Votes for this Turn:
A1 - Combat - 0
A2 - Leisure - 0
A3 - Scholarly - 5
A4 - Diplomacy - 12
A5 - Language - 29
A6 - Communications - 0
S1 - Wikipedia - 0
S2 - Steam - 25
S3 - Paradox - 11
S4 - World - 10
Rolls for this Turn:
Personal: Steam games
Thanks to Enshrouded, a Corrupting Fog will begin seeping out of Old Valyria into Slaver's Bay and Volantis.
This Corrupting Fog will slowly convert those it touches into violent berserker monsters.
(The effect of the fog is similar to but unrelated to the effects of the Chaos God Khorne and will cause a series of problems in the lands closest to Old Valyria.)
In the long run, this will have a profound effect on the Slave Trade in Planetos by weakening its greatest supporters, but in the short run, it’s just going to be a series of seemingly unrelated monsters seeming to wander out of the ruins of Old Valyria.
(Not sure if this is exactly convenient, but it's the best I could think of for: T3 = Objects/Effect on Another Place, with the game we rolled. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )
World: Terraria Wiki
Thanks to the Raven Staff, we now have a Raven Companion with Resurrective Immortality, who will attack enemies on our behalf and who we can eventually learn to see through the eyes of using our Warg abilities (once the plot starts and those start happening).
(Does this count as magic?
I mean, it’s based on a magic staff from a game that requires mana to use it, but having a Raven companions not exactly new for Westeros.
Still, ours is immortal and extremely reckless with itself when there's a threat to us, so I'm calling this our first personal magic roll.)
Story:
Arya had, against all expectations and several rules that ought to govern the behavior of six-year-olds, actually taken Silco’s training seriously enough that even people besides herself had started admitting it.
Not perfectly, of course, because perfection would’ve implied patience, restraint, and a willingness to do boring things without making faces about them, and Arya had never shown any dangerous excess of those qualities.
Still, she had done the work.
She had made him come when called more often than not.
She had worked on: sit, stay, leave it, and heel, with a determination that was only slightly more alarming than it was impressive.
She had even mostly stopped shouting bite at every object in Winterfell that displeased her, which by itself marked the whole thing as a small miracle.
So when Yara turned up and found Arya putting Silco through his paces with the fierce seriousness of a child who had finally discovered that being obeyed felt wonderful, it was decided that this counted for something.
Not a feast.
Not a song.
But enough of a reward that you offered to take them both to the fishing spot in the Wolfswood, with Jinx and Silco along, and let Arya have the sort of afternoon she had plainly been working toward ever since Old Nan had put proper training into her head.
Arya took this like she had personally conquered Dorne and been too modest to mention it.
Yara took it with rather more dignity, though there was still a look about her that said she approved of any outing that happened outside walls and away from supervision.
Silco had no idea why everyone was pleased, but he was pleased too because everybody else was moving with purpose and that had always been enough for him.
Jinx, being Jinx, accepted the matter with more composure than the rest of you put together.
This time you rode out instead of walking, because Arya was six now, the spot was better than an hour away by horse, and no one with any sense wanted to start the reward by making a child spend half the day trudging before the good part began.
Arya was delighted by that too.
Everything was better from horseback in her view, with: the trees taller, the road more adventurous, the mud more important, and the whole business somehow transformed from an outing into a proper expedition.
Silco trotted and ranged where allowed.
Jinx moved with her usual easy sense.
And Yara, who was plainly far too uncomfortable in a saddle to be anything but irritating about it, but still looked more at ease than she ever quite did indoors.
That was the thing that stood out most once the ride had gone on a while.
Yara was clearly good at being the older sibling.
Not soft about it.
Not fussy either.
Just good.
She watched Arya without hovering.
She corrected her without turning every mistake into a trial.
She answered questions when they were worth answering and cut off nonsense when it started breeding.
It had also become very obvious that she had kept her promise about checking in on Arya’s progress with Silco, because the 2 of them had an ease together now they had not had before, and Arya minded Yara in a way she minded very few people.
That did not mean Arya had stopped being Arya.
She still pointed at everything that looked remotely worth naming.
A patch of mud became a bog fit for swallowing horses.
A fallen branch became a bridge over a deadly chasm.
A stand of trees became enemy territory.
But where once she would’ve run off at the first excitement and dragged Silco after her by force of enthusiasm, now she kept checking back, listened when told to rein in a little, and even corrected Silco once when he started ranging too far from the horses.
Yara saw that and did not make a great show of it, which probably helped more than praise would have.
By the time the four of you reached the stream, Arya was nearly shaking with the effort of containing her excitement into something she considered mature.
This lasted perhaps 3 breaths.
Then she was down from her pony, over the rocks, and calling Silco to follow in a loud whisper that could likely have been heard back at Winterfell if the wind had turned right.
To her credit, once reminded that fish did not usually rise better for shouting, she did make a real effort after that.
The place pleased her at once.
It would’ve been hard for it not to.
The pool was deep and clear where the water slowed, the rocks were warm enough under the sun to sit on without complaint, and the trees hung close enough overhead that the whole thing felt half hidden from the rest of the world.
It was exactly the sort of place children always believed belonged specially to them once shown it, and Arya was no exception.
Fishing remained, unfortunately, fishing.
That is to say it remained slow, fussy, and prone to making a person feel personally mocked by creatures the size of a hand.
Still, by then you could do the basics well enough.
All those trips out with Jon, and sometimes Sansa too, had at least beaten that much into you.
You could bait a line without disgracing yourself, cast without threatening nearby birdlife, and wait with something approaching dignity when the water refused to cooperate.
Yara, annoyingly enough, was still better.
Arya had none of the knack at all, which surprised nobody.
She had more patience than she used to, which was progress, but only in the way a knife had more give than a brick.
Silco did not help.
He considered every line a challenge and every flash in the water a direct invitation to disgrace himself.
Jinx at least had the decency to remain mostly still and look superior about it.
Even so, the day went well.
Yara caught first and behaved about it with the sort of carefully uninterested competence that almost invited a person to throw stones at her out of principle.
You caught one after that, this time through actual competence rather than blind mercy, and felt properly pleased with yourself for it.
Arya caught nothing at all, but she did manage not to ruin anyone else’s catch, which under the circumstances counted as real progress.
Once, when Silco nearly sprang at the water in a fit of ambition, Arya actually got him back with a command instead of just shrieking his name and throwing herself after him.
That alone made the whole outing feel earned.
It was somewhere around then that Yara started talking, not about anything grand at first, but about fish.
Not catching them.
Naming them.
More specifically, she started correcting the way you and Arya described them in the Common Tongue, and when Arya demanded to know why it mattered whether a fish was silver backed, white bellied, broad finned, or long mouthed if it was only going to be eaten anyway, Yara told her that only northerners and fools talked about fish as though one wet thing were much the same as another.
That got your attention.
It got Arya’s too, though mostly because someone had just called her a fool and then kept talking as though that settled the matter.
Yara said that the trade form of the Common Tongue had more words for fish than the Old Tongue did, not because traders were wiser, but because traders had reasons to care.
A man selling fish needed words for: size, fatness, color, keeping quality, salt worthiness, river taste, sea taste, and whether the thing in front of him was likely to fetch good silver or only desperate silver.
The Old Tongue had good hard words for: cold, blood, wolves, oaths, and weather ugly enough to kill a man standing up.
It had less use for talking finely about fish because the men who made it were not building markets on harbors and haggling over catch by the tide.
Arya asked whether that meant the language was worse.
Yara said no, only built by different people for different hungers.
That was the sort of answer that would’ve sounded like a lesson anywhere else.
There, with the water moving, the lines set, and the wolves lying close enough not to cause trouble, it only felt like talk.
So the afternoon turned part fishing lesson and part language lesson without anyone quite deciding it should.
Yara taught you both a handful of those finer words, some for fish shapes, some for flesh, some for the sort of silver sheen that mattered more to sellers than eaters, and some for the difference between a river catch and something brought in from salt water.
Arya repeated them with fierce seriousness and got half of them wrong.
You got more of them right, though Yara still corrected you often enough to keep the thing honest.
She said Trade Common had picked up the extra nuance because traders and sailors had shoved it into the language over years and years until everybody else simply had to live with it.
That, she said, was how most useful language happened.
The history in it was almost more interesting than the words themselves.
Trade Common, in Yara’s telling, sounded less like a proper language somebody had sat down and invented and more like a dockside brawl that happened to settle into grammar after enough generations.
Arya liked that immensely.
You did too, if you were honest.
It made more sense than a maester’s version would have.
The swimming was better still.
Arya liked the water in the wholehearted 6-year-old way she liked nearly everything fun, and Yara liked it in the steadier way of somebody who trusted herself there without needing to prove it.
You and Jinx had been there before.
Silco had not, and made his opinion known at once by looking offended enough to file a formal complaint.
Arya found this hysterically funny.
Yara found it funny too, though she had the self-control to hide it better.
In the end Silco did what all beasts eventually did when enough pride had been spent resisting, which was give in and try to act as though he had meant to all along.
That was likely the best part of the day.
Not the fish.
Not even the swimming.
Just how easy the whole thing became after a while.
Arya stopped trying so hard to prove she was enjoying herself and simply did.
Yara stopped holding herself apart from the thing and joined in without needing to be coaxed.
Jinx and Silco found their own rhythm, with Jinx patient enough to tolerate him and Silco finally trained enough to understand when tolerance was being extended as a favor.
The whole business felt settled in the right way, not staged and not forced.
On the ride back Arya was tired enough to become sweet by accident, which did not happen often and therefore had to be properly valued when it did.
Silco trotted close at her pony’s heels like a proper companion for once, and more than once she gave him a command half out of habit and half because she plainly liked how proud it made her feel when he listened.
Yara noticed that too.
She did not praise her in any soft dripping way, because that was not her manner, but she did say that the beast had improved and that Arya had done better than most children would’ve managed.
Arya tried very hard to accept this like a lady being praised for embroidery and failed because she was too pleased, too young, and too much herself.
By the time Winterfell came back into view, with the late light turning the stone warmer than it ever looked close up, the whole afternoon had taken on the shape of a proper reward.
Not because it had been grand.
Not because anyone had done anything impossible.
But because Arya really had worked for it, because Yara had plainly kept an eye on that work and helped more than she admitted, and because for one long bright stretch of the day the four of you, plus 2 relatively well behaved wolves, had managed to be exactly what you were meant to be there: children, a little muddy, a little damp, a little smarter than before, and pleased with yourselves for reasons that did not need defending.
A few days later, you managed to fall asleep in the godswood, which would likely have been more peaceful if the old gods had not apparently decided to involve themselves in the matter.
You woke to your uncle Ned standing over you, and to the unpleasant discovery that a raven had landed nearby and did not seem the least bit interested in leaving you alone.
It hopped when you shifted, watched you with that black bright stare ravens had, and when you tried to shoo it off, it merely moved a little and settled again as though you were the one being unreasonable.
Your uncle found this much less strange than you did.
He told you that ravens and crows had long been known as messengers of the old gods, and that if one had decided to trouble itself over you in the godswood of all places, it was likely best to take that for a gift until proven otherwise.
You were not entirely convinced, because from your perspective the gift looked a great deal like being stared at by an arrogant bird while half awake on a root.
Still, you did not argue much.
Not in the godswood.
Not with your uncle sounding like that.
And not with the raven still there, watching as though it had all the time in the world.
Skills:
Combat:
(2) Westerosi CQC - 85/100 (+10)
(2) Westerosi Swordsmanship - 80/100 (+10)
(3) Northern Archery - 92/100 (+12) (Knack)
(2) Northern Equestrianism - 64/100 (+15) (Knack)
(2) Heavy Armour - 13/100 (+15) (Skilled) ←
Diplomacy:
(3) Interpersonal Communication - 40/100 (+20) (Skilled)
(1) Public Speaking - 50/100 (+5) (Skilled)
(3) Management - 50/100 (+25) (Prodigious)
(1) Stewardship - 85/100 (+3) (Knack)
(1) Northern Law - 76/100 (+3) (Knack)
(1) Westerosi Law - 66/100 (+3) (Knack)
Language:
(3) Common Speaking - 35/100 (+30) (Knack)
(3) Old Tongue Speaking - 55/100 (+30) (Knack)
(2) Valyrian Speaking - 22/100 (+15) (Knack)
(2) Common Reading - 67/100 (+7)
(1) Westerosi Runes - 40/100 (+10)
(2) Valyrian Reading - 45/100 (+7)
Scholarly: (+1)
(2) Math(s) - 49/100 (+10)
(2) Accounts - 52/100 (+10)
(3) Northern History - 75/100 (+12) (Knack)
(2) Westerosi History - 35/100 (+26)
(3) Northern Peoples - 15/100 (+10)
(2) Westerosi Peoples - 25/100 (+16)
Leisure:
(2) Northern Hunting - 63/100 (+10)
(1) Fishing - 80/100 (+25)
(1) Swimming - 70/100 (+5)
(1) Sailing - 10/100 (+0)
(1) Acting - 10/100 (+0)
Rolls for Next Turn:
T4 = Objects/Effect at Home
L4 = Just what's described
Voting:
Main Actions: (+ = Low, ++ = Mid, +++ = High)
A1 - Train with Jon, and sometimes Rob and Theon, in the Yard. (Combat Focus)
(Reputation: ++ Jon + Theon, + Rob)
A2 - Go on Hunts With Jon and Sansa. (Equestrianism + Leisure Focus)
(Reputation: ++ Jon, + Sansa, - Cat)
A3 - Keep up your studies with your cousin, Sansa, and Maester Lewin. (Scholarly Focus)
(Reputation: ++ Sansa, + Cat, + Ned)
A4 - Act as your Uncle Ned’s page with Rob and Theon. (Diplomacy Focus)
(Reputation: ++ Ned, + Theon)
A5 - Spend your time teaching/watching little Arya and your Wolves with Yara. (Language Focus)
(Reputation: ++ Arya, + Yara, + Ned)
A6 - Follow Rob until he shares his Friends and Activities with you. (Communications Focus)
(Reputation: + Cat, + Ned, - Rob)
Personal Rolls Sources:
S1 - Wikipedia (On Cooldown 2/2)
S2 - Steam Games (On Cooldown 1/2)
S3 - Paradox Wiki's (D30)
S4 - World Rolls List (D12)
Information:
1 - Reputation Info-dump.
You lot have done it, Rob is now (just barely) positive towards you, and so won't take it as an insult if you join in on the Lordship training with him and Theon.
He still doesn't like sharing his friends, but he won't begrudge your time with Uncle Ned.
For the curious, here is the reputation list at the moment:
Jon - Friendly
Sansa - Friendly
Arya - Friendly
Cat - Ok
Ned - Ok
Rob - Fine
Theon - Ok
Yara - Ok
Though I will also note that Jon, Arya, Cat, and Ned are all 1 more + away from going up a reputation rank.
Also, the V1 of the system I'm using to represent relationships is:
Neutral → Fine → Ok → Good → Friendly → Friends → Close Friends → BFF’s
With a person needing to be 7 or older to hold permanent relationships.
(Though I’m including Arya since she turns 7 sometime this year, and she isn’t starting at Neutral since she already knows us.)
By the way, the Forever part of Best-Friends-Forever is real here.
Ned and Robert are an example, even with all the shit they’ve been through, followed by years-long separation, they still only need a few minutes together, and they're back to being BFF’s.
If we get Jon to Close Friends, then we can keep him from the Night's Watch, but we’ll still need a task for him to be doing, like Castellan of Long Lake Castle.
If we can get him to BFF’s then we can get him to follow us in whatever we’re doing just because we’re that close.
If we can get Sansa to Close Friends, then she’ll listen to our warning about Joffrey but will still do her duty and go south with him.
If we can get her to BFF’s then she’ll throw an epic shit-fit just on our word and the whole Show Plot will be changed for the better (for the Starks).
Write-In/Questions:
1 - What should our new Raven be called?
Please do try to go for a good name here, because this name is going to come up a lot.
That's not to say it can't be silly or a reference, just that if it is, then it’s going to be a joke/reference that gets brought up A LOT from now on.
My best name ideas are:
Blackmail - because he’s black and ravens send letters in Westeros.
Kamikaze - because of how he’ll attack people to his own death when we’re in danger.
Hex - to fit with Jinx being our Wolf.