aBilitieS
Agility 3 Animal Handling 3
Athletics 3 Running 1B Endurance 4
Fighting 5 Bludgeon 2B, Spears 1B Language 3 Status 3 Warfare 3 Tactics 2B Will 3 All Others 2 attriButeS coMBat defenSe 8 intriGue defenSe 7 HealtH 12 coMPoSure 9 deStiny PointS 1
BenefitS: Anointed, Heir, Armor Mastery
arMS & arMor
Half Plate: AR 10, AP -5, Bulk 2
Morning
Star 5+2B 3 Damage Shattering 1, Vicious
War Lance 5 7 Damage; Mounted, Powerful, Bulk 2, Impale, Slow, Vicious Large
S
HOrTT
OMT
iNKEr(H
iLL)
Short Tom Tinker was born Tom Hill, as low a birth as ever there was and so long ago, he likes to say, even his mother’s like to have forgot- ten it ever happened. Even he seems to have forgotten where he came from, or has chosen not to remember. Each time he tells the story that city that surrounds the streets he was born on changes. One time it’s an
alley behind a brothel in Golden Tooth, the next a butcher’s porch in Ashemark. Ask a third time and he’ll tell you he was born upon a radish wayn on the road to Lannisport. What- ever the truth of his birth, Tom Hill was apprenticed to old Hollis Tinpenny some fifty years gone and has wandered the westerlands ever since.
Hollis Tinpenny has been dead thirty years, but left young Tom his mule, his packs, and the names of every village, farm and croft between Oldstones and Crakehall. The packs have been mended a hundred times and the names Hollis gave him have died and come again, but the ancient mule still brays when it rains and carries Tom’s goods and tools on the tracks and trails of the west.
Tom is a bent old man these days, never tall but shorter now after years of hauling his things from village to village. Most of his hair is gone, but what’s left rings his head, bristly and gray. He has bird’s eyes, black and sharp, and a large, bul- bous nose somewhat gone to red from the wine that warms him against cold nights upon the road. He’s more bone than meat and wears a quilted coat against the chill as well, ‘to keep the warmth the wine makes!’ he says.
Tom knows everyone and everyone knows Tom. Lowly fishwives and highborn ladies alike come out when they hear his packs come jangling up the road. Tom mends their pots and kettles, sells them candles, salt and spice, and tells a merry tale or two and gets a meal, sometimes even a bed of a night. And all the while, he watches, he listens, he sees.
It was a bitter winter, and lean, the year Tom met Harald Dulver. Harald was but the heir of his house back then. That year had been a thin one for Tom, else he would not have been upon the road so late, looking for silver and a place to spend the winter. Harald had been out upon the Heath as well when both men were surprised by a sudden, early blizzard that came blowing off Ironman’s Bay. Harald was Ser Walton still craves his father’s approval, but he works,
too, to be his own man and find his own path. He tries to learn the lessons his father works to impart because he knows that in time he will come into his inheritance and he wants desperately to do honor to his father’s name. Walton is a good man, devoted to his family, dedicated to his vows, and sin- cerely reverent of the gods. He is no zealot, though, and is fond of the pleasures of the flesh. A drink shared with his men, a rich meal in a warm hall, and the occasional willing wench (though he often wakes of a morning with a mind to repent) serve to soften the edges that come with the Dulver aim and endear young Walton to those who will, one day, serve him as they do his father.
SHORT TOm TINkER
OLD ExPERTaBilitieS
Animal Handling 3
Awareness 5 Empathy 1B, Notice 2B Cunning 3 Memory 2B Deception 4 Act 2B, Bluff 2b
Fighting 2 Short Blades 1B Language 3 Common Tongue Language 2 Myrish Knowledge 3 Streetwise 2B
Persuasion 4 Charm 1B Stealth 3 Blend In 2B Survival 3
Thievery 3 Pick Lock 1B Will 3 attriButeS coMBat defenSe 9 intriGue defenSe 10 HealtH 9 coMPoSure 9 deStiny PointS 0
BenefitS: Connections (Westerlands), Trade (Tinker) drawBacKS: Crippled, Flaw (Endurance)
arMS & arMor
Padded arMor: AR 1, AP 0, Bulk 0
Heavy
Crossbow 2 4 Damage
Long Range, Piercing 2, Reload (Greater); Slow,
Two-handed, Vicious Stiletto 2–1D 2 Damage Piercing 2
ahorse, well-fed and warmly dressed, but Tom’s poor year had left him hungry, threadbare and leading his mule on foot, unwilling to leave his goods by the road and save his shoes the wear.
When the wind came up and the snow came down, Short Tom nearly froze to death. Harald came upon him on the road. Harald tied the half-dead tinker on his horse and led both mule and horse up the road to Deepen Hall through drifts and wind and blinding snow.
Short Tom Tinker spent that winter with the Dulvers and many an evening over wine or ale trading stories with young Harald. When the Spring came, old Lord Dulver had gone into the cellars and would not come out again. Harald was the Lord now and Short Tom was in his service.
More winters have come and gone since then, sum- mers, springs and falls as well and through them all Short Tom Tinker has been Harald Dulver’s eyes and ears out in the world, a valuable service for a lord who looks greedily at land he dreams of owning. Tom wanders for a time, a month, a year, a season, and comes back to tell Lord Harald what he saw.
Short Tom grows old. He is not so spry as once he was. He bought a horse a few years back, a shaggy little garron from the north to spare his feet. In all his years of wandering, Short Tom has never carried a sword. ‘And now,’ he says, he’s ‘far too old to start.’ His wit and words serve just as well, and better. But against the day when they don’t he keeps a crossbow in his packs and a long, thin dagger in his boot. ‘More for scar- ing than for stabbing,’ he says. ‘But if stab I must, then let me stab a bit of suckling pig over a cup of Arbor gold.’
S
EPTONa
rLyNAt the foot of the Deepmont, nestled into the last curve of the causeway that climbs the mountain to the gates of Deepen Hall, sits the Sept on the Heath. Perched high above, the Vul- ture of Dulver rules the land. But below, the Merry Grouse (for so the smallfolk call Septon Arlyn) rules the people with a ready grin and an easy laugh.
Septon Arlyn began life as Arlyn Qargyle, third son of a landed knight sworn to the lord of Maidenpool. His father’s holdings were poor and with King Robert’s peace firmly estab- lished in the Riverlands, there were two stout young men ahead of him in line for the meager inheritance his father would leave. Not given to fratricidal scheming, Arlyn was packed off to King’s Landing to study under the Most Devoted.
On his nineteenth nameday, Arlyn said his vows in the Sept of Baelor and gave up the name of Qargyle. For another
year he served in the great sept be- fore shedding his fine robes for the brown habit of a begging brother and began the wandering journey that would end, at last, in the Sept on the Heath.
For three years, Arlyn walked the tangled web of roads that winds through the riverlands, into the west- erlands and back again. He learned a great many things in those years: to be poor, to be
hungry, to dress and treat the wounds
and ailments life layers on the smallfolk who dig the earth and feed the kingdom. As he learned those lessons, the small- folk to whom he ministered came to know him.
Six years ago Septon Arlyn came up the Dulver road bear- ing messages for Lord Harald and Septon Quayle of the Sept on the Heath. When he arrived, Septon Arlyn found his holy brother in poor health, and old. On the night before Arlyn was to depart the Sept and take up the road again, Septon Quayle collapsed of a stroke. The old man would never rise from his bed again.
What began as a brief visit became a vigil. Without a mae- ster at Deepen Hall, the burden of caring for the old man fell to Septon Arlyn. He did so dutifully, and alone. Septon Quayle had few friends among his holy brothers, having been a dour and humorless man in life, and the Sept on the Heath, while rich in history, had never been a posting much sought among the order. Through the long year of Quayle’s decline, Septon Arlyn was the only member of the faith to attend the old man. Upon the occasion of his death, Septon Arlyn (who had, in that year, grown fond of the folk that lived about the Sept and, truth be told, rather fat) spoke the words over Septon Quayle, gave his body over to the Silent Sisters, and took up his post.
It wasn’t long before Septon Arlyn and the young heir of Dulver, Walton, struck up a warm friendship.
Lord Harald, though he had the respect and devotion of his smallfolk, did little to make them love him. What their lordship could not win and would not pursue, the people of the Stony Heath showered on Septon Arlyn.
With his ready grin and generous nature, it was hard to find anyone who had met him that did not love him. He spent as much time in the hamlet and wandering the hills tending to the faithful as he did preaching in the sept. He saw to the ailments of the common folk, delivered their chil-
dren, blessed them and bestowed upon them their names. He saw them married, and buried. He tended them in life and in death. He was generous with the sept’s coffers, living frugally and giving out as alms all coins that came in at the offering but the barest minimum necessary to maintain the sept in good order.
Just as the smallfolk did, so too did Walton Dulver come to love Septon Arlyn. With no maester, the young heir’s educa- tion also fell to the septon. And as Walton fell short of his father’s idea of lordship, he found in Arlyn an alternative. A different way to rule.
Ser Walton’s affection for the septon has made Arlyn an unwilling and unknowing rival to Lord Harald. Arlyn did not set out to win anyone’s affection; it is simply his nature to do so. He would be dismayed to learn that in teaching Ser Walton of the Faith he has in some way supplanted the young heir’s father and shocked to find that he has, in the
process, gained Lord Harald’s resentment. Thus far there has been no confrontation, but should Ser Walton make clear to Lord Harald his preference for the septon’s style of leadership over his father’s, a confrontation cannot help but be close behind.
Septon Arlyn is a portly man, his chief vice being a great fondness for food. Given his position as the much-beloved septon of the only sept in the district, he has no shortage of invitations to table in the homes of parishioners who are eager to lay as welcoming a meal before him as possible. He is sandy-haired, red-faced, and his eyes glimmer gaily as he makes kind japes of himself and all those around him. In his years wandering he learned the right end of a cudgel; though he is by no means a fighter, he can hold his own if need be. Most often, though, Septon Arlyn prefers to rely on an easy smile and the stature of his office to dissuade those that might do him harm.
Septon Arlyn has few ambitions of his own, generally be- ing content to serve good people in the name of the Seven. He is, however, a charismatic man and quite astute once he turns his mind to a subject. Should he find himself in the right company he would not be the first man elevated despite his own lack of aspiration.
L
aDyF
aLySED
uLVErLady Falyse was born a Lannister in a manor house upon a hill in the city of Lannisport. Her marriage to Harald Dulver has never been much more than dutiful. As duties go, though, it could have been far more onerous than it was. Harald Dul- ver was not a handsome man, and his house was not power- ful nor particularly wealthy in comparison to the rest of the westerlands, but it was ancient and thick with history and Harald was clever, shrewd, ambitious, and at least not cruel or deliberately hurtful. And Falyse was not a Lannister of the Rock, but rather the third daughter of a distant cousin to Lord Tywin and his get. The heir of Dulver seemed a good match for young Falyse.
Twenty years on and Falyse (now Lady Dulver) still feels so of her marriage. Her husband is astute in the management of his holdings and each day of his rule has seen the fortunes of their family advance. Lady Dulver lives secure in the knowl- edge that her sons will inherit a greater domain than her hus- band did and her daughter’s prospects are good for a very prof- itable marriage. If there is little love in the marriage, it is a small price to pay.
Lady Falyse does not often take part in her husband’s councils. The vagaries of mine yields and the price of wool at
SEPTON ARLyN
ADULT ExPERTaBilitieS Animal Handling 3 Awareness 3 Cunning 3 Decipher 2B Deception 3 Endurance 3 Fighting 3 Bludgeon 1B Healing 3 Treat Injury 1B Language 4 Knowledge 4 Education 2B Persuasion 3 Status 3 Will 4 Dedication 2B attriButeS coMBat defenSe 7 intriGue defenSe 9 HealtH 9 coMPoSure 12 deStiny PointS 1
BenefitS: Authority, Favored of Smallfolk, Pious drawBacKS: Forgetful
arMS & arMor veStMentS: AR 1, AP 0, Bulk 1 Mace 3+1B 2 Damage
market do not interest her, but she runs her household as her husband rules his domain, with skill, wisdom and a willing- ness to squeeze the use out of every scrap.
Lady Falyse is not so cool as her husband, though. She knows the names of all those that serve under her roof. She knows their families and the circumstances of their lives. She congratulates them on the birth of a child or grandchild and consoles them upon the death of their loved ones.
If Lord Harald and Lady Falyse differ it’s on the subject of faith. Falyse grew up dutifully attending services in the sept at Lannisport. From the time she left her mother’s breast, she was in the care of a septa who saw to her education in all matters of faith and womanhood. The lessons stuck and Falyse came to her marriage with an enduring reverence for the Seven and those that were sworn to their service.
For the majority of their marriage Lady Falyse’s faith has been a non-issue. She and the children would descend the causeway for regular services in the Sept on the Heath. Lord Harald abstained, as was his wont. There was no need for discussion on the matter. But when their firstborn was anointed, the subject was broached, and like opening a cask of rotten smelt in the middle of a banquet, what had been a peaceful, profitable marriage suddenly suffered from the stink in the air.
The tension lurks beneath the surface of things and rarely surfaces as more than short comments from either Lord or Lady Dulver, but each of those words is a dry twig on a grow- ing heap of tinder. Should there be a spark—a gesture made by Walton perceived as rebellious by his lord father, a con- frontation between Lord Harald and Septon Arlyn—then that tinder could become a blaze.
H
OraSD
uLVErYoung Horas, just seventeen his last nameday, is much like his father in both manner and appearance. Sadly, he has inherited precious little of his father’s acumen. He is a poor manager, sums vex him something terrible, and he has never been any great shakes in a fight. What he does have, though, is a cer- tain sort of low cunning well-suited to scheming, cheating, and tyranny.
When Lord Dulver acquired a swathe of good, green farm- land and turned it over to his younger son, Horas did his level best to withhold his baser impulses. But as crop after crop has failed, the youngster’s restraint has failed. Thus far he has limited his cruelties and depredations to poor travelers and others that will, should their fortitude prove insufficient, not be missed. But it won’t be long before one of the smallfolk
under his dubious protection will utter the name Blackthumb in his hearing. When the dam on Horas Dulver’s wrath fi- nally breaks there will be many a wailing mother in the new- est of the Dulver lands.
H
ELEND
uLVErLittle Helen is just six years old, far too young to be hatch- ing schemes of her own. She has her mother’s fair hair, her father’s quick mind, and a daring curiosity all her own. Helen is her mother’s treasure. Lady Falyse rarely goes anywhere without her daughter. She dresses the girl in clothes to match her own and bears the burden of little Helen’s education on her own shoulders.
Helen’s father treasures her as well, though for entirely dif- ferent reasons. Even though her flowering is still years away, Lord Harald has already turned Maester Falstan to making lists of potential husbands. When Helen is at last of mar- riageable age, no one will say she made a poor match.
S
Erg
aMBOLH
iLLGambol Hill is the natural son of Lord Harald’s grandfather, Lord Willas Dulver—called the Girlfather for the eight daugh- ters he got on his lady wife before finally sowing a male heir in her womb. Once she’d borne her husband the son he sought, Lady Dulver counted her duty done, it’s said, and turned her husband out of her bedchamber. When Lord Willas got a boy on a shepherd girl out on the heath a dozen years later, she had little to say on the matter.
Gambol was a stout boy and grew into a stout young man. He was clever, too. There were a great many whispers around the Stony Heath that it was his natural son that Lord Willas preferred over the odd young man that was his trueborn heir. Legitimization from the crown was an expensive request in those days, and the insult to his wife’s family would have been