[b][color=yellow]Rivers that lead to the Vulture’s Roost, Ser Uther’s Mission[/color][/b]

Ser Uther crouched by the edge of the slow-moving river, testing it with his hands. [color=yellow][i] “Well, it’s going to be a bit of a swim, but we can manage it… that is if you all know how to swim that is.” [/i][/color] Ser Uther paused, then looked back to the twenty men gathered with him. [color=yellow][i] “Right, lets hop to it. Ditch your armor and anything that will weigh you down, that means shield too. Swords across your backs, and if you are not the best swimmer, boots off too. You can leave them, or tie them around your waist.” [/i][/color] Ser Uther finished speaking, sitting down to remove his chainmail armor, neatly piling it atop his shield along with any excess clothing he had on. The men with him followed suit, removing tunics and bulking armor in order to prevent them from drowning when then did attempt to swim the River Wyl into the lower levels of the Vulture’s Roost. Uther moved away from his allies, and knelt down by a clutch of large rocks, studying the lay of the river itself, and the gaping maw the formed the cave’s entrance. 

Too dark to truly see anything, yet dark enough for Uther to notice the faint flicker of torches deep within the cavern before him and his allies. The warm night air felt like a hot kiss against his face, while the coolness of the lapping waters on the shoreline where he stood felt soothing and inviting. Another time, this would be a fine night for some fishing and swimming for leisure, though tonight, he had a mission to accomplish, and a time table to keep. Turning from the cavern’s mouth, he addressed the two score men assigned to him. All good Dornish fighters, a few knights, the rest men at arms, local levies that knew how to fight and follow orders. [color=yellow][i] “Ser Andrew has given us the honor to assail the Vulture’s Roost in secret, and the privilege of being a bunch of sneaky bastards who will cause havoc and mayhem from within the enemy lines. Plus, we get to open gates and invite our friends in to join the fray.” [/i][/color] Ser Uther waded partway into the water, looking back at the men with him.

[color=yellow][i] “Stick close, watch your corners, and keep to the shadows. One way or another, Vulture’s Roost is falling tonight. Move out.” [/i][/color] With Ser Uther in the lead, twenty one men silently waded into the water, sticking towards the shallows and Northern shore, slowly making their way upstream towards the cavern’s entrance. The men held low conversations, readying themselves for whatever Vulture’s Roost and the Vultures themselves had in store for the loyalist forces. A knight asked Ser Uther what he knew of this ruin, and how he knew about it. [color=lightblue][i] “Ser Uther… how do you know so much about this ruin? I never heard of it until we were dispatched this way. What can we expect from these rebels?” [/i][/color] The knight swam quietly forward, dunking his head underwater for a moment to cool his face. Uther spoke a low foreboding tone, [color=yellow][i] “My family, from way back when Dorne was apart from the Iron Throne, were sworn to the Vulture King. We fought alongside the first Vulture King, before we were defeated and bent the knee to another king. We stayed loyal, my half of the family. The other half, rose up in rebellion during the second Vulture King. Ever since, my kin and I have been banished for refusing to rise up for our rightful ruler, or so they say. This castle is told in our family stories, from father to son. I know of it only from campfire stories told by my father and his. As for what we will see, Ser Taner, your guess is as good as mine. They are men like us, they bleed like us, and they probably think like us as well. If we’re lucky, they will not expect anyone to attack from down here, and have a few guards who’ve grown lax and lazy. If not, well, we will have one hell of a fight. The Seven will decide our fates now. Alright, cut the chatter, we are nearing the cavern… good luck everyone.” [/i][/color]

A full hour had passed since the men had entered the water, the going slow due to the river’s current, and the darkness enveloping everything. Ser Uther clutched tightly to a rocky outcrop further in the river, pulling himself away from the muddy river bottom towards the cavern’s mouth. He dunked his head underwater, letting the cool flowing river refresh him for the coming chaos that was sure to happen, even if they were lucky. Keeping the cavern wall to his right, Uther resurfaced, taking in a fresh breath of air. He let his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, while waiting for more of his party to group up within the cavern’s mouth. He nodded to Ser Taner, the young knight he had spoken to earlier, before swimming forward again. There was no turning back now.

The twenty men pressed onwards with their mission, navigating the near pitch blackness of the cavern, fighting the river’s current, and doing all they could to remain as quiet as possible. Soon enough, all eyes could spy the telltale flicker of torches and braziers, their ruddy light a bright sun in contrast to the oppressive darkness of the cavern. The men could slowly begin to make out the shapes of guards, Vultures assigned to guard the underground entrance to the Vulture’s Roost, and perhaps one of the main sources of supplies for the rebels. Uther was the first to feel the smooth and worn carved stones of the cavern’s docks and landings. The stones lay underwater to provide a sure depth for incoming boats and barges, a firm foundation on which to build the rest of this underground shipping and receiving area. Smiling, Uther swam into the dark shadows of disused section of the docks, and waited for the rest of the men to rally up with him.

Ser Uther counted the heads twice to make sure that everyone that had set out with him was there. Thankfully, by the watchful eye of the Seven, no one had drowned, been swept downstream, or spotted. Uther counted the small blessing, before surveying the scene before him to take better stock of what he was going to face down here. In the dim light of the docks torches and braziers, he saw the rusted portcullis that once guarded the entrance to the docks, hopefully rusted stuck in the open position. A smattering of guards, perhaps no more than a dozen at best, and by the looks of them, they were somewhat lax in their patrols and duties. He spied the open postern gate that no doubt led upwards into the castle proper, while a set of chains and pullies denoted the possibility of an elevator for carrying supplies up into the castle as well. But these were all minor things, superficial and unimportant to the mission at hand, what mattered was the habits and patrol routes of the guards, or rather, lack thereof.  

The guards sat in four groups of three, each lazily watching a swathe of the docks before them. This led to both fields of vision overlaps, and better yet, blind spots, parts of the docks which clearly sat unused, and unthought of. Ser Uther beckoned all those with him to take stock of the situation with their own eyes, to see what he had seen, to formulate their own plans and course of action. Together, the loyalist forces slithered out of the water, crouching behind broken crates and barrels, slowly and quietly readying their weapons. Ser Uther whispered to Ser Taner, [color=yellow][i] “Tell the archers with us to take out the six closest to the postern gate. We will creep up on the other six, and dispatch them as quiet as possible. You will signal them when to fire, since you have a bow yourself. Just make sure we are in position before you fire, and not before. Seven guide your arrows. If the alarm goes up, well, let’s just say it’s going to be a really bad evening for us all.” [/i][/color] 

[color=lightblue][i] “I’ll make it so Ser Uther. Good luck to you.”[/i][/color] Ser Taner responded, before slinking off to gather the other five archers to him. As Ser Taner and his fellow archers set themselves up to take out the six guards closest to the postern gate, Ser Uther and the rest of the men crept forward, sometimes crawling on their stomachs as they approached the six guards further away from the gate. The Vulture rebels had no idea what lay in wait mere feet from them, in the darkened recesses of the docks. Uther slowly drew his blade, holding it tightly in his right hand as he took one last deep breath, steeling his nerves to the coming fight, even if it was hopefully going to be short. In unison, the melee forces rose as the twang of bowstrings reverberate in the cavern. Of the six men closest to the postern gate, four died instantly, arrows protruding from their chests, causing them to fall over. The fifth let out a startled cry of anguish, before tumbling into the waters beside him, while the sixth moaned in pain on the floor next to his dead comrades. The other six men fell quickly, with only two loyalist soldiers dying in the ambush. Ser Uther helped kill one of the Vultures that had cut down the first loyalist to charge, and thus, the fight was over.

As Uther turned to find the sole surviving member of the cavern guards, he heard the cry of pain, followed by the splashing of water and body meeting together. The man had crawled to the docks edge, and rather than be caught, rolled himself off into the dark waters, having himself be carried away by the current. Three arrows were loosed at him, though none found their mark, and soon enough, the lone guard was out of sight and range. [color=yellow][i] “Forget him. Quick, hide these bodies, and see if they have any keys on them. There might be another gate further up that could be locked. It must have been two hours already. No doubt the fight is commencing above us as we sit here dawdling. Ser Taner, keep one archer, and six other men, hold these docks if you can, should we fail, and must retreat, we will need somewhere to safely exit this ruin. The rest of you, with me. Let’s see about opening some gates for our friends outside.”[/i][/color]

Ser Uther left the docks to Ser Taner’s command, and led the rest of the men to the postern gate, all slowly moving through its open doorway into the room beyond. Shaking his head, and taking a deep breath, Uther readied himself for the countless flights of stairs that wound their way above him. Thankfully, they all seemed to be hewn out of the stone itself, rather than made of wood, which was prone to rotting and becoming rickety, not to mention louder than hell itself banging a drum. As the others filed past him, Uther fumbled for the key ring he had taken from one of the dead guards. It held a few keys, some old, some new, big and small. No doubt they opened some of the cells down on the docks, but one looked different than the rest, older and larger than all the others. Climbing the stairs, for what seemed like many minutes, Uther came walking into the back of one of his party members. A wrought iron gate bared further progress up the stairs, with what looked like a lock made for the very key Uther held. Pushing forward, he unlocked the gate himself, slowly pushing it open and allowing his allies to press on. 

Far above, the sounds of combat and conflict could be heard, signaling that the siege had begun. Attaching the key ring back to his person, Uther surged forth to keep up with the rest of the men. Together, they all silently and unnoticed ascended from the deep reaches of the Vulture’s Roost to the ground floor, which as fate would have it, had them joining battle with a few lone sentries. Always late to the fight it seemed, Uther split the party in two, dragging the dead sentries, and two fallen loyalists into the stairwell, closing the door behind them. By the sounds coming from the castle, the yells of men, the crashing of siege equipment, or perhaps a tower collapsing in flame, the bulk of the fighting was towards the North-Eastern section of the castle, well on the other side of the deserted courtyard, save for some horses and goats. Uther quickly dispatched a passing Vulture, before speaking to the men one last time before the two parties split up. [color=yellow][i] “We’re in the belly of the beast now. I doubt we’ll be able to open the main gate, but there are two postern gates that we can surely open for our allies outside. You six, take the Western postern, the rest of you, with me to the Eastern postern gate. Good luck.” [/i][/color] 

Ser Uther and the five other Dornishmen in his party fought their way through corridors and hallways, cutting down five more Vultures in their rush for their target. Uther hoped and prayed that the other party would be able to accomplish their mission, though such thoughts were soon pushed from mind to focus on a pitched fight with three Vultures who guarded the postern gate. Already one loyalist had fallen to the ferocity of the Vulture guards. Uther fought with the four remaining loyalists, trying to wear down these rebels, to vanquish them so they could bring about the defeat of this accursed ruin. As Uther dodged and parried the incoming thrusts of a halberd, he spun about, disarming the Vulture, only to see another loyalist be caught upon the deadly blade of the halberd of another Vulture. With a ferocious slash, and a bit of luck, Uther dispatched the Vulture he had disarmed, the man still clutching his sword in its scabbard as he fell to the floor. The six men fought, two against one each, trying to find an opening in their defense, to kill their enemy, loyalists and rebel alike. 

The blood pooled across the floor as six men lay dead, their eyes forever closed to this world. Four loyalists, and two rebels, with the remaining Vulture fighting ferociously, blocking and parrying any attack levied against him by Ser Uther and another knight whose name he did not recall. Together they pressed the attack against this lone Vulture, lashing, swinging, hacking, damn near everything they had ever learned and been taught with sword fighting, trying to vanquish their foe. Uther himself had acquired several painful wounds, while none life threatening, they did slow the knight down more than he would have like, the blood oozing from the cuts staining his clothes and dripping unto the floor. At last though, an opening occurred, though such came at the expense of Uther’s ally. As the Vulture parried the other knights blade away, he thrust his blade forward to impale the loyalist, killing the man near instantly. But, as the knight fell and away, the Vulture’s blade came with him, caught in the dead knight’s ribs, pulling the Vulture forward and off balance. Uther lamented the loss of his ally, but took his fallen ally’s death for the opportunity it provided. 

A soft thud resonated out as the final Vulture collapsed to the ground, his chest rent open, from neck to hip, dead as all the other corpses about Ser Uther. Wiping the blood from his brow, along with sweat, Ser Uther spoke a quick prayer over the fallen, both ally and foe alike, before straining to lift the drop bar over the postern gate. He hefted the heavy slab of wood free, letting it fall and clatter to the ground, still mindful of the nearby sounds of battle that came from outside the gate. Uther pulled the gate open, letting it swing soundlessly on its hinges, before jamming it in place with the weapons of the fallen around him. Uther, now sure that he gate was open, grabbed a torch from the wall within the little gatehouse, and then waved it up and down, signaling that he had accomplished his mission in part, to open one of the postern gates that lead into the Vulture’s Roost. As loyalist forces surged forth to make their way through the opened gateway, Uther sat back upon a wooden bench, and collected his wits. The battle was only beginning, but he had helped sway the fight in their favor. Hopefully, this boon would not go to waste.