A Song of Rock and Fire

Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.

The Maester's Book of Feels

Maester Lons slowly made his way to the rookery. The It had always been his place of solitude, his sanctum. This business with the Lannister blood had shook the young Maester to his core. The jet black raven eyed him from across the room.
“Ah, Stonewing. It’s good to see you again.” The old bird cawed and hopped towards him. He pulled a handful of corn from one of his sleeves. “At least you still see to be fond of me.” he said solemnly. The bird tilted its head. “Toten seems to feel he’s misplaced his trust in me. I suppose sitting up here alone isn’t reinforcing his trust.” he added with a laugh. The bird quickly ate through the corn and tilted his head again. Lons briefly thought of the fact that the bird could simply be a skinchanger spying on the Lanncasters though he quickly dismissed the thought. Marwynn could be right, but this bird had been a confidant of his for years. This bird had been at Rockfall since before his service began, before he’d forged his ravenry link, even. The bird spread his wings and kicked up some dust in the room. “Ah, corn. Yes, it’s always the corn.” He pulled out another handful of corn and began writing a reply letter to his brother.

“Dearest brother,
I am deeply saddened to hear of mother’s passing. I have discussed this matter with Lord Toten and we will be arriving in Ashford before the week’s end. I will do my best to assist you, but you must know that my duties as a Maester take precedence. I will do my best to help you, however.
Best regards,
Maester Lons”

The Maester sealed the letter and sat for a moment looking out the window. A cold wind blew through the window. This letter was possibly the end of his relationship with his family. It wasn’t an outright rejection, but he knew it would be seen as a snub in the eyes of his sister and brother. The raven nuzzled against his hand as if to seal the choice for him. The maester attached the letter to the raven and sent him off, watching as the bird climbed to a cruising altitude, absent mindedly watching the slight movement of its feathers to control its flight as it raced into the bloody orange sunset. The cold wind gusted again and Stonewing fought nobly against the headwind. “Ravens and men aren’t as different as we think. We fight against the winds of change daily, yet sometimes that same wind carries us the next day.” The Maester shut the window and returned to his office. There were preparations to be made.

(Uh, what do I roll to make the worst OP post ever? Figured I’d give this a shot. Was a fun look into the Melee Maesters life.)

Lanncaster Log

Rain pounded against the hardened stones of Rockfall as Toten Lanncaster walked through its gloomy halls, his heavy footfalls drowned out by the cascade. A heavy oaken door stood tall at the end of the corridor, large and imposing. Toten’s hand closed on the iron handle and pulled, the hinges creaking as the door swung open.

He entered his father’s chambers as a fork of lightning arched outside the window, bringing with it a flash or clarity. A desk. A bed. The abandoned hearth, ashes of some long burned out fire piled in it.

Toten placed a torch in a small sconce and moved to the desk. His fingers ran over some of the parchments still strewn over the wood, his hand stirring up months of dust. Toten hadn’t been able to bring himself to enter his fathers chambers since his death months ago, unable to face Natan’s last relics, and he had seldom had reason to enter there even beforehand.

The torch cast a flickering glow as Toten sat and blew dust away. The desk was full of papers detailing Toten’s wedding to Gabriella; arrangements, guest lists, dates, costs, last minute notes that his father must have been looking at the morning of his death. He shuffled through parchment until his fingers brushed one near the bottom, its edges frayed and torn.

Toten cleared away the pieces on top of it and blew off a layer of dust and flattening the large parchment with his hands before the light of the torch. A large sketch revealed itself, a depiction of a castle nestled against the foot of a mountain, small silhouettes patrolling its walls and working in its yards. In large letters below was spelled “Rockfall” and in the corner, in his fathers’ own hand, Lord Natan Lanncaster’s name was written.

Toten leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, hands clutching the desk and relishing in the feel of his fathers’ chambers, knowing it was his duty to live up to the castle in his father’s mind, what it could become. He rolled up the parchment but as he did, dislodged a book that fell the floor. Toten reached down and picked it up, looking at the front page.

Toten’s eyes widened as he moved the window seat, the rain still falling from gray skies as he began to read…

Natan Lanncaster’s Journal,

On the morrow, I ride north with Robert and Ned, to face my fate upon the trident…

Lanncaster Log 2
Meant to directly set up and go parallel to the next one

Toten rummaged through his clothes, throwing items he had just unpacked back into a trunk to be lugged north.

He clutched the letter from the king in his hand and threw another doublet in the trunk roughly.


He turned, seeing his wife propping herself against the doorway.

“Gabby, I…I was just getting things ready for the journey north.”

“It’s never going to be ready if you keep putting them in like that, Toten.”

He sighed. “I just got back, Gabby. I want to be here, in my father’s halls. With what happened with Lena…I feel surrounded by enemies. I’m not sure we should be leaving so soon. Especially with the children.”

Gabby put a hand on her husband’s broad shoulders. “Toten, if there’s two things that I’ve learned since coming here it’s one: that the Stormlands were aptly named. And two: that the rocks borne by those lands can withstand anything. This rock will keep. And so will we.”

Toten kissed her and gazed out the window before resuming his packing.

As the sun began to set in the west, Gabby settled in for bed.

“Are you coming, husband?”

“Not yet,” Toten sighed. “There are a few more things I must needs do.”

Toten left the chamber and walked through the halls, climbing up the great stone stairs to the upper level of the keep. He pulled open the door to his fathers’ chambers, stepping inside and breathing a sigh of relief. Ever since he’d returned here after his wedding, he’d felt at peace when within these walls. By rights he should have moved his own things here along with Gabby, taking the large space for himself, but that felt wrong to Toten. This space would always be his father’s.

He picked up the journal he’d found on the desk months ago, and moved to his favorite spot at the window seat and by the waning evening sun, Toten began to read.

Lanncaster Log 3
A direct follow up to the previous

Natan Lanncaster moved stiffly across his chambers, his journal in one hand, his cane firmly held in the other, clicking across the floor with each step. He stopped at his favorite spot at the window seat and lowered himself into it, rubbing the stiffness from his injured leg. The sun was peeking out from behind the gray clouds, filling the yard below with light as the people of the castle went about their business. Natan picked up the quill he’d left at the window and began to write.

It’s been almost two months since I’ve returned from the north, my leg shattered. It hurts every day. I’m lucky I escaped with it still attached, the maester wanted to take the whole thing off, but I wouldn’t have it. I forced myself to stay awake for the entire time, just to make sure he didn’t try it. Now, as the pain throbs constantly, I wonder if I made the right decision.

Still, it’s good to be home. Toten has grown more than I thought possible in such a short time. He keeps asking when he’ll get to go off to war too. I smile and tell him when he’s older but I pray to the gods old and new that he never has to experience the things I’ve seen. That doesn’t seem to keep him from chasing young Jance Morgan around with a stick shouting on about single combat. Where he got that from I can’t say. Probably from Robrik and the men. And Lena, always with her nose in a book, she has no mind for the stuff of highborn ladies, though I can’t fault her that.

And yet it is my children who will reap the consequences of Robert and Ned and my decisions. Of our battles. The more I think of it, the more I hope they never have to worry about the troubles of the north or the actions of kings.

But men do not always get their wishes, I know. So I will teach them as best I can. Teach them to be proud and honorable. To be wise and choose their friends carefully. To be wary. And to follow their instincts above all.

That is war enough for any man.

Natan closed the journal and set it on his desk, his cane clacking loudly as he limped down the hall and to the yard to find his children.

Father Lons
The Septon Westeros Deserves

Captain Grabo hung looked at the Maester turned Septon with a singleminded tenacity that he’d never seen before. The man seemed to hang on to the Maester’s every thought. “Well, you see, my child.” the Maester spoke, cobbling together a deep metaphysical rendering of a passage from the Seven Pointed Star together. “The lantern that Crone shines lights our way, even on the darkest of paths. Without it, we are naught but blind men stumbling in a direwolves den.” The Captain was overrun with emotion, sobbing “OH! Yes! Thank you so much Septon! We must have a sermon later! Seven know the crew needs it! I can whip them if you like!” Maester Lons found the man insufferable, but his free voyage to Lys was worth the groveling of this Priest-Captain. “That won’t be necessary, my friend, I assure you. The seven are merciful, and you should try to be as well.” Maester Lons idly ran through poisons that would render the man unconcious, lest the Maester have to perform a surgery on his own jugular. Nightshade and wormroot, Juniper berries, mixed with a solution of Milk of the Poppy and Wolfsbane. “Oh!,” the captain exclaimed “That reminds me! I have grievous sins to confess to you, Septon. Would you be so merciful to an old sinning wretch like myself and hear my affronts to the Seven?” The Maester held his complexion, but inside, he groaned at the mere thought of it. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, he was an old sea captain, he had to have some affronts to attest to, the Maester told himself. “Anything for a child of the faith.”

“I only gave the beggar one copper when I had two! Oh, the shame!”
“I used 6 colors in my artwork instead of seven! How could I anger the gods with such travesties?”
“And perhaps the most grievous of all my sins, I once LOOKED AT A WOMAN!”

Several times, the captain lay in a sobbing heap on the ground like the poor wretch he was.
“The soft hearts of women…” Maester Lons thought. Tyene shared a look with him that nearly caused him to burst out in laughter, but he managed to hold it in, showing nothing but a face of calm absolution.
“No, wait, how could I forget the most grievous of my sins?! I ate dinner and didn’t share it with the rats in my cabin! Oh, Seven, be merciful on this poor soul!”
Never before had Maester Lons wanted to throttle a man. He even found himself counting down the seconds it would take before the Captain lost consciousness. It would take approximately ten seconds.

“I kissed my grandmother goodbye once!”
“I ate a sweetroll!”
“I once said ‘No, Thank You.’ to someone offering me a drink!.”
“I had impure thoughts about my wife!”

Approximately 2 hours later, the Maester sat, or nearly slept, propped up on his elbow and doing his best to feign interest in the man’s “horrid” confessions. “What is my penance Septon?” The Maester wracked his brain for punishments. A vow of silence would be a good start. “Say 8 Prayers of the Smith and think on your sins, my son. The Seven will forgive you.” he said, with an exaggerated bow. “Oh thank you!” the captain said jubilantlyand ran out of the room leaving the Maester and Tyene to themselves. Maester Lons stood up, slowly and went to the liquor cabinet. Tyene was already there and pouring the strongest drinks she could find. “To the seven.” she said, raising her glass high. “To the merciful seven.” Lons responded, welcoming the stiff alcohol.

His breathing became labored as he sat and talked with Tyene. Curious, he thought and quickly ran through possible causes in his mind. Nightshade stuck out to him. Strangely, Tyene had mentioned it sometime ago. He tried to focus on the conversation as the world became hazy, his senses dulled with the effect of the drug and a numbing sensation overwhelmed him. Just as he was world’s away from Westeros, his mind was world’s away from his body. “Thrrrs smmmmtin innn meee drnnnk.” he managed to slur out. “I know, Lons.” Tyene spoke. "I put it there. " Tyene smiled. “I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, but it’s Nightshade. It’s a paralytic used for battlefield amputations and other traumatic surgeries. You’ll be fine, but it’ll be some time before you can feel, let alone move again.” The Maester’s mind raced, trying to determine why Tyene would poison him. The answer came as he crashed to the floor soon after Tyene kicked the chair out from under him. “You think you’re so coy, giving me what I want and then yanking it away?” she said as she straddled the Maester’s helpless body. “Well, if I can’t have it. I’ll just have to take it, won’t I?” she said with a laugh. “The soft hearts of women…” the Maester thought as he was forced to submit to Tyene’s devious ploy. The maester tried to focus his mind on something else, which wasn’t exceedingly difficult considering his entire body was paralyzed and numb. “It is how we overcome darkness that determines the worth of a man, not his triumphs in battle or his keenly sharpened mental prowess. It is by surmounting the bloodying obstacles of life with the tenacity of the most ferocious beast, tearing through every wall. Only then will we rise nobly on the other side to be stronger than and steel blade or barricade.” The quote gave the man solace even as he sailed towards unknown dangers and adventure. The ship rocked on the calm seas, expertly plotting its course to Lys.

A Woman's Weapon

The Maester lay in bed recuperating from Tyene’s poisoning. He wasn’t sure what to think about much of anything at this point. He’d known Tyene was a dangerous woman, but did not expect her to go as far as she had for her lusts. Was it wrong of him to withdraw from her? All for a chain? He wasn’t truly sure anymore. Still, rape was not a valid way of getting your lover back to your side. He would have to be more careful in the future, regardless of what decision he made.

“Ow!” Tyene exclaimed dropping one of her needles to the floor, the glass vial shattering with it’s venomous payload. “Um, Lons…” she stammered, her hand quickly beginning to shake as the poison took hold. “I’ve poisoned myself with Wolfsbane. I’m going to be unconcious soon. I could really use your help.” She barely managed to utter the last sentence before collapsing to the floor. Maester Lons quickly rushed over to her, already running through antidotes to the poison.
Black Frost and Ground Thistle.
Why even save her?
Giant’s Fire and Charcoal.
It wasn’t a matter of lust. It wasn’t a matter of revenge. Despite Tyene’s actions, she had still helped get him from Westeros. Perhaps it was partially his fault, for leading her on. Marwyns words still stung him deeply though. A singleminded pursuit of knowledge while forgoing a chance at love? Why couldn’t a man have both?
He worked skillfully as he forced the poison out of her finger, trying to ensure it did not begin to necrotize. He cut away some of the dead tissue to ensure it would not spread and helped to hold back the fever that began to overtake her.

Despite it all, he still cared, gods damnit.

All through the night, he stood vigil, ensuring that the poison had been removed.
The citadel and Marwyn were leagues away. Tyene, like it or not, was all the Maester had. Marwyn couldn’t save him. A chain wouldn’t get him by. The closest thing to a friend or ally he would have for quite some time would be Tyene.

Tyene came to, albeit groggily. “Lons…” she whispered in a weak voice that betrayed her usual display of strength and more manliness than most men. She reached out and grabbed his hand. He returned the grasp reassuringly and Tyene quickly lost consciousness again as she fought against the brutal poison. Lons sat with her hand in his for some time and contemplated the road ahead. It was dark and unclear and the path began to disappear, until it was only an expanse before him. A blank slate of possibiliities stretched out to infinity. Once in Qarth, he could worry about redemption, for now, he’d…they’d just have to take each day as it arrived.

Lanncaster Log 4

Toten walked into his tent and put a hand to his injured shoulder. The Lannister sword had cut deep and true, and Toten itched around it as his skin slowly healed.

He sat at a table near the weak glow of a brazier, wishing that Lons were with him. “He’d have some advice,” Toten muttered to himself. “And probably would have fixed the damned wound already.” His thoughts drifted across Westros to where Lons might be now. Toten hoped he’d fare well. Essos was a large and strange place, or so the stories told.

He stoked the flames, brightening the tent. The dwarf witch’s words from a few nights past haunting him. Toten had tried to dismiss them but his meeting with Oberyn had brought them screaming back to the forefront of his attention.

“Jon Arryn said he would have chosen your father to be king,” the Red Viper had said. “A man who people loved, who his enemies feared, who didn’t want the power bestowed upon him.”

Toten had nearly spilled his wine across the table upon hearing that, caught unaware by Oberyn’s tone and subject. He’d never known that other men had thought so highly of his father. His whole life, Natan had never given any indication that he had come close to a throne.

And that dwarf saw me wearing a crown… Toten sighed. I never asked for any of this. So much seems to be asked of me of late but there is no one I truly trust left to counsel me. At every turn I find myself having to send Gabby off, and now Lons seems to be gone for good, lost from me.

Toten rose and walked to his bed as the brazier slowly dimmed into shadowy embers, the wind outside flapping the sides of the tent. He pulled his father’s journal from a pack next to the bed and returned to the brazier. He opened it and as he read Toten remembered his father’s steady voice and strong face, hoping that there was one person who might still have some wisdom for him…

Lanncaster Log 5

Natan Lanncaster’s Journal

We’ve turned the army south, to meet Robert at Stony Sept, rushing to lead the men since Robert was injured. We made camp at High Heart last night. It’s as good of a position as one could ever hope for, easily defensible and if the weather is clear you can see clear to Riverrun. I think most commanders tend to shy away because of the stories of the hauntings there.

I should have heeded those warnings.

I dare not speak of it to any others lest they think I’ve gone mad, but I’ll speak it here. I was sitting on a stump in my tent looking over the maps when suddenly she was at my arm. I nearly called for guards but my tongue failed me. Perhaps I needed to hear. Perhaps it was some spell the dwarf witch cast upon me.

She asked me for some wine and as I poured she spoke of dreams. She spoke my name and asked if she should share. I could only nod. She said she dreamt of a proud stag battered and alone, brought low by a lion while a wolf turned his back. She dreamt that my leg turned to stone. And she dreamt that a small stone broke from a rock, and as it tumbled, it grew into a boulder than would never break.

I had turned my head when I heard a howl in the distance and when I turned back, the witch was gone. I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. I must have gone over her words a thousand times. None of it made sense. And yet somehow it all rings of truth. I’m sure I gave the men a fright with how I looked in the morn.

Robert in his cups once told me that he would rather I take the Iron Throne when all the fighting was done. I told him it looked like an uncomfortable chair and my rump wouldn’t be well suited for it. He only laughed and called for more wine.

We only stayed on the hill for a day, but I feel as if I carried a heavy burden down. I only hope that my shoulders can bear the load…

The Captain of the Rock 1
A Man's Thoughts

Lady Lanncaster’s silver hair fell down the sides of her face as she leaned over the small records book her and Jance were reviewing. She quickly tied her hair up with itself, instead of with pin or cloth, and continued their conversation.

“Bilim is a good man, but it will be good to have you back on the ledgers. I’m not sure this is even written in a known language,” she said smiling as she looked up at him with her deep purple eyes.

She was beautiful and half the men were in love with her, Jance included, but they respected her and Lord Toten too much to let it become anything more than passing fancy and late night dreaming. Jance smiled back, “Well my lady, I will do my very best to square everything away. Winter is coming, so I’d been mostly focusing on the food stores before. . .well, you know.” He still had trouble thinking about it.

Jance had been sure that Renly was going to have him killed that day, but the gods had been with him and his life was spared, though his honor and dignity were drug through the dirt on the long ride north in the Stormlands, tied up with the very men he had fought to keep out of Rockfall the day before. Jance was not sorry ‘King’ Renly had met a bad end.

When Jance had been brought out to be whipped he had expected one hundred lashes and had received one. The lashes the men took filled Jance with pride knowing they cared for their lost Captain so, but the lashes Ser Robrik took filled him with humility, for the knight in all his eccentricities was one of the most honorable men in the Seven Kingdoms, and he did not lightly give his respect to the undeserving. The man had trained Jance since boyhood next to his Lord and it seemed the old man cared as much for Jance as he for him. The lash Lady Gabriella took filled him with duty. The second that leather bit into her back Jance had sworn his life to her, and Jance Morgan was not a man to waver in his duty.

“That’s good Jance, keep up what you have been doing. This castle is as safe in your hands as it is in Toten’s,” she said ignoring his stumbling. She had a way about her where she would ignore the embarrassing mishaps people so often made and make them feel like they never happened at all. She had shown the ability not a few hours before when Ser Loras pulled steel screaming of killing and she had made a very real threat towards him, then the very next thing out of her mouth were words of friendship and care. It was a quality many great leaders had throughout history. Though the woman was more than just a fine leader.

Robrik had told Jance of what happened in the Vale, and frankly the stories frightened him. This small woman had in her the ability to slay many men twice her size in the span of a heartbeat. She was dangerous and wonderful and frightening and beautiful. She was a woman you respected, not because of her position, but because she demanded it.

“Well Jance, I have much to do, so I’ll leave you to it.” She said heading for the door. “Oh, one other thing,” she said grabbing his arm lightly, causing his heart to beat faster at her touch, “watch the new maester. I mislike the man. If he becomes too much trouble, perhaps he can find himself away from Rockfall, one way or another.” The way she said it as she walked out of the room gave Jance a chill. Lord Toten was a lucky man, but just the same Jance didn’t envy him.

The next day Jance watched his Lady ride off toward Highgarden as he stayed behind in Rockfall with his duty. Jance was used to being left behind. Lord Toten had quickly surpassed him in martial prowess in their early teens. Lady Lena had left for her new husband and crushed what remained of his boyhood heart. Even Lord Natan had left him, though through no fault of his, gods rest him. Jance was always left behind. Though, instead of sorrow it filled the young man with purpose. His Lord’s castle was his to guard. His Lord and Lady’s children were his to protect, along with all the servants and small folk and men. Jance was the rock in the river for Rockfall, and everyone was much the better because of it.

As he walked back toward the main hall he passed by the stables and thought back to the wedding they had had almost two years ago. The Dornish with their dark skin and hot food and strangeness had turned the castle upside down in so many ways, but Jance had been the most changed. The night before the wedding Arianne Martell had found Jance near the stables in the night and before long the two were locked in passion. Jance remembered being horrified and aroused all at the same time, her dark breasts pressed against his skin and her warm mouth over his. He kept saying they couldn’t because she was a highborn lady and Arianne had just laughed about how she had fucked many men of far less status that Jance Morgan, but few with such robust good looks. The Dornish were a very different people, but the taste of Arianne Martell had been on his lips for many days after their tryst in the stables, and he still thought fondly of her.

Jance wondered what Arianne was doing right then, hoping that she was somewhere pleasant and good.

Many leagues away in Sunspear Arianne Martell was preparing to sail for Rockfall in order to have a very important discussion with Jance Morgan. She hoped he was wise enough to know that sometimes a man must go against his duty to keep those he loves safe.


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