SOW MUCH FOR KAC : MFs VS KAC

I am Bezedash and welcome once more into my GoT world.

PRELUDE

The Melody of Arrows had barely faded, yet the echoes of our last battle still haunted the castle corridors, whispering to those who dared listen. Now, as All Hallows' Eve crept upon us us and SOW was about to start, Winterfell lay in eerie stillness, its ancient stones seemingly aware of the dark storm that brooded on the horizon.

It wasn’t just the northern winds that brought a chill… It was the dread, a thickening fog of fear that spoke of one name : KAC.

Word of our upcoming clash had already spread like wildfire. Even my little town crier was giving voice to it on every street corner : 

 "Hear ye, hear ye! Brace yourselves, good people!

Our alliance, the valiant MFs, is bound for battle against the dreaded KAC—a force so fearsome that even the bravest tremble!

The day of reckoning draws near; may courage shield our hearts, for we face a storm like no other!"

 The townsfolk shivered at the mention, eyes widening as they recognized the daunting challenge ahead.

SOW MUCH FOR KAC : MFs VS KAC

The dread took root the moment we received the news. We would face KAC, the name whispered with reverence and terror cross all numbered kingdoms of GoT WiC. Their leader, the fearsome Duke JimRN, commanded a staggering 28 billion power,

his warriors : Black bear, lelele, mofa, MatJeni - legends in their own right.  

These weren’t mere opponents; they were living myths, and on this Halloween night, we would be their quarry.

At my side stood my loyal wife, LadySam, her eyes fierce beneath her helm; my old storytelling comrade, eyaka, always the strategist; my forever pale henomaus, and my steadfast friends  Rudyv83, iscand2, and Paco Jhones. Together, we are part of the MFs alliance, our banners fluttering with the colors of House Stark, cold blue under the night’s darkening sky.

KAC, relentless as the tides, wore the blood-red of House Greyjoy, a sinister shadow bearing down on us from the south. 

Our mission sounded simple enough : take control of the buildings scattered across the map and seize the precious Winterfell gold, carrying it safely back to one of our strongholds. But even as the plan formed, a creeping unease settled in.

Only 52 of us against KAC’s 76, hmm, it felt as if we were a group of sheep preparing to face a pack of wolves.

When the clock struck battle hour, a cold gust swept through Winterfell, mingling Halloween chills with bone-deep dread. LadySam gave me a wry smile, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of worry.

"Perfect night for a massacre, isn’t it?” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the wind.

Nervous laughter echoed, brittle as the crackling leaves swirling at our feet.

I gripped her hand, feeling the leather and steel of her gauntlet against mine.

“One way or another, we’ll give them a tale to remember,” i replied, forcing a grin.

THE MONOCHROMATIC BATTLE

Within minutes, a glimmer of hope sparked : two Stark Outposts fell under our control! A cheer went up, a rare flame of optimism, but Winterfell does not allow such comfort for long. A battle was raging in the Hot Springs.

Within five minutes, the entire map was painted in blood-red banners, a foreboding wave that seemed to growl, hungry for our defeat. KAC’s forces swept through the battlefield with ruthless efficiency, taking every stronghold, every outpost, until the land seemed awash with blood. My stable was a vision from a butcher’s den, and my cavalry... my poor cavalry... lay strewn across the field.

The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smoke from torched barricades.

Eyaka glanced at me, his face streaked with sweat and soot, his expression grim yet defiant.

"Hold the line, minstrel," he muttered, swinging his blade toward the oncoming tide. "If we’re going down, let’s make it a worthy story."

Beside him, henomaus roared as he fought, each swing of his sword a fierce punctuation to his battle cries.

“Come on, you squids!” he shouted, challenging KAC’s forces with a madness born from sheer desperation.

I, the minstrel-knight, wondered : What use is song when defeat already looms so close? But what is a bard to do if not to chronicle the moment, even as it unfolds? If we couldn’t claim victory, i could at least immortalize our defiance in verse.

In a final act of courage... or folly... i threw myself before Black bear, one of the mightiest of KAC.

A foolhardy move, yes, but one that offered a peculiar thrill, the honor of receiving a battle report from an idol.

I stared up at him, heart pounding, in awe of the towering legend before me. With a single, swift blow, he laid me low, a merciful end to my audacious challenge. The impact sent me reeling, and i collapsed to the ground, struggling to catch my breath as the world spun around me.

As expected, we were obliterated, swept aside by the relentless tide of KAC. They gave no quarter, offered no mercy, leaving us with nothing but the sting of utter defeat. They marched through Winterfell without hesitation, claiming every prize, leaving us as empty-handed as we had started. 

EPILOGUE : A MINSTREL’S LAMENT

When the battle ended, we staggered back to our keep, bloodied, battered, yet somehow unbroken. The fields may have been drenched with our failure, but our spirits remained. Halloween’s eerie silence descended over Winterfell, broken only by our weary laughter and wry grins, the gallows humor of soldiers who had faced death and returned.

KAC may have claimed their rewards and seized every prize, their points towering far beyond reach, while we had been denied the 20,000 points we needed to secure our own rewards. Perhaps we could have fought more aggressively, but what is done is done.

MFs had stood together with heart and soul, even as the odds weighed heavily against us.

Eyaka slung his arm over my shoulder, a smirk ghosting across his face.

“Next time, minstrel,” he said, voice laced with both pride and exhaustion, “remind me to bring a bigger sword and fewer dreams.”

I laughed, the sound ringing hollow yet sincere.

"And i’ll bring a thicker notebook," i replied, "so our defeat can sound grander than it was."

And though KAC held victory, the story belonged to us—the story of a doomed Halloween battle, where a band of outnumbered fools stood against legends. As the knight-minstrel, i would sing of it, lute in hand, each note, a reminder that though glory eluded us, the tale would live on. With a crooked smile, i promised to keep that song alive until the next Halloween, when perhaps another ghostly night would offer us a different fate.

Thank you for reading

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