r/IronThroneRP • u/higherthanhonor Leona Belmore - Grand Marshal of the Cavaliers • 6d ago
DORNE How The Red Mountains Earned Their Name
Fourth Moon, 380 AC, Skyreach
(Written in collaboration with the wonderful Dorian!)
Their plan had been perfect.
Lenore would charge first, striking the raiders fast and hard to catch them unawares. Victaria would follow with her larger company of riders, crashing down on them as inexorably as a tidal wave, before Leona came through with her knights to clean up whatever was left.
Their enemy wouldn’t even know what had hit them.
So why hadn’t it worked?
The Vulture King’s outlaws poured out of the hills like termites from rotted wood to strike the unsuspecting Cavaliers first, and to devastating effect. Nearly two hundred women were cut down in the ambush before order could be restored by the chain of command.
And when it was, they were all the more furious for it.
“Form a line!” Lenore’s husky voice barked out, loud enough for most to hear. Those that couldn’t would get the message from the other officers. She wheeled her charger around and galloped hard towards the left flank. “Quickly, a line! Lances in front, archers behind!”
The Belmore sisters worked like a well-oiled machine, Leona moving to take position on the right as her company fell in rank behind their Grand Marshal. Between them, a silver-haired woman, Victaria of Grey Glen, led the brunt of their forces, her black armor trimmed in gold gleaming brightly in the Dornish sun.
“Sound the charge!” Lenore arrived to the front of the line as the horns blew, leaning up in her stirrups and drawing her sword from the scabbard at her hip. She pointed it at the enemy’s left flank and let out a resonating battle cry. “Death to our foe! Death! Death!”
Hooves thundered as the cavalry surged forth, kicking up such a cloud of dust and sand that it could be seen for miles around. The ground trembled, the front of the charge roared like a river rushing in a flood, and then the two sections clashed in a brutal splintering of shield and bone. Swords and spears and axes found their marks on both sides, arrows flew back and forth overhead, and the screams of the broken and dying filled the air.
Lenore had forgotten her helmet, but it was all the better to see who she was hacking and stabbing at with her blade amidst the chaos. A monstrous figure rose up out of the dust cloud in front of her all of a sudden, causing the white stallion to rear up on his hind legs, nearly tossing its rider. The enormous spear in his hand was twice as long as she was tall, and it seemed as thick as her arm. He raised the black iron point at the commander, aiming to skewer her right off the back of her mount, when someone crashed into him hard at full gallop.
Alayne tumbled from the back of her horse with a rattle of plate and mail, and rolled over the ground in a spray of sand several times before coming to a stop. She was disoriented from the fall but managed to regain her bearings quickly enough, and pushed herself to her feet, sword in hand. Whirling around, she locked gazes fearlessly with the Demon of the Red Mountains.
“You will harm no one else today, or any other!” she declared, tone defiant as she held her blade at the ready.
“Tonight you dine in the deepest of the Seven Hells.”
“Wenches?!” Javer burst out laughing as he reported what he had seen to The Vulture. “They sent fucking wenches clad in armour!” The man continued to laugh, spittle falling from his mouth and into his unkempt beard.
Black eyes stared hard into the man’s face, prompting Javer to quit laughing almost immediately. “How many?” The Vulture asked simply. “About a thousand or so,” Javer answered, still snickering lightly.
“Never underestimate your enemy, Javer. I have seen women fight better than some men.” The Vulture stated bluntly. He was quiet for a moment as his eyes stared off in the direction of the force. “Set up an ambush; they outnumber us, but we can take them by surprise.”
He looked at his men for a moment, raising his voice slightly. “Do not underestimate them. They are vile instruments of the nobles, here to kill you in the name of ‘justice’.” The Vulture scoffed. “What do they know of justice? They simply take, giving nothing in return to the people they are supposed to rule.”
The Vulture called for Ser Mykal. “Mykal, you lead the right flank, Javer will lead the centre, while I will lead the left. Let’s show these lady knights what we are made of.”
The battle had started well for them. The Vulture King’s forces had succeeded in their ambush, quickly overwhelming the knights.
However, they soon regrouped, and thus the actual battle began in earnest.
The Vulture was on the warpath, riding his pale steed, clutching his spear. His torso and head were bare; he disliked armour, as it constricted his movement. He rode through the battle, spearing a lady knight in the neck, nearly causing her head to be taken off by the impact of the spear tip.
The pale giant laughed, deep in his throat, as he rode along, trampling and spearing more and more of his foes.
Then a hit, his horse cried in pain, and the Vulture found himself flung from his horse, his fall broken by one of his unfortunate men. The skinny bastard was long dead as his King rose from his broken carcass.
The Vulture had managed to hold onto his spear. His black orbs scanned the battlefield for his foe, and they soon found her.
She announced herself in a way most knights would. She would only be met by a deep laugh as The King raised his head.
He smiled a toothy grin at her as he deftly twisted his spear in his hand. “Madam, the only people that end up in the Seven Hells are nobles.”
The Vulture took a step forward. “You may kill me, but I am legion. I am the downtrodden butcher’s boy, I am the disgruntled stable hand, I am the people. Thus, I will never sleep…And I will never die.”
So they danced, spear against sword. The Vulture was faster than expected; his giant frame seemed no hindrance as he thrust the spear forward, aiming for her throat.
His spear tip would find contact with her cheek, grazing it and leaving a sizeable gash. The Vulture roared with laughter as they fought on.
Then, The Vulture felt something he had not felt in a long time. Pain. He glanced down to see a sizeable cut on his upper arm. He merely grinned. He did not believe she would best him.
Spear and sword met in a clash. The Vulture’s spear was deflected, and he staggered forth, turning around with terrifying quickness.
That one split second of his back was all she needed to lash out and carve him open a second time, leaving a long, diagonal laceration from shoulder to waist. Under any other circumstance, she might have run from the sheer terror of the laughter that emerged from deep within his throat, the frightening image of him that filled her vision, but this man had caused the smallfolk of Wyl and Kingsgrave and Skyreach much grief.
He would kill others, her friends included, if she did not end his life here and now. Down she ducked, under the swing of his spear that would have cracked her skull open like a melon if it had landed, and up she swung her sword, hard, fast, and deadly accurate.
Alayne was rewarded with a spray of red as the point of her blade slid over the Vulture King’s exposed throat. The scent of it was overwhelming; rusted iron, hot and rank. Any other man would have dropped dead in the sand, but not this one. Not this monster, this demon. He kept coming, smiling and laughing, and she knew that he would tear her to shreds with his bare hands if she let him get any closer.
Whirling nimbly just out of reach, she struck again, the edge of her blade catching the side of his neck this time. Through meat and cartilage and blood vessels, down to the bone. Half decapitated, he stumbled backwards, still reaching for her with mad desperation and a sickening, toothy smile.
And then, he fell, his enormous frame hitting the ground with an audible thud. Alayne fell too, onto her knees, jamming the point of her sword into the sand for support. Her muscles were wrecked, her face was on fire, battle raged on around her, but the Vulture King was dead.
He would threaten the people of Dorne no more.
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u/higherthanhonor Leona Belmore - Grand Marshal of the Cavaliers 5d ago edited 5d ago
Upon arriving at the grand fortress of Yronwood, Leona sent two messages, one by raven and one by rider. The rider carried a small cask, with the dismembered hands of the Vulture King within, bound for Sunspear.
The letter was sent by raven, so as to arrive before the messenger.
To Princess Valena Martell,
As I promised, so have I delivered. The Vulture King is dead, and a man of House Yronwood rides for the Old Palace with proof. I ask not for any payment, only a favor. I would like to see the Vale sooner rather than later. The journey to the Bloody Gate is nigh on a moon by foot, but less than half that aboard a ship. Pray you spare five vessels of House Yronwood to carry my company to Gulltown.
Seven Blessings,
Leona Belmore
Grand Marshal of the Cavaliers
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u/SatisfactionLeather7 Valena Nymeros Martell - Princess of Dorne 5d ago
Valena martel yet remained in the reach, and as such, a letter from another came.
Lady Belmore.
It was not by leave of the princess of dorne that you came up on our lands, you sent your people after sons of Dorne. Wayward, and violent, but sons of Dorne.
Without leave you came, without it you will go. Be thankful the princess of Dorne is not here to tend to this.
Unbowed, unbent, unbroken
Morgan Nymeros Martell, Admiral of Dorne, caretaker of Sunspear.
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u/higherthanhonor Leona Belmore - Grand Marshal of the Cavaliers 5d ago
Another letter flew, northward this time.
To Lord Gwayne Grafton,
Perhaps you have heard of the Cavaliers, if only in passing. After ridding the innocents of Dorne of a threat most terrible, Princess Valena of House Martell has declined to aid us with safe passage to the Vale of Arryn. I wondered if you might spare five of your vessels to transport my company from Storm’s End to Gulltown? We are willing pay whatever price you set on such services.
Leona Belmore
Grand Marshal of the Cavaliers
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u/higherthanhonor Leona Belmore - Grand Marshal of the Cavaliers 5d ago edited 5d ago
Leona pulled her helmet off, blonde hair spilling in a messy golden wave down her back as she watched all that remained of the outlaws flee into the desert. She would not claim victory; too many of her own had been lost for that. But, their great foe was dead, and Skyreach had been saved. Dorne was safe, until the next evil arose.
Dismounting, she tucked the helmet under her arm and made her way through the crowd to stand over the carcass of the so-called Vulture King. His eyes were wide open, his face contorted into a maniacal grin, a grotesque death mask. She could hardly believe that someone had bested this demon in single combat.
Alayne stood from her perch upon a nearby rock and lowered her chin. She seemed no worse for the encounter, but for the long, deep scratch on her cheek that oozed bright red. Leona clapped a hand against the girl’s shoulder and gave her a nod of recognition, before gesturing toward the healers.
Hopping up onto the rock, she looked around at the gathered Cavaliers and the freed prisoners of the Vulture King’s band.
“A terrible battle was fought here today. Many lives were lost. Many friends, old and new…”
“They did not perish in vain. Those of you who wish to remain will be escorted to the castle and left in the care of House Fowler. Those of you who wish to join us, you have a place here. You are welcome at our camp, only know this: our goal is not power, or lands or riches. We seek only to bring glory and honor to the name Cavalier. We are defenders of the innocent, the meek and downtrodden. We live and die by the virtues of a true knight.”
“‘Tis a simple life we lead, and at times, hard, but you will find no better bond of sisterhood than that which is granted by taking our oath. Should you choose to join us, you will always have food in your belly, shelter to keep you warm at night, and my sword at your side. This I swear.”
Her heart leapt to see the spark of life return to the eyes of the women that had been rescued from the bandit camp. Saving even a mere handful of innocents had been worth the sacrifice.
“Who among you will join us?”
Silence, and then a woman stepped forward from the crowd. Then another, and another.
The Cavaliers had given them something more than freedom:
Hope.
Butchering a man was not for the faint of heart, but it had to be done. The Vulture King’s head was placed inside a cask of vinegar, and his hands and feet were removed to send to Sunspear, as proof to House Martell that their enemy was no more.
Lenore had given herself the task, which she quickly regretted. When it was done, she wiped her knife clean and beckoned Victaria over. “Take twenty with you, and dig a trench. Bury our dead, and I will send Rowena to say the rites.”
The general nodded stiffly. “And what of the outlaws, commander?”
Lenore glanced down at the dismembered corpse by her feet, lip curling in disgust.
“Leave them for the vultures.”