“He hates seeing softness in any person who could be hurt by it, and it generally leads to him hating said person.”Andrik Tawney was born in 179 AC to Terrock Tawney and his ‘rock’-wife Roslin Lannett, in the quiet dark of a rainy night. The third son of a third son, it was not expected that Andrik would inherit anything of import. Though nonetheless afforded the basic comforts and cares of the mainline, his grandfather, Lord Haron Tawney, took a distant approach to ruling over his own household. Haron allowed his son to treat his family as he pleased, so long as he comported himself properly in public.
-Roslin Lannett, Lady Dowager of Nettlebank Bay, on the topic of her son.
“Andrik? He hoarded the teachings of that priest like a dragon hoards treasures, like a starved child hoarding morsels of food. Devoutly. Possessively. Violently.”Every morning, Balir “Tangledbeard” Nettley, a drowned priest of distantly related noble descent, proselytized by the seashore of Nettlebank Bay. In Andrik, he found his most ardent follower. The boy - with a newly-realized fervor to lance his vulnerabilities like pus from a boil - spent his following years attending the priest’s sermons, listening to Balir Tangledbeard’s preaching of the true culture of the islands, eventually becoming an acolyte and learning the rudimentary ways of healing with saltwater and fire. This new worthwhile pastime reluctantly gained his father’s approval, and though his grandfather disapproved of his newfound zealotry, Andrik continued. His time was mostly spent away from home, attempting fingerdancing in taverns, learning sailing from his eldest brother, and traveling. By sixteen, he had become someone entirely unrecognizable from the tender boy he had been, sprouting like a weed into a gangly, muscular lad, with large hands and feet that spoke of greater height in his future.
-Alannys Tawney, older sister of Andrik, regarding his zealotry.
”Take, for instance, the lodestone: that which attracts iron, yet repels others of its like. Theirs were never the difficulties of distance, but the inherent repulsion of too-similar souls.”At eighteen, Andrik took to saltwife a courtesan from Lys, who birthed him his first and only son. Three daughters from his rockwife followed in the consecutive years, but no other boys came. Andrik named him Lucamore, and paid little attention to him in infancy and toddlerhood, certain he would soon have rocksons. As more and more time passed, however, Andrik paid closer attention to Lucamore’s rearing. What he noticed disgusted him: the boy was maidenhearted, too soft by half, entirely too reminiscent of Andrik's younger self.
-Maester Loughlyn, part of Lady Roslin Lannett’s retinue, ‘My Time in the Isles; on the Tawney and his Ilk’’
“If you take one step toward that chair,” he snarled in Othgar’s ear, “Every bone in your body will break on the rack of my rage.”Like ephemeral ghosts of yore, the ironborn came and the ironborn left. Terrock sickened on the way back to the islands, his wound inflamed. Andrik treated him with saltwater and fire and salve, all to no avail. Terrock’s condition worsened, and upon arrival at Nettlebank Bay, was cordoned to his chambers. Terrock asked Andrik to write to his brother. Andrik refused, but Terrock commanded his wife to send the letter instead, culminating in a loud argument that had Andrik’s bellows bouncing off the stone halls.
-Andrik to Othgar, upon Othgar’s return.
The caves were timeless, vast, silent. They were home to more than three score living singers and the bones of thousands dead, and extended far below the hollow hill. "Men should not go wandering in this place," Leaf warned them. "The river you hear is swift and black, and flows down and down to a sunless sea. And there are passages that go even deeper, bottomless pits and sudden shafts, forgotten ways that lead to the very center of the earth. Even my people have not explored them all, and we have lived here for a thousand thousand of your man-years."
"The maesters may believe what they wish. Ask a woods witch if you would know the truth. The grey death sleeps, only to wake again. The child is not clean!"
"Stark's little wolflings are dead," said Ramsay, sloshing some more ale into his cup, "and they'll stay dead. Let them show their ugly faces, and my girls will rip those wolves of theirs to pieces. The sooner they turn up, the sooner I kill them again."
"Redfort and Waynwood are old. One or both of them may die. Gilwood Hunter will be murdered by his brothers. Most likely by young Harlan, who arranged Lord Eon's death. In for a penny, in for a stag, I always say. Belmore is corrupt and can be bought. Templeton I shall befriend. Bronze Yohn Royce will continue to be hostile, I fear, but so long as he stands alone he is not so much a threat."
I thought the crossbow fitting. You shared so much with Lord Tywin, why not that? Your niece will think the Tyrells had you murdered, mayhaps with the connivance of the Imp. The Tyrells will suspect her. Someone somewhere will find a way to blame the Dornishmen. Doubt, division, and mistrust will eat the very ground beneath your boy king, whilst Aegon raises his banner above Storm's End and the lords of the realm gather round him.
Salla would be sailing around the Fingers and down the narrow sea. He was returning to the Stepstones with what few ships remained him. Perhaps he would acquire a few more along the way, if he came upon some likely merchantmen. A little piracy to help the leagues go by.
These are no mere reavers. The ironmen have always raided where they could. They would strike sudden from the sea, carry off some gold and girls, and sail away, but there were seldom more than one or two longships, and never more than half a dozen. Hundreds of their ships afflict us now, sailing out of the Shield Islands and some of the rocks around the Arbor. They have taken Stonecrab Cay, the Isle of Pigs, and the Mermaid's Palace, and there are other nests on Horseshoe Rock and Bastard's Cradle. Without Lord Redwyne's fleet, we lack the ships to come to grips with them.
Lord Leyton's locked atop his tower with the Mad Maid, consulting books of spells. Might be he'll raise an army from the deeps. Or not. Baelor's building galleys, Gunthor has charge of the harbor, Garth is training new recruits, and Humfrey's gone to Lys to hire sellsails. If he can winkle a proper fleet out of his whore of a sister, we can start paying back the ironmen with some of their own coin. Till then, the best we can do is guard the sound and wait for the bitch queen in King's Landing to let Lord Paxter off his leash.
"The red priests would be wise to hold their tongues," said Qavo Nogarys. "Already there has been fighting between their followers and those who worship other gods. Benerro's rantings will only serve to bring a savage wrath down upon his head."
Daario turned his head and spat. "That's for Brown Ben Plumm. When next I see his ugly face I will open him from throat to groin and rip out his black heart."
"I'm sad." She yawned again. "And tired. So tired." Tired or sick? Tyrion knelt beside her pallet. "You look pale." He felt her brow. Is it hot in here, or does she have a touch of fever? He dared not ask that question aloud. Even hard men like the Second Sons were terrified of mounting the pale mare. If they thought Penny was sick, they would drive her off without a moment's hesitation.
And across the table from Ser Barristan sat four of King Hizdahr's erstwhile guardsmen, the pit fighters Goghor the Giant, Belaquo Bonebreaker, Camarron of the Count, and the Spotted Cat. Selmy had insisted on their presence, over the objections of Skahaz Shavepate. They had helped Daenerys Targaryen take this city once, and that should not be forgotten. Blood-soaked brutes and killers they might be, but in their own way they had been loyal … to King Hizdahr, yes, but to the queen as well.
"Yunkai's got four Ghiscari legions too, maybe more, and I heard it said they sent riders across the Dothraki sea to maybe bring some big khalasar down on us."TL;DR - A list of various major and minor things to show the state of things at the end of ***A Dance with Dragons/*beginning of The Winds of Winter*.* If I forgot anything on this list, let me know and I'll add to it! There's definitely more here that I couldn't fit or forgot about. Share your thoughts on what some of these things could mean!
Jojen gazed up at him with his dark green eyes. "There's nothing here to hurt us, Your Grace."A list of the different scary stories in the series
Bran wasn't so certain. The Nightfort had figured in some of Old Nan's scariest stories. -ASOS, Bran IV
Yet over the thousands of years of its existence as the chief seat of the Watch, the Nightfort has accrued many legends of its own, some of which have been recounted in Archmaester Harmune's Watchers on the Wall. -TWOIAF, The Wall and Beyond: The Night's Watchand:
It was here that Night's King had reigned, before his name was wiped from the memory of man. This was where the Rat Cook had served the Andal king his prince-and-bacon pie, where the seventy-nine sentinels stood their watch, where brave young Danny Flint had been raped and murdered. This was the castle where King Sherrit had called down his curse on the Andals of old, where the 'prentice boys had faced the thing that came in the night, where blind Symeon Star-Eyes had seen the hellhounds fighting. Mad Axe had once walked these yards and climbed these towers, butchering his brothers in the dark.and:
All that had happened hundreds and thousands of years ago, to be sure, and some maybe never happened at all. Maester Luwin always said that Old Nan's stories shouldn't be swallowed whole. But once his uncle came to see Father, and Bran asked about the Nightfort. Benjen Stark never said the tales were true, but he never said they weren't; he only shrugged and said, "We left the Nightfort two hundred years ago," as if that was an answer. -ASOS, Bran IV
Sometimes Summer would hear sounds that Bran seemed deaf to, or bare his teeth at nothing, the fur on the back of his neck bristling . . . but the Rat Cook never put in an appearance, nor the seventy-nine sentinels, nor Mad Axe. Bran was much relieved. Maybe it is only a ruined empty castle. -ASOS, Bran IVand:
Bran made himself close his eyes. Maybe he even slept some, or maybe he was just drowsing, floating the way you do when you are half awake and half asleep, trying not to think about Mad Axe or the Rat Cook or the thing that came in the night. -ASOS, Bran IV
As the sun began to set the shadows of the towers lengthened and the wind blew harder, sending gusts of dry dead leaves rattling through the yards. The gathering gloom put Bran in mind of another of Old Nan's stories, the tale of Night's King. He had been the thirteenth man to lead the Night's Watch, she said; a warrior who knew no fear. "And that was the fault in him," she would add, "for all men must know fear." A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well.and:
He brought her back to the Nightfort and proclaimed her a queen and himself her king, and with strange sorceries he bound his Sworn Brothers to his will. For thirteen years they had ruled, Night's King and his corpse queen, till finally the Stark of Winterfell and Joramun of the wildlings had joined to free the Watch from bondage. After his fall, when it was found he had been sacrificing to the Others, all records of Night's King had been destroyed, his very name forbidden.
"Some say he was a Bolton," Old Nan would always end. "Some say a Magnar out of Skagos, some say Umber, Flint, or Norrey. Some would have you think he was a Woodfoot, from them who ruled Bear Island before the ironmen came. He never was. He was a Stark, the brother of the man who brought him down." She always pinched Bran on the nose then, he would never forget it. "He was a Stark of Winterfell, and who can say? Mayhaps his name was Brandon. Mayhaps he slept in this very bed in this very room."
No, Bran thought, but he walked in this castle, where we'll sleep tonight. He did not like that notion very much at all. Night's King was only a man by light of day, Old Nan would always say, but the night was his to rule. And it's getting dark. -ASOS, Bran IV
The oldest of these tales concern the legendary Night's King, the thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, who was alleged to have bedded a sorceress pale as a corpse and declared himself a king. For thirteen years the Night's King and his "corpse queen" ruled together, before King of Winter, Brandon the Breaker, (in alliance, it is said, with the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Joramun) brought them down. Thereafter, he obliterated the Night's King's very name from memory.
In the Citadel, the archmaesters largely dismiss these tales—though some allow that there may have been a Lord Commander who attempted to carve out a kingdom for himself in the earliest days of the Watch. Some suggest that perhaps the corpse queen was a woman of the Barrowlands, a daughter of the Barrow King who was then a power in his own right, and oft associated with graves. The Night's King has been said to have been variously a Bolton, a Woodfoot, an Umber, a Flint, a Norrey, or even a Stark, depending on where the tale is told. Like all tales, it takes on the attributes that make it most appealing to those who tell it. -TWOIAF: The Wall and Beyond: The Night's Watch
So they went exploring, Jojen Reed leading, Bran in his basket on Hodor's back, Summer padding by their side. Once the direwolf bolted through a dark door and returned a moment later with a grey rat between his teeth. The Rat Cook, Bran thought, but it was the wrong color, and only as big as a cat. The Rat Cook was white, and almost as huge as a sow . . . -ASOS, Bran IVand:
That was the only thing he liked about the kitchens, though. The roof was mostly there, so they'd be dry if it rained again, but he didn't think they would ever get warm here. You could feel the cold seeping up through the slate floor. Bran did not like the shadows either, or the huge brick ovens that surrounded them like open mouths, or the rusted meat hooks, or the scars and stains he saw in the butcher's block along one wall. That was where the Rat Cook chopped the prince to pieces, he knew, and he baked the pie in one of these ovens. -ASOS, Bran IVand:
When the flames were blazing nicely Meera put the fish on. At least it's not a meat pie. The Rat Cook had cooked the son of the Andal king in a big pie with onions, carrots, mushrooms, lots of pepper and salt, a rasher of bacon, and a dark red Dornish wine. Then he served him to his father, who praised the taste and had a second slice. Afterward the gods transformed the cook into a monstrous white rat who could only eat his own young. He had roamed the Nightfort ever since, devouring his children, but still his hunger was not sated. "It was not for murder that the gods cursed him," Old Nan said, "nor for serving the Andal king his son in a pie. A man has a right to vengeance. But he slew a guest beneath his roof, and that the gods cannot forgive." -ASOS, Bran IVand:
As the Lord of the Dreadfort slipped out, attended by the three maesters, other lords and captains rose to follow. Hother Umber, the gaunt old man called Whoresbane, went grim-faced and scowling. Lord Manderly was so drunk he required four strong men to help him from the hall. "We should have a song about the Rat Cook," he was muttering, as he staggered past Theon, leaning on his knights. "Singer, give us a song about the Rat Cook." -ASOS, The Prince in Winterfelland:
In the North, they tell the tale of the Rat Cook, who served an Andal king—identified by some as King Tywell II of the Rock, and by others as King Oswell I of the Vale and Mountain—the flesh of the king's own son, baked into a pie. For this, he was punished by being turned into a monstrous rat that ate its own young. Yet the punishment was incurred not for killing the king's son, or for feeding him to the king, but for the breaking of guest right. -TWOIAF, The NorthObviously the Frey Pies theory is heavily based on the Rat Cook.
"There are ghosts here," Bran said. Hodor had heard all the stories before, but Jojen might not have. "Old ghosts, from before the Old King, even before Aegon the Dragon, seventy-nine deserters who went south to be outlaws. One was Lord Ryswell's youngest son, so when they reached the barrowlands they sought shelter at his castle, but Lord Ryswell took them captive and returned them to the Nightfort. The Lord Commander had holes hewn in the top of the Wall and he put the deserters in them and sealed them up alive in the ice. They have spears and horns and they all face north. The seventy-nine sentinels, they're called. They left their posts in life, so in death their watch goes on forever. Years later, when Lord Ryswell was old and dying, he had himself carried to the Nightfort so he could take the black and stand beside his son. He'd sent him back to the Wall for honor's sake, but he loved him still, so he came to share his watch." -ASOS, Bran IVand:
Outside the wind was sending armies of dead leaves marching across the courtyards to scratch faintly at the doors and windows. The sounds made him think of Old Nan's stories. He could almost hear the ghostly sentinels calling to each other atop the Wall and winding their ghostly warhorns. -ASOS, Bran IV
Or sing to us of brave young Danny Flint and make us weep." To look at him, you would have thought that he was the one newly wed. -ADWD, The Prince of Winterfelland:
"Har! You win, crow. Not a cock between 'em. The little one's got her a set o' balls, though. A spearwife in the making, her." He called to his own men. "Go find them something girly to put on before Lord Snow wets his smallclothes."
"I'll need two boys to take their places."
"How's that?" Tormund scratched his beard. "A hostage is a hostage, seems to me. That big sharp sword o' yours can snick a girl's head off as easy as a boy's. A father loves his daughters too. Well, most fathers."
It is not their fathers who concern me. "Did Mance ever sing of Brave Danny Flint?"
"A girl who dressed up like a boy to take the black. Her song is sad and pretty. What happened to her wasn't." In some versions of the song, her ghost still walked the Nightfort. "I'll send the girls to Long Barrow." The only men there were Iron Emmett and Dolorous Edd, both of whom he trusted. That was not something he could say of all his brothers.
The wildling understood. "Nasty birds, you crows." He spat. "Two more boys, then. You'll have them." -ADWD, Jon XII
This was the castle where King Sherrit had called down his curse on the Andals of old, -ASOS, Bran IV
Or maybe it wasn't Mad Axe at all, maybe it was the thing that came in the night. The 'prentice boys all saw it, Old Nan said, but afterward when they told their Lord Commander every description had been different. And three died within the year, and the fourth went mad, and a hundred years later when the thing had come again, the 'prentice boys were seen shambling along behind it, all in chains. -ASOS, Bran IVBran later encounters Sam and thinks that Sam is "the thing":
The footfalls sounded heavy to Bran, slow, ponderous, scraping against the stone. It must be huge. Mad Axe had been a big man in Old Nan's story, and the thing that came in the night had been monstrous. Back in Winterfell, Sansa had told him that the demons of the dark couldn't touch him if he hid beneath his blanket. He almost did that now, before he remembered that he was a prince, and almost a man grown.and:
From the well came a wail, a piercing creech that went through him like a knife. A huge black shape heaved itself up into the darkness and lurched toward the moonlight, and the fear rose up in Bran so thick that before he could even think of drawing Hodor's sword the way he'd meant to, he found himself back on the floor again with Hodor roaring "Hodor hodor HODOR," the way he had in the lake tower whenever the lightning flashed. But the thing that came in the night was screaming too, and thrashing wildly in the folds of Meera's net. Bran saw her spear dart out of the darkness to snap at it, and the thing staggered and fell, struggling with the net. The wailing was still coming from the well, even louder now. On the floor the black thing flopped and fought, screeching, "No, no, don't, please, DON'T . . ." -ASOS, Bran IV
where blind Symeon Star-Eyes had seen the hellhounds fighting -ASOS, Bran IV
It wasn't the sentinels, he knew. The sentinels never left the Wall. But there might be other ghosts in the Nightfort, ones even more terrible. He remembered what Old Nan had said of Mad Axe, how he took his boots off and prowled the castle halls barefoot in the dark, with never a sound to tell you where he was except for the drops of blood that fell from his axe and his elbows and the end of his wet red beard. -ASOS, Bran IVHe is also referenced wrt to Sam:
The footfalls sounded heavy to Bran, slow, ponderous, scraping against the stone. It must be huge. Mad Axe had been a big man in Old Nan's story, and the thing that came in the night had been monstrous. Back in Winterfell, Sansa had told him that the demons of the dark couldn't touch him if he hid beneath his blanket. He almost did that now, before he remembered that he was a prince, and almost a man grown.and:
It was Jojen who fed the sticks to the fire and blew on them until the flames leapt up crackling. Then there was light, and Bran saw the pale thin-faced girl by the lip of the well, all bundled up in furs and skins beneath an enormous black cloak, trying to shush the screaming baby in her arms. The thing on the floor was pushing an arm through the net to reach his knife, but the loops wouldn't let him. He wasn't any monster beast, or even Mad Axe drenched in gore; only a big fat man dressed up in black wool, black fur, black leather, and black mail. "He's a black brother," said Bran. "Meera, he's from the Night's Watch." -ASOS, Bran IV
"I know where the slaves came from. They were wildlings from Westeros, from a place called Hardhome. An old ruined place, accursed." Old Nan had told her tales of Hardhome, back at Winterfell when she had still been Arya Stark -ADWD, The Blind Girland:
Othell Yarwyck scowled. "I'm no ranger, but …Hardhome is an unholy place, it's said. Cursed. Even your uncle used to say as much, Lord Snow. Why would they go there?" -ADWD, Jon VIIIand:
"All that's true, I don't doubt," said Yarwyck, "but it's not a place I'd want to spend a night. You know the tale."
He did. Hardhome had been halfway toward becoming a town, the only true town north of the Wall, until the night six hundred years ago when hell had swallowed it. Its people had been carried off into slavery or slaughtered for meat, depending on which version of the tale you believed, their homes and halls consumed in a conflagration that burned so hot that watchers on the Wall far to the south had thought the sun was rising in the north. Afterward ashes rained down on haunted forest and Shivering Sea alike for almost half a year. Traders reported finding only nightmarish devastation where Hardhome had stood, a landscape of charred trees and burned bones, waters choked with swollen corpses, blood-chilling shrieks echoing from the cave mouths that pocked the great cliff that loomed above the settlement.
Six centuries had come and gone since that night, but Hardhome was still shunned. The wild had reclaimed the site, Jon had been told, but rangers claimed that the overgrown ruins were haunted by ghouls and demons and burning ghosts with an unhealthy taste for blood. "It is not the sort of refuge I'd chose either," Jon said, "but Mother Mole was heard to preach that the free folk would find salvation where once they found damnation." -ADWD, Jon VIII
Hardhome was once the only settlement approaching a town in the lands beyond the Wall, sheltered on Storrold's Point and commanding a deepwater harbor. But six hundred years ago, it was burned and its people destroyed, though the Watch cannot say for a certainty what happened. Some say that cannibals from Skagos fell on them, others that slavers from across the narrow sea were at fault. The strangest stories, from a ship of the Watch sent to investigate, tell of hideous screams echoing down from the cliffs above Hardhome, where no living man or woman could be found.If you are interested check out some tinfoil on why Valyrian Dragonriders destroyed Hardhome
A most fascinating account of Hardhome can be found in Maester Wyllis's Hardhome: An Account of Three Years Spent Beyond-the-Wall among Savages, Raiders, and Woodswitches. Wyllis journeyed to Hardhome on a Pentoshi trader and established himself there as a healer and counselor so that he might write of their customs. He was given the protection of Gorm the Wolf—a chieftain who shared control of Hardhome with three other chiefs. When Gorm was murdered in a drunken brawl, however, Wyllis found himself in mortal danger and made his way back to Oldtown. There he set down his account, only to vanish the year after the illuminations were done. It was said in the Citadel that he was last seen at the docks, looking for a ship that would take him to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. -TWOIAF, The Wall and Beyond: The Wildlings
"That's not my favorite," he said. "My favorites were the scary ones." He heard some sort of commotion outside and turned back to the window. Rickon was running across the yard toward the gatehouse, the wolves following him, but the tower faced the wrong way for Bran to see what was happening. He smashed a fist on his thigh in frustration and felt nothing.It is such a bummer that Old Nan got cut off before saying something important to plot.
"Oh, my sweet summer child," Old Nan said quietly, "what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods."
"You mean the Others," Bran said querulously.
"The Others," Old Nan agreed. "Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks." Her voice and her needles fell silent, and she glanced up at Bran with pale, filmy eyes and asked, "So, child. This is the sort of story you like?"
"Well," Bran said reluctantly, "yes, only …"
Old Nan nodded. "In that darkness, the Others came for the first time," she said as her needles went click click click. "They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept over holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding their pale dead horses and leading hosts of the slain. All the swords of men could not stay their advance, and even maidens and suckling babes found no pity in them. They hunted the maids through frozen forests, and fed their dead servants on the flesh of human children."
Her voice had dropped very low, almost to a whisper, and Bran found himself leaning forward to listen.
"Now these were the days before the Andals came, and long before the women fled across the narrow sea from the cities of the Rhoyne, and the hundred kingdoms of those times were the kingdoms of the First Men, who had taken these lands from the children of the forest. Yet here and there in the fastness of the woods the children still lived in their wooden cities and hollow hills, and the faces in the trees kept watch. So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched, until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him, and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds—"
The door opened with a bang, and Bran's heart leapt up into his mouth in sudden fear, but it was only Maester Luwin, with Hodor looming in the stairway behind him. "Hodor!" the stableboy announced, as was his custom, smiling hugely at them all. -AGOT, Bran IV
They rode the winch lift back to the ground. The wind was gusting, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan had told when Jon was a boy. The heavy cage was swaying. From time to time it scraped against the Wall, starting small crystalline showers of ice that sparkled in the sunlight as they fell, like shards of broken glass. -ADWD, Jon VIIand:
The snowfall was light today, a thin scattering of flakes dancing in the air, but the wind was blowing from the east along the Wall, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan used to tell. Even Melisandre's fire was shivering; the flames huddled down in the ditch, crackling softly as the red priestess sang. Only Ghost seemed not to feel the chill. -ADWD, Jon Xand:
Of all the queer and fabulous denizens of the Shivering Sea, however, the greatest are the ice dragons. These colossal beasts, many times larger than the dragons of Valyria, are said to be made of living ice, with eyes of pale blue crystal and vast translucent wings through which the moon and stars can be glimpsed as they wheel across the sky. Whereas common dragons (if any dragon can truly be said to be common) breathe flame, ice dragons supposedly breathe cold, a chill so terrible that it can freeze a man solid in half a heartbeat.
Sailors from half a hundred nations have glimpsed these great beasts over the centuries, so mayhaps there is some truth behind the tales. Archmaester Margate has suggested that many legends of the north—freezing mists, ice ships, Cannibal Bay, and the like—can be explained as distorted reports of ice-dragon activity. Though an amusing notion, and not without a certain elegance, this remains the purest conjecture. As ice dragons supposedly melt when slain, no actual proof of their existence has ever been found. -TWOIAF: Beyond the Free Cities: The Shivering Sea
"Aerion the Monstrous?" Jon knew that name. "The Prince Who Thought He Was a Dragon" was one of Old Nan's more gruesome tales. His little brother Bran had loved it.and:
"The very one, though he named himself Aerion Brightflame. One night, in his cups, he drank a jar of wildfire, after telling his friends it would transform him into a dragon, but the gods were kind and it transformed him into a corpse. Not quite a year after, King Maekar died in battle against an outlaw lord." -ACOK, Jon I
The look Stannis gave her was dark. "Nine mages crossed the sea to hatch Aegon the Third's cache of eggs. Baelor the Blessed prayed over his for half a year. Aegon the Fourth built dragons of wood and iron. Aerion Brightflame drank wildfire to transform himself. The mages failed, King Baelor's prayers went unanswered, the wooden dragons burned, and Prince Aerion died screaming." -ASOS, Davos V
Catelyn could remember hearing Old Nan tell the story to her own children, back at Winterfell. "And King Harren learned that thick walls and high towers are small use against dragons," the tale always ended. "For dragons fly." Harren and all his line had perished in the fires that engulfed his monstrous fortress, and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. -ACOK, Catelyn IRulers of Harrenhal
That is the last thing I mean to do. The moonlight glimmered pale upon the stump where Jaime had rested his head. The moss covered it so thickly he had not noticed before, but now he saw that the wood was white. It made him think of Winterfell, and Ned Stark's heart tree. It was not him, he thought. It was never him. But the stump was dead and so was Stark and so were all the others, Prince Rhaegar and Ser Arthur and the children. And Aerys. Aerys is most dead of all. "Do you believe in ghosts, Maester?" he asked Qyburn.
The man's face grew strange. "Once, at the Citadel, I came into an empty room and saw an empty chair. Yet I knew a woman had been there, only a moment before. The cushion was dented where she'd sat, the cloth was still warm, and her scent lingered in the air. If we leave our smells behind us when we leave a room, surely something of our souls must remain when we leave this life?" Qyburn spread his hands. "The archmaesters did not like my thinking, though. Well, Marwyn did, but he was the only one." -ASOS, Jaime VI
Father, Jaime thought, your dogs have both gone mad. He found himself remembering tales he had first heard as a child at Casterly Rock, of mad Lady Lothston who bathed in tubs of blood and presided over feasts of human flesh within these very walls. -AFFC, Jaime III
He remembered then. He was a holy man sworn to the Seven, even if he did preach treason.
"His hands are scarlet with a brother's blood, and the blood of his young nephews too," the hunchback had declared to the crowd that had gathered in the market square. "A shadow came at his command to strangle brave Prince Valarr's sons in their mother's womb. Where is our Young Prince now? Where is his brother, sweet Matarys? Where has Good King Daeron gone, and fearless Baelor Breakspear? The grave has claimed them, every one, yet he endures, this pale bird with bloody beak who perches on King Aerys's shoulder and caws into his ear. The mark of hell is on his face and in his empty eye, and he has brought us drought and pestilence and murder. Rise up, I say, and remember our true king across the water. Seven gods there are, and seven kingdoms, and the Black Dragon sired seven sons! Rise up, my lords and ladies. Rise up, you brave knights and sturdy yeomen, and cast down Bloodraven, that foul sorcerer, lest your children and your children's children be cursed forever-more." Every word was treason. Even so, it was a shock to see him here, with holes where his eyes had been. "That's him, aye," Dunk said, "and another good reason to put this town behind us." He gave Thunder a touch of the spur, and he and Egg rode through the gates of Stoney Sept, listening to the soft sound of the rain. How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have? the riddle ran. A thousand eyes, and one. Some claimed the King's Hand was a student of the dark arts who could change his face, put on the likeness of a one-eyed dog, even turn into a mist. Packs of gaunt gray wolves hunted down his foes, men said, and carrion crows spied for him and whispered secrets in his ear. Most of the tales were only tales, Dunk did not doubt, but no one could doubt that Bloodraven had informers everywhere.
He had seen the man once with his own two eyes, back in King's Landing. White as bone were the skin and hair of Brynden Rivers, and his eye—he had only the one, the other having been lost to his half brother Bittersteel on the Redgrass Field—was red as blood. On cheek and neck he bore the winestain birthmark that had given him his name. -The Mystery Knight
Thoughts: I’ll probably swap my old terminators and my Knights (as I’m not ready to spend 100€ to buy a full tartaros squad for just a 1” bonus base movement) but I might give a shot on Cataphractii as my Deathwing assault target. I don’t think it is the end of the Knights because they remain the best IK hunters, but they are atm overpriced.Ravenwing:
Impeccable mobility WL trait is better than before: “Whilst they are within 6" of this Warlord, models in Ravenwing units from your army that have Advanced this turn can treat any Heavy weapons they are equipped with as Assault weapons. In addition, such models do not suffer the penalty for Advancing and firing Assault weapons”.It means that you can advance (more movement), get your 4++ from Jink and fire Heavy weapon without -1 to hit. It is great for Aircrafts (especially for the Nephilim as it only got heavy weapons) and Speeders. Sadly it is not working at full potential for Attack bikes (or regular Bikers) as twin boltguns aren’t Heavy or Assault weapons.
Thoughts: Ravenwing HQ combo is still kicking, they synergize really well with our Aircraft, especially the Nephilim but also with other speeders. Speeders, bar Tornado or Vengeance ones, are really better point wise than in 8th ed.Greenwing:
Funny enough the Speeder and the Attack bike have the same price per W (30 for 4 or 45 for 6) trading the Twin bolt gun for the Vehicle rules. The designer might have thought that the Bikes were too cheap or the Speeder was overpriced. As a comparison, a hypothetical Speeder with Assault cannon is nearly in line with the price of 3 intercessors.
Ravenwing bikers are a potential contender against Primaris intercessors trading fire power for mobility and durability. Attack bikes, even if I really like those models, took a big hit which might have killed them. Assault Cannon Speeders are pretty cost efficient and might be played more in the 9th ed.
Thoughts: Detachment rules changes are also a heavy blow to Battalion and MSU spams, killing in my opinion Scouts as you’ll prefer fewer stronger units. However for 135 points, Sniper scouts embarked in a Land speeder storm (which is cheaper now) are quite nice to put some pressure on annoying small characters (Cadre Fireblade, Primaris Psyker, a Farseer...) or too rush on an objective as he must kill the transport and the scouts after.Ironwing
Intercessors seem to be the unit they used to balance the game pointwise and are still one of the best units in the game. However other Primaris options are now also viable which gives us more flexibility in the playstyle.
With the quality of our Fast attack slots, assault marine should really be used to give dynamic poses to our devastator squad… it is even worse when compared to Reivers which are strictly better for a similar price. Unless you have strict point or detachment structure constraints, you should always pick Reivers over Assault marine for a deep strike slot aimed to kill infantry or light vehicle.
In my opinion, we might see less Eliminators spams (3 units of 3) as they are more expensive but they still remain a good unit that we will see for sure. Plasma inceptors got a lot of love and should be a good addition in a Dark Angel collection.
Thoughts: I’ll probably change my Land raider into a Redeemer but I don’t think they will be competitive in 9th ed even if they are a bit better as they weren’t in 8th (not enough dakka or impact). The change on the whirlwind is a sign that the lines of sight are important in the 9th edition and shooting without LOS is more expensive. However Whirlwind point increase is in line with the change on the Thunderfire canon (55% increase). I have mixed feelings about Vindicator as he is one of the only tanks to be short-ranged that could be tag in melee (Blast weapon can't be in engagement range) however its high toughness and its nearly nonexistent point increase are also interesting. Predators as an anti-tank are better than before (cheaper in a more expansive world) and should see more play.Aircrafts:
Thoughts: it is easier to understand why the price went up with Vehicle changes and the new Impeccable mobility. The first one improves their lethality (2+ to hit even after moving) and the latter helps a lot the durability of our Aircraft without the need to spend a CP, it is especially true for the Nephilim as it has only Heavy weapon. None of the point increase seems too big as they were cheap in 8th ed and we will surely see those Flyers in 9th ed.Dreadnoughts:
Thoughts: I don’t have a lot of experience with Dreadnoughts in general as they feel most likely nearly always overpriced for their powerlevel, at least the codex entry ones. The point difference between a Venerable Dread and a normal Dread isn’t really enough when your compare their base stat line as a 6+ FNP is equivalent to a WL trait and +1 WS/BS is on par with a relic. If we consider a base point per wound for a 7 toughness and BS2+ with the base wargear, Contemptor Dreadnought is a bit better (15.3 point per wound against 16 for the venerable dread) but if we consider the digressive profile and the use of stratagems, it should be more likely the same power level. I still can’t really be impressed by a Redemptor dreadnought as there are pretty slow and expensive with redundant options with our Ravenwing HQs.As a small summary:
I’m not sure what to say about Warsuit as it is in my opinion still a great unit with power level more in line with its new cost.
Origin of castellan. 1350–1400; <Medieval Latin castellānus (noun) governor, occupant of a castle, (adj.) of a castle (Latin: of a fortress), equivalent to castell ( um) castellum, castle + -ānus -an; replacing Middle English castelain <Old North French <Latin, as above. An English medieval castle, if a large one, could have a household staff of at least 50 people, which included all manner of specialised and skilled workers such as cooks, grooms, carpenters, masons, falconers, and musicians, as well as a compliment of knights, bowmen, and crossbow operators.Most staff were paid by the day, and job security was often precarious, especially for the lowest ... noun. historical. The governor of a castle. ‘The castellan had recognized the seal of the Earl of Thierry on his letters of introduction.’. More example sentences. ‘French noblemen took to protecting themselves in fortified buildings that were known as castellans - these served as private fortifications in which people and animals were protected ... History and Etymology for castellan. Middle English castelleyn, from Anglo-French castelain, chastelein, from Latin castellanus occupant of a fortress, from castellanus of a fortress, from castellum fortress — more at castle. Keep scrolling for more. Castellan definition: a keeper or governor of a castle Meaning, pronunciation, translations and examples Origin of castellan. Old French castelain, French châtelain, Latin castellanus pertaining to a castle, an occupant of a castle, Latin, a governor of a castle, from Latin castellum castle, citadel, diminutive of castrum fortified place. See castle and compare chatelaine. castellan: The keeper or governor of a castle. On the third of these days she called the castellan to her for a talk, and asked him what he thought of it, this delay of his lords 'return.. The Water of the Wondrous Isles cas·tel·lan. (kăs′tə-lən) n. The keeper or governor of a castle. [Middle English castelain, from Norman French, from Medieval Latin castellānus, from Latin, of a fortress, from castellum, stronghold; see castle .] American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fifth Edition. Definition of castellan in the Definitions.net dictionary. Meaning of castellan. ... castellanus pertaining to a castle, an occupant of a castle, , a governor of a castle, from castellum castle, citadel, diminutive of castrum fortified place. See castle and compare chatelaine. Webster Dictionary (0.00 / 0 votes) Rate this definition: Castellan ... Noun. castellan ( plural castellans ) The governor or caretaker of a castle or keep . quotations . 1851, Luther Calvin Saxton, Fall of Poland, Volume 2, Charles Scribner, page 442 , The inferior secular senators are ninety-two, containing the ten crown-officers, and eighty-two castellans.
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