Skyrim System In Westeros

The city of Lys, surrounded by the sea, was divided into four main sections connected by short bridges. The western island housed the fishing port and the slaves' quarters, where many residents were slain in their sleep by raiders breaking through doors. Some Ironborn slit the throats of slaves, while others rummaged through homes, searching for valuables.

The northern island was home to foreign merchants, mercenaries, and pirates, serving as a hub of life and entertainment. The southern island, on the other hand, was reserved for native Lyseni, military barracks, shops, and workshops. Finally, the eastern island, elevated above the others, was accessible only via a bridge from the southern island. This section housed the lavish residences of the nobility.

In the eastern part of the city, Lyseni guards sprinted frantically through the streets, ignoring the protests of noble household guards as they shouted:

"Emergency! A hostile force is attacking the western district!"

Roused from their beds, the city's ruling Magisters convened, their tempers flaring as they debated the unexpected attack.

"Is it truly the navy of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"The guards report seeing the banners of a red skull and a red horn — it must be the Iron Fleet."

"And what shall we do now?"

The Magisters had been caught off guard by what they perceived as a betrayal by King Robert of Westeros. Just months earlier, Davos Seaworth, the "Onion Knight" and the Seven Kingdoms' Master Of Ships, had visited Lys. Robert had sent a letter offering Lys the opportunity to surrender peacefully, but the city's council had rejected it, insisting they were not at war with Westeros.

Yet here they were, under attack. The council eventually agreed to recall their fleet, despite the risks of leaving the eastern seas unguarded against Volantis. Beacon lights atop Lys's highest tower signaled the recall, their flashes relayed from ship to ship until they reached the distant fleet.

---

In the western district, chaos reigned. Buildings burned, screams echoed, and the Ironborn pillaged without mercy. Theon Greyjoy, clad in the signature armor of the Ironborn, stormed into a small home. After killing a slave armed with a kitchen knife, he rushed upstairs. Asha followed close behind, wielding her single-handed axe. With one swift blow, she nearly decapitated a slave before kicking his body aside and joining her brother on the upper floor.

There, Theon stood frozen. A woman clutching a child knelt before him, her eyes filled with tears as she pleaded in a language he didn't understand. The child, terrified, stared wide-eyed at the blade pointed at them.

Baelor Blacktyde entered the room moments later. The young lord of Blacktyde wore a checkered black-and-green surcoat, his smooth face and handsome features betraying his youth. Like Theon and Asha, he had once been a hostage, having spent eight years at Oldtown under the Hightowers' watch before returning to rule his island. He was also a devout follower of the Faith of the Seven, a rarity among the Ironborn.

"Can't do it, can you?" Asha asked her brother.

"Why can't we spare them?" Theon stammered, his inner conflict evident.

"This is the way of the Ironborn!" Asha snapped, stepping forward. With a swift motion, her axe descended.

"No!" Theon shouted, trying to intervene, but it was too late. Blood splattered his face.

Theon screamed in frustration, hacking at nearby furniture in a fit of rage.

Asha, unfazed, pulled him aside, her voice soft yet firm:

"Everyone who steps onto a battlefield faces this. When we win, our enemies' families pay the price."

Baelor knelt by the fallen woman and child, gently closing their eyes. "This endless cycle of slaughter has brought nothing but suffering to the Ironborn. The Old Way no longer works."

Pointing to the lifeless woman, Theon asked, "And if you were captured, would you accept this fate?"

Baelor sighed. "If I were leading the battle, I'd never let this happen. But with six thousand Ironborn here, death is often the kinder fate for women and children."

Asha, hearing a call to regroup, adjusted the dagger hanging from her neck. Without looking back, she raised her axe and declared:

"I will never be captured alive. With axe in hand, I'll die smiling."

Baelor silently nodded and followed her downstairs.

Theon lingered for a moment, paralyzed by conflicting emotions. Only when smoke began to fill the house did he descend, muttering to himself:

"Theon Greyjoy will be captured — if it means protecting his family."

The Ironborn met little resistance as they ravaged the western district. With over six thousand men onshore, the scale of the assault was unprecedented in the history of the Iron Islands. Their morale surged as they pressed further eastward, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

To the north of Lys, a fleet of pirate ships loitered in the waters. At their center, several vessels were lashed together, forming a makeshift platform for a gathering of pirate captains.

Salladhor Saan, the self-styled Prince of the Narrow Sea, stood atop the deck of his flagship, the Valyrian, a large galley painted in garish hues. Clad in extravagant clothing adorned with gold and silver embroidery, jeweled buttons, and a peacock-feathered hat, he exuded ostentatious wealth.

Surrounded by the captains of smaller pirate fleets, Saan was engaged in a heated debate when a lookout atop the mast shouted:

"Lys is ablaze! The city is on fire!"

The captains rushed to the ship's railing, their eyes fixed on the golden glow illuminating the night sky above Lys. Saan stared at the distant flames, a smug smile creeping across his face as he recalled his recent dealings with Davos Seaworth.

The two had once been partners in smuggling, long before Davos rose to prominence as Stannis Baratheon's loyal vassal. Now an Lord and a respected noble, Davos had visited Lys under the guise of diplomacy, but he had secretly sought out Saan in the port, reigniting their old connection.

Davos delivered Stannis' letter of amnesty to Salladhor Saan, inviting him to join the Royal Fleet in the upcoming Stepstones naval battle. Salladhor, after careful consideration, agreed. To bolster his influence, he gathered a group of pirate leaders, aiming to bring them along to secure allies within the navy.

The fire in Lys spurred a bold idea in Salladhor's mind. If the pirates took advantage of the chaos to plunder or even assassinate the city's Magisters, they could present their exploits to Stannis for immediate recognition and reward.

"Brothers of the sea!" Salladhor began, addressing the gathered pirates.

All eyes turned to him, eager to hear what he had to say.

"You — only one ship. You — two. And you — two as well. Is this all you aspire to in life? The Seven Kingdoms will claim the Stepstones eventually, and when they do, their navy will dominate these waters. There will be no room for us in the richest seas of the world!"

The pirates murmured in agreement; the truth of his words was undeniable. Many had already fled here, driven away by the expanding influence of Westeros.

Salladhor continued, "I hold a letter of amnesty from the Seven Kingdoms' Master of Ships. Join their fleet, and you'll become navy men. Earn merit, and you'll have gold and land. With your skills at sea, can't you outshine those landlubbers?"

A chorus of agreement arose:

"Damn right!"

"They know nothing of sailing!"

"I could sink ten of their ships with just one of mine!"

"But if we surrender now, we'll never be trusted or valued," one pirate pointed out.

Salladhor pointed toward Lys, saying, "Glory! Glory lies there. If we seize this chance to plunder Lys or even kill its Magisters, we'll have great merit! Wealth and fame await us in the south. Brothers, charge!"

A deafening roar erupted from the pirates. Some hoped for amnesty, some sought quick riches, and others, wanted criminals in the Seven Kingdoms, sought only to secure their escape funds. Yet, for now, they were united in purpose.

"I have influence in Lys," Salladhor added. "I'll lead you directly into the port. Once ashore, we'll strike."

"Understood!"

"Haha, we'll walk right through the front gate and take what we want!"

The pirate leaders returned to their ships. Soon, a fleet of pirate vessels, their sails adorned with various skull-and-crossbones flags, set course for Lys.

---

Lys was divided into four districts: east, west, south, and north. The western slums were already ablaze.

The Ironborn had regrouped at the short bridge connecting the north district to the east, facing defensive structures and a contingent of regular soldiers. They waited for their leaders to decide their next move.

Asha, Theon, and Baelor Blacktyde pushed through the crowd to join the discussions.

As Lord of the Iron Islands, Lord Sawane Botley found himself overshadowed in these matters, leaving Harras Harlaw to take the lead.

Harras, his Valyrian steel sword, Nightfall, slung over his bloodstained shoulder, addressed the gathered lords, his white reaper's scythe cloak trailing in the dirt.

"Many are scattered, but with Lord Sawane here, decisions can be made. What are your thoughts?"

Blacktyde sneered. "This slum is full of paupers. There's no profit here. This trip was a waste!"

"Agreed! There's no wealth here!"

Gylbert Farwynd of Lonely Light chimed in, "The geography of Lys rises from west to east. The richer they are, the higher they live. This district is for slaves! We must press eastward!"

"Eastward!" Farwynd's men chanted.

Dunstan Drumm of Old Wyk, mimicking Harras, rested his famed Red Rain sword on his shoulder and rubbed his bald head. "Where are the city's soldiers? The few at the bridge won't be enough to hold us."

Harras declared, "We're Ironborn. We live off the sea. Are we afraid of their navy? Lords, what say you?"

"Agreed!"

"We won't leave empty-handed!"

Dunstan began counting with his sword's hilt. "Six — six lords in favor. Lord Sawane, give the order."

Sawane Botley relented. "Very well." Turning to the Ironborn throng, he bellowed, "Eastward! As Lord of the Iron Islands, I command you to advance!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Shield-bearers to the front! Archers, ready! One, two, three — loose!" Sawane organized the assault on the narrow bridge. Though their numbers were overwhelming, the tight space necessitated siege tactics.

As the other lords watched, Harras reluctantly assembled his men into formation, Nightfall glinting ominously.

"Shields up! Shields up!"

"Archers, return fire!"

"No retreat! Flee, and I'll take your head!"

On the defensive side, behind makeshift barricades of furniture and sandbags, the city guard countered with arrows and whips, forcing slaves to stand at the front as human shields. A city officer, frustrated with their cowardice, decapitated one of the slaves to set an example.

But the Ironborn were relentless killers. They pushed forward through the rain of arrows, climbing over the barricades. Their thirst for blood and gold drove them ever onward.

Amidst the chaos, Theon and Asha stayed behind the main force.

"That sword was once ours," Asha whispered, gesturing to Nightfall.

Theon glanced back. "Nightfall? How do you know?"

"The family records at Pyke. You never read as a child. Two centuries ago, Nightfall belonged to Dalton Greyjoy, who seized the Seastone Chair for our family."

"The black stone throne? So that's who claimed it. How did Harras get the sword?"

"It doesn't belong to Harlaw. Harras took it from a pirate."

"Then can't we reclaim it?"

"You'd need a good excuse. A lord doesn't just die, and you conveniently find his sword." Asha hefted her axe and charged into the fray.

---

The bridge defenses fell. Ironborn surged across, trampling over hundreds of slave corpses into the north district. The city guard retreated to the affluent DC district, the highest point in the city, protected by walls.

Meanwhile, Salladhor Saan's pirates landed in Lys. Known to the locals, Salladhor's presence was welcomed by the unsuspecting city guard, who believed he had come to help.

Once inside, Salladhor drew his curved blade and shouted, "For the king!" With one swift stroke, he killed the port commander.

"For Robert!"

At the signal, the pirates turned on the city guard. Outnumbered a hundred to one, the guards were slaughtered. The docks ran red with blood.

The pirates, uninterested in morality or honor, looted everything. Many stripped the guards of their superior equipment, swapping their rags and crude weapons for proper gear. For the pirates, the battle for Lys had just begun.

Salladhor Saan led his men eastward, determined to assess the situation before his pirates succumbed entirely to greed and became uncontrollable. Among the dozens of pirate crews, each with their own agendas, fortune would decide their fate.

Dunstan Drumm, accompanied by his two sons and household warriors, burst into a merchant shop. The shelves displayed an array of shell-crafted goods.

"These are worthless. Search the cupboards — find the gold!"

His younger son, Donnel Drumm, swung his axe at a hidden compartment in a cabinet. With a crash, coins spilled onto the floor.

"Found it! The gold's here!"

Suddenly, another group barged in. Their ragged appearances, mismatched armor — some with breastplates, others with only a gauntlet — and assortment of weapons betrayed them as another pirate crew. They immediately set their sights on the scattered coins.

Donnel Drumm shouted, "Which house are you from? We were here first! Don't you understand the rules?"

Hearing this, both groups hesitated momentarily, eyeing each other warily. Pirates and ironborn alike were dressed in similar rags, making it hard to distinguish between them.

The pirates, mistaking the ironborn for rival raiders, hesitated. Meanwhile, the ironborn assumed these were young raiders ignoring the unspoken rules of plunder.

It was Dunstan Drumm who first realized the truth.

"They're not ironborn — they're pirates! Kill them!"

Drawing his Valyrian steel blade, Red Rain, he led the charge. Chaos erupted as the two sides clashed amidst the merchant shop's shattered remains. Coins lay forgotten on the ground as insults were exchanged amidst the bloody skirmish.

"You call this looting? We ironborn are the true masters of the sea!"

"Masters? More like mangy mutts. I'll gut you like a fish!"

Outnumbered and outmatched, the pirates began to falter. As their numbers dwindled, one of their leaders caught sight of Dunstan Drumm's gleaming Valyrian steel sword. His eyes widened with recognition and greed.

"It's a Valyrian steel sword!" he yelled, retreating toward the eastern streets. "A Valyrian steel sword — someone's got one here!"

The cry carried through the streets like wildfire. The value of such a blade could set a man for life. Pirates from all corners converged on the scene, drawn by the prospect of untold wealth.

Dunstan Drumm's men, realizing the growing threat, began shouting for reinforcements. In the cramped city streets, both ironborn and pirates collided in a chaotic melee.

---

A deep, resounding horn echoed from the eastern towers. Its unfamiliar tone, distinct from the calls of either the ironborn or pirates, did little to stem the ongoing bloodshed. Both sides had descended into a frenzy.

Theon and Baelor Blacktyde were locked in battle in a narrow alley, defending Asha from a group of pirates.

"Where did these pirates even come from?" Theon shouted, parrying a blade.

Asha, blood streaming down her arm from a gash, stood atop a pirate's corpse. Planting her boot on the body, she yanked her axe free from his skull.

"Probably here to pick at the scraps," Baelor Blacktyde replied grimly, fending off another attacker.

Despite their best efforts, the pirates' numbers began to wane. Seeing their comrades fall, the remaining raiders retreated deeper into the alley.

Suddenly, the crowd of pirates surged forward in panic, trampling one another in their desperation to escape. Packed tightly together, Theon and Asha found themselves crushed amidst the chaos, their movements restricted and breaths labored. Behind them, Blacktyde warriors struggled to hold back the press of bodies.

The horn sounded again, low and ominous.

At the far end of the alley, armored soldiers in matching uniforms appeared. Shield-bearers formed the vanguard, while ranks of spearmen followed behind. Their disciplined advance was unrelenting. Against their shields, pirate blades glanced harmlessly off. At their flanks, spears struck with deadly precision. Step by step, the soldiers pushed forward, cutting down all in their path.

"It's the Lyseni regulars! They're counterattacking!" a pirate screamed before being impaled by a spear.

Baelor Blacktyde, realizing the danger, yelled, "Fall back! Blacktyde men, retreat!"

The chaotic melee began to dissolve as the ironborn fought to escape the encroaching soldiers. Theon grabbed Asha's uninjured arm and pulled her through the crowd, weaving through the fleeing masses.

Reaching a small rise, they found Sawane Botley standing atop a ruined statue's base, surveying the battlefield.

"Ironborn! Stop running! Organize and counterattack!" he bellowed, pointing toward the burning harbor.

Theon and Asha turned to follow his gaze. Flames consumed the port, where ships clashed in a deadly melee. The Lyseni fleet battled pirates within the harbor while also engaging the ironborn ships outside the western docks. Above the chaos, a new fleet bearing the sigils of Volantis had joined the fray, attacking indiscriminately.

Since declaring allegiance to Wright, Volantis had grown more aggressive. Their arrival now signaled an opportunity for plunder — or a death knell for all involved.

In the harbor, Lyseni ships fought pirates, ironborn vessels clashed with Lyseni galleys, and Volantis ships attacked all who crossed their path. Four independent forces converged on Lys in a violent, chaotic struggle.