the Seven. He wasn’t pleased, not one bit. But a contract’s a contract, and we’re not in a position to turn down paying work—not after our last failure with Lord Elwood. So there we were, building a holy house for gods we don’t even believe in. The irony isn’t lost on me.

The task dragged on, taking far longer than any of us anticipated. By the time we finished, Crittark's son—Crittark the Younger—was born. The first male child of Crittark and Colianne, and if that wasn’t enough, Colianne fell pregnant again almost immediately afterward. They’re a busy pair, I’ll give them that. Meanwhile, the rest of us are stuck here, breaking our backs for a Sept we have no interest in, while Crittark’s off doting on his growing brood. If this keeps up, we’ll be more of a family caravan than a fighting force. Not exactly what I signed up for. Still, I’m hoping that with a male heir in the mix, maybe Crittark will focus more on leading and less on... expanding. Because at the rate we’re going, I’m starting to think we’re building more cribs than we are forging weapons.

Our latest contract had us working for Lady Henrietta Donniger, escorting some distant relative to Marble Pass. It was the kind of job that should have dragged on, but we made quick work of it—two months there and back, and I’m almost certain that’s some sort of record. Speed means profit, and less time wasted on the road. But the real surprise came on our way back. Somewhere in Olveredge, we ran into this young fool, Gerold the Fair. He was off chasing some nonsense about a magical fountain, wasting what little time of his youth he had left. Crittark, in one of his rare moments of wisdom, managed to talk him out of it and convinced him to join us instead. The lad agreed, and now we have ourselves a new recruit. He’s an odd one—talks of honor and justice, as if any of that puts coin in your pocket. Good military mind, I’ll give him that, but in a fair fight, I reckon even Syrona could take him. Not exactly what I’d call a warrior, but maybe he’ll be of some use.

The mood took a nosedive soon after, though, thanks to some preacher of the Seven—Orson Kelmourn was his name. He went out of his way to mock us for our "heretical" beliefs in the Old Gods, as if we asked for his damned opinion. And if that wasn’t enough, Asa, daughter of Crittark, was born shortly after we ran into him. Most of the clansmen are whispering about it being a bad omen, what with her birth coming right on the heels of that preacher's curses. Superstitious fools, all of them. But I can’t deny the atmosphere in the camp has taken a turn for the worse. The men are on edge, and it's affecting morale. If you ask me, it’s all just bad luck and coincidence—but try convincing the rest of them of that.

To combat this so-called "bad omen," Crittark decided to lead a pilgrimage to the Gates of the Moon—the place where the First Men lost the Vale to the Andals. The spot’s sacred to those who still hold to the Old Gods, and I suppose he thinks this will restore some sense of honor or pride among the men. I can’t help but think it’s all for show, a desperate attempt to regain their trust and distract from the preacher’s curses. I’d rather we just focus on the next job and put some coin back in our purses. But no, we’re off to pay homage to a battle lost long ago, trying to hold on to the past while the rest of the world moves on. At least it’ll keep the clansmen happy, and a contented group means less trouble for me.

Ran Miller · Nov 26, 2024

Pov 011 Mara the Meek - 'Meekly Pilgrimage'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Mara the Meek,
A rebel and a heretic,
Circa 87 A.C.

I’ve heard that the inspiration for Crittark’s pilgrimage began with a preacher’s curse—a preacher of the Seven, no less. He cursed Crittark’s people just days before his daughter, Asa, was born. They called it a bad omen, and it drove them to seek some kind of solace or forgiveness. For what it’s worth, I am grateful to that preacher. Without him, I would never have met Crittark—the man who saved my life, not just in body, but in spirit. Before him, I was lost, nothing more than a remnant of my own failure, haunted by what I had tried and lost. But Crittark gave me something new, something to hold on to when all seemed empty.

During the pilgrimage, we came near Clifthaven. It was there that Crittark stumbled upon the remnants of a place that broke me—a site marked by failure, by the wreckage of the peasant uprising I had foolishly led. Those few who stood with me had been slaughtered or taken, and I, in my cowardice, escaped their fate. I was broken then, shattered by what I had seen, left to wander with nothing but hatred for the Seven. I shouted against them, questioning why they would abandon us. And then Crittark came. He told me of older gods, of the Old Gods of the Vale—the gods my people had forgotten. He spoke, and something inside me stirred. In those words, I found a new path, one that felt real, one that accepted my failures instead of condemning me for them. Crittark converted me, and I spat on the Seven that had left me alone in my darkest hours. I have nothing left but to serve the Old Gods, and I will do all I can for them. I joined Crittark’s pilgrimage, and his Hoofcrag Clan, hoping to be of some use, to repay this new purpose he has given me. I am no longer just Mara the failed rebel. I am Mara the faithful servant of the Old Gods.

It was during our pilgrimage, standing in the shadow of the Gates of the Moon, that Crittark was reminded of how poorly the First Men fared against the Andals. He spoke of their defeat, overwhelmed by the strength and weaponry of the Andal invaders—my people. It was a strange feeling, listening to him speak of the First Men’s loss, knowing that my ancestors had been the victors. Crittark saw it as a reminder that we, as a group, were still ill-equipped, still at risk of being defeated by those with better arms and armor. He refused to let that happen again. He sent out ravens to those lords we had worked for before, seeking surplus military equipment in exchange for favorable terms in future contracts. Lady Henrietta Donniger provided gear for a squad of armored footmen, and Lord Torgold Marsten sent enough to outfit a squad of armored horsemen. In the blink of an eye, we had a small but formidable force at our disposal. And I—who once thought myself a leader—would have no part in commanding them. I’ve failed enough, and now I’m content to serve and support.

Upon arriving at the Gates of the Moon, I was taken aback by Crittark’s priorities. Instead of immediately paying homage to the Old Gods, he first made sure to arrange a religious procession, with proper respect shown to Lord Harrold Arryn. I understood the logic—appease the lord of the Vale and avoid any unwanted tensions—but it was hard not to feel a sense of hollowness. It wasn’t truly about faith or devotion; it was about keeping our heads down, playing the political game, and making sure we weren’t seen as a threat. It reminded me that no matter what gods we pray to, we still live under the shadow of power and politics, something that cannot be escaped.

After the formalities, Crittark finally turned his attention to the Old Gods of the Vale. He spoke of their power, of the wrath they held for those who betrayed them, and of the enduring presence of these ancient deities in a land that had largely forgotten them. He had his Strongsong Armor blessed by our priests, and as we watched, we all looked for a sign. And then it came—an eagle soaring high above, circling once before letting out a sharp cry that echoed across the cliffs. The clansmen saw it as a good omen, a sign that the Old Gods had heard us. I don’t know if I truly believe in omens anymore, not after everything I’ve been through. But seeing that eagle, hearing its cry, I found myself hoping, just a little, that perhaps the Old Gods truly were with us, and maybe, just maybe, they had a place for someone like me, even if my ancestors once fought against them.

Ran Miller · Nov 27, 2024

Pov 012 Berdys the Blamed - 'Little Feral Wolfs'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Berdys the Blamed,
Sworn Shield ofthe Hoofcrag Clan
Circa 89 A.C.

Our next contract had us working for Lord Robar Belmore, of all people. He wanted us to collect taxes from his estates in Clammath. I was surprised, to be honest. Robar is the son of Allard Belmore, the very same lord who Crittark has had some bad blood with. Allard charged us for hunting in the forests near Strongsong—a small thing, but enough to force us to move on to Vearnon lands. If it weren’t for that, Crittark wouldn’t have ended up finding me. I guess I should be grateful, in a way, but I can’t help feeling a pang of bitterness about the whole situation. It’s strange how one man’s greed leads to another man’s fate. And now here we are, collecting coin for the son of that same lord, trying to put the past aside for the sake of getting paid. Life has a twisted sense of humor.

We did well enough with the tax collecting, managed to get what we needed from four local mayors. None of them were happy about it, of course—who would be? But Lord Robar was pleased, and I suppose that’s what matters. Still, it felt dirty. The clansmen weren’t pleased with it either. They’re warriors, not tax collectors, and I can’t blame them for feeling out of place. To make up for it, Crittark took another contract—something more suited to our skills, or at least more exciting. This time, we were to rescue a “fair subject” for Lord Corben Warrick. Rescue work, something that would get our blood pumping instead of counting someone else’s coins. It was a chance to redeem ourselves, or at least wash the shame off our hands.

But when we found the so-called “fair subject,” it turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. The man was an arrogant hothead, rude as anything. As fair-looking as he was, his temperament was vile. He was holed up in a cave, hiding for reasons that he didn’t bother to explain. The whole thing felt off. We took him back, and he was reluctant every step of the way. No one asked questions, but it didn’t feel like a rescue—it felt more like a polite kidnapping. We brought him back, got paid, and moved on, but it left a sour taste in my mouth. This wasn’t the kind of work I had in mind when I joined Crittark. I’m starting to wonder if we’re still the warriors we claimed to be, or if we’re just doing whatever it takes to survive, dignity be damned.

And then began what I’ve come to think of as our two-year nightmare. It started with a contract from Lady Mareslla Lipps—hired muscle, just the sort of work Crittark’s clansmen are eager for. Her lands were being plagued by a rash of petty thefts—six, sometimes eight reports in a day. But no one had a clue who was behind it. We took the job, determined to root out whoever was responsible, but it was like chasing shadows. We failed, and I can’t say I was surprised. This wasn’t the kind of fight we were built for. We’re not trackers, we’re not spies—we’re warriors. And yet there we were, stumbling in the dark after thieves that seemed to vanish into thin air.

Crittark didn’t take the failure well. He saw it as a personal affront, as if his pride was on the line. He went back to Lord Corben Warrick, practically begged him to rehire us so we could take another crack at it. So we tried again, this time under Lord Corben’s banner. And once again, we failed. It was becoming a joke—us, the fearsome Hoofcrag Clan, unable to catch a bunch of common thieves. Embarrassing doesn’t even begin to cover it. Every failure was another blow to our reputation, and I could see the frustration in Crittark’s eyes, a growing fire that refused to die.

He wouldn’t give up, though. He went back to Lady Mareslla, offering our services for half the price. She agreed, reluctantly. It was a last-ditch effort, and honestly, I didn’t think we’d fare any better this time. But then we caught a break—when we noticed a young girl following us. Turned out she was a scout for the gang, and when we dug a bit deeper, we realized why we’d been failing for so long. The gang was made up mostly of children. They were small, nimble, and completely underestimated. That’s why no one could catch them—they were hiding in plain sight, right under our noses. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here we were, seasoned fighters, and it took us this long to figure out we were chasing kids.

With that knowledge, everything changed. We knew what to look for, and soon enough, we caught most of them. The petty thefts stopped, and Lady Mareslla was finally satisfied. But the surprises didn’t end there. The young girl we caught—the one who’d been tailing us—turned out to be their leader. Damana, Daughter of Wolves, they called her. Smart, resourceful, everything we hadn’t expected. The whole ordeal took two years of our lives, and I won’t lie—it wore on all of us. But in a strange way, it brought Crittark and me closer. We’ve always been comrades, but now... we’re friends. And that’s something I never thought I’d say. I’m still bitter about those wasted years, about the humiliation of failing over and over again. But at least, in the end, we found some sense of redemption—and maybe, just maybe, a bond that will hold when the next challenge comes.

After two years of chasing shadows, we finally caught a break, and what better way to celebrate than with the wildest party the camp had ever seen? I have to give credit where it’s due—Colianne the Ovenmistress knows how to brew a damned fine drink. The mead she made was something else. Strong, smooth, and enough to knock a grown man flat if he wasn’t careful. Hoofcrag Mead, they’re calling it now, and the locals have started buying it from us. Imagine that—warriors turned brewers, selling drink to the same people who used to sneer at us. It’s almost funny. And if that wasn’t enough, Colianne’s pregnant again. Seems like she and Crittark can’t go more than a few months without adding to their brood. More mouths to feed, more distractions. I just hope it doesn’t slow us down.

And then there’s Gerold the Fair. The young lad who was wandering the Vale searching for some magical spring, trying to make himself stronger. Crittark took a liking to him, and somehow they’ve become friends. I’ll admit, I never thought much of Gerold—he’s too pretty, too idealistic, and not exactly the kind of person you’d expect to see with a bunch of grizzled clansmen. But lately, he’s come out of his shell. Started integrating with the rest of us, showing a bit of grit I didn’t think he had. Maybe there’s more to him than I gave him credit for. Or maybe he’s just another fool getting caught up in something he doesn’t fully understand. Either way, he’s here now, and he’s one of us. For better or worse, we’ll see what becomes of him. I’m still not convinced he’s cut out for this life, but if he can prove me wrong, I won’t complain.

Chac1 · Nov 28, 2024

Finally, caught up with this one. Liking this great graphic novel of an AAR. The art is superb. Plus enjoying the story. Although it is set in the GRRM universe, it is in such a niche that it seems very fresh. If the AGOT mod for CK3 along with your FAST add on mod allow you to play mercenaries and extract such a rich story along the way, this may be a reason I finally convert to CK3.

(I'm slow though. I still have a very slow and long game of CK2 going right now.)

Well done. I hope more folks find this excellent AAR and read it too.

P.S.: To find more readers, I would suggest posting about your AAR in the Inkwell.

If you'd like to research writing topics there's the SolAARium and the fAARq, which are excellent resources for writers.

Also, feel free to interact with other writers in the main part of the AARland forum.

If you feel up to rubbing elbows with some of the writAARs in a different way you may decide to hang out in the bAAR .

Good luck to you as I hope you will continue this project.

Ran Miller · Nov 28, 2024

Chac1 said:
Finally, caught up with this one. Liking this great graphic novel of an AAR. The art is superb. Plus enjoying the story. Although it is set in the GRRM universe, it is in such a niche that it seems very fresh. If the AGOT mod for CK3 along with your FAST add on mod allow you to play mercenaries and extract such a rich story along the way, this may be a reason I finally convert to CK3.

(I'm slow though. I still have a very slow and long game of CK2 going right now.)

Well done. I hope more folks find this excellent AAR and read it too.

P.S.: To find more readers, I would suggest posting about your AAR in the Inkwell.

If you'd like to research writing topics there's the SolAARium and the fAARq, which are excellent resources for writers.

Also, feel free to interact with other writers in the main part of the AARland forum.

If you feel up to rubbing elbows with some of the writAARs in a different way you may decide to hang out in the bAAR .

Good luck as you as I hope you will continue this project.

Thanks for the feedback/advice!

I tried posting on the Inkwell, the rest of the places look interesting and I certainly SHOULD look into researching to improve, I just wish I had more free time. Like everyone else, my free time is finite and for now, I am really into just writing and enjoying the journey. But as soon as this saga comes to an end (most likely due to save corruption or some mod breaking) I will be all over these places - thanks for pointing them out.

Ran Miller · Nov 28, 2024

Pov 013 Mara the Meek - 'Devotion in Theft'
Narration

Extracts from the diaries of:
Mara the Meek,
A rebel and a heretic,
Circa 91 A.C.

The Spring Sickness has taken Westeros in its grip. I’ve heard of entire villages wiped out, of lords and ladies struck down in their halls, and cities riddled with fear and death. But here in the Vale, we remain untouched. Not a cough, not a fever. It is the Old Gods who protect us—I know it deep in my heart. They watch over us, sheltering us in these mountains that have been their home since before men carved castles from stone. The Seven might hold sway elsewhere, but the Old Gods have not abandoned their people here. They see us. They protect us. And for that, I am grateful beyond words. I owe them everything, my life, my new purpose.

Recently, Crittark took on a contract to perform a census for Lord Victor Vearnon. I see why it appeals to him—he wants to make an impression, to secure favor with the man who holds claim over the Halfvale, which Crittark considers home. It's an opportunity to prove our worth, to show that we can handle not just battle, but governance as well. In a way, it's Crittark's way of planting a seed—of shadow-governing the Halfvale in Vearnon's name, but also for our people. It didn’t take long—less than a month, and we had it done. But I can’t shake the feeling that this isn't the kind of work we should be doing. I feel uneasy, like we're drifting from the path set before us by the Old Gods. I need to speak with Crittark. There is an opportunity, one that could be the turning point for all of us, something far more fitting for those who are under the protection of the Old Gods. This work may fill our coffers, but it doesn’t fill our spirits. It’s time we sought something greater.

Crittark listened to me. Even now, I find it hard to believe. He listened to me—a broken woman, a failed leader—and he heeded my words. I know what I asked of him went against everything he stands for. He’s a warrior, a man of honor, one who leads openly and does not slink in the shadows. But in the end, he relented. Not for me, not for himself, but for the Old Gods. He understood what this act could mean, what a symbol it could be. We must show that the Old Gods are not forgotten, that they still have the power to protect their people. He relented, and in that moment, I saw just how much devotion he truly has. He’s willing to walk a path he does not favor, all for the sake of our shared faith.

The opportunity was this: to steal from Lord Pelion Bronzbrine, a well-known zealot and self-proclaimed holy warrior of the Seven. He’s the kind of man who looks down on people like us, who thinks his gods are the only true gods, and that ours are relics of a past best forgotten. To rob him of his treasury would not just be a blow to his pride—it would be a statement. It would send a clear message to the local clansmen that the Old Gods are alive, that they have not been silenced, that they still protect and guide those who honor them. It was not about the wealth itself, though the coin would surely help our people—it was about the act, about showing that the Seven are not invincible, that their champions can bleed, that their wealth can be taken. It was about standing up, even in the shadows, and refusing to be silenced.

The heist plan was a difficult one, but we each had our part to play. Greedlyn and I were tasked with being the thieves—the ones who would enter Lord Pelion's estate and take the gold. It felt almost surreal to be planning something like this, but it was for the Old Gods, and I would do whatever was needed. Scarlet Web scouted ahead, watching the movements of the guards, memorizing their routines, and finding every possible weakness. Mistress Colianne, despite her pregnancy, agreed to be our infiltrator. She could move within the estate in ways the rest of us could not, posing as a servant and slipping into places we could never reach. Berdys was our footpad, patrolling the perimeter, making sure no one got too close or stumbled upon our plan. Each of us had a role, and each of us knew the risks. But we were determined—this wasn’t just about the gold. It was about proving that the Old Gods still had power, even here.

The heist itself was brutal. Colianne lost her child—a stillborn, taken from her before it even had a chance to live. It was a heavy blow, one that hung over all of us like a dark cloud. But even in her grief, Colianne continued, and she made a detailed map of Topperpoole that would be invaluable for our next steps. She and I had our differences—she blamed me, in part, for pushing the heist, for the risks that led to her loss. I understood her anger, but I couldn’t let it deter me. I had to believe that what we were doing was worth it, even if it cost us dearly. But the weight of it all pushed me to my breaking point. I stopped washing, stopped caring for myself. I let the dirt and sickness cling to me because, deep down, I felt I deserved it. I had pushed us down this path, and now I had to bear the burden of our suffering.

After two long years, we did it. We took all the gold in Lord Pelion Bronzbrine’s coffers—everything, including the recent donations to his Sept. It was a king's ransom, more wealth than I had ever imagined seeing in my life. Word spread quickly, but Pelion could not admit to it publicly. To acknowledge that he had been robbed would be to show weakness, and so we got away with it. And that wasn’t all—our success brought others to us. Clansmen who had heard of our deeds, who saw the power of the Old Gods, who wanted to be part of something greater. They came to us, and our numbers grew. I couldn’t be happier. For the first time since my failure, I felt like I was truly doing something right—something that mattered. I had found my purpose again, and I would not let it slip away.

Chac1 · Nov 28, 2024

Another great chapter. Mara certainly has different appearances though. Sometimes she looks like a crazed zealot. From this entry in her diary, I suppose that fits. Excellent artwork as usual, especially the smiling Weirwood.

Crittark Saga - Agot ARR of a Vale Clansman (Now with narration)

Saga Chronicler

Scribe of the Grand City of Copán

Saga Chronicler

Saga Chronicler

Saga Chronicler

Saga Chronicler

Scribe of the Grand City of Copán

Saga Chronicler

Saga Chronicler

Scribe of the Grand City of Copán

Saga Chronicler

Saga Chronicler

Saga Chronicler

Saga Chronicler

Saga Chronicler

Saga Chronicler

Scribe of the Grand City of Copán

Saga Chronicler

Saga Chronicler

Scribe of the Grand City of Copán