SOW DEATH : MFs vs CTW

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

PRELUDE

Winter sank its icy teeth into November, draping King’s Landing in a shroud of frost and shadow.

For me, Bezedash, knight-minstrel of the numbered kingdoms of GoT, the streets of the capital proved more treacherous than any battlefield… a labyrinth of regrets and lingering echoes.

The revelry of victory over WrittenInBlood had consumed me. Fresh from winning Winterfell’s gold, i sought yet another treasure, turning to Arbor Gold. The warmth of the vine gilded our triumph, each cup pulling me deeper into a haze of drunken glory.

Songs sung too loudly.

Ale poured too freely.

Dignity abandoned too swiftly.

LadySam, my steadfast wife, was there to catch me when i stumbled, guiding me to bed as my armor clattered gracelessly to the floor. But the sting of shame burned hotter than the winter chill. When i awoke to jeers and saw that the clash against TheFrenchWolves had already been lost, i realized i had betrayed more than my comrades... I had betrayed my own resolve.

That day, as the frost melted under the sting of regret, i vowed:

Never again.

No more drunken pride, no more careless defeats. I would fight, not with abandon, but with purpose.

As winter deepened, that purpose crystallized like frost on a blade : SoW death where honor called. For in the cold silence before battle, i knew one truth... when songs falter, steel must sing.

SOW DEATH : MFs vs CTW

On this early afternoon in mid-November, the air sharp with winter’s bite. Here i stood once more, at the Siege of Winterfell, alongside my alliance, the MisFits.

The battlefield stretched before us, an endless white expanse, harsh and unforgiving. 45 MisFits against 56 CTW warriors. Once again the odds weren’t in our favor. Yet if death was to come, we’d ensure it was shared equally.

We knew the stakes. The SoW playoffs would not include us, but this battle wasn’t for titles or rewards. It was for the honor of standing together. We were MisFits... not chosen, but resolute.

My lute was cast aside, my sword gripped tight. This time, there would be no revelry, no shame, only death, sown across the battlefield.

CTW met us head-on, their ranks forming a wall of shields, and at the heart of it stood POKSUM, a fierce warrior known for his implacable defense. His voice boomed across the battlefield :

“MisFits, your chaos ends here! The Armory belongs to CTW.”

I gritted my teeth, knowing POKSUM’s reputation. His unit was infamous for holding buildings, and with his leadership, their defensive lines rarely broke.

My blade struck true, carving through their defenses, but their counterattack was swift and brutal.

“Hold steady!” LadySam roared, her shield deflecting blows as she fought beside me.

CTW was prepared. Their counterattack was unrelenting. Every strike, every step we took forward seemed matched with two steps back.

Then, from the far side of the field, the Hot Spring fell. Their banners replaced ours. MisFits scrambled to reclaim lost ground as CTW pressed their advantage with unyielding precision.

I spotted eyaka, our ever-eloquent picky storyteller, at the Hot Spring, his spear flashing as he barked orders.

“Reinforcements to the Spring! We can’t hold this alone!”

Henomaus, my closest friend and brother-in-arms, answered the call. His cavalry stormed into the fray, shaking the ground beneath their charge. Though CTW resisted fiercely, the Hot Spring fell once again under our banner.

The battle raged on, but the tide began to shift. Winterfell’s gold became the fulcrum of the conflict. A treasure we needed to claim multiple times to close the gap and turn the tide. CTW, well aware of its importance, defended every approach with unrelenting ferocity.

POKSUM planted his banner on Greyjoy Stronghold 1, bellowing a challenge.

“Come if you dare! MisFits will break like ice upon our shields!”

“Set aside the Armory for now," i shouted over Discord. "Secure the Greyjoy strongholds, and march on Winterfell to claim the gold!”

LadySam and i led the assault on Greyjoy Stronghold 1, carving a bloody path through CTW’s defenses. Snow turned crimson as blades clashed. My horse stumbled, nearly throwing me, but LadySam’s shield was there.

“You won’t fall today,” she said, pulling me upright. Her voice was calm but commanding, her presence unshakeable

The gold changed hands six times, each capture more grueling than the last. CTW launched desperate assaults to deny us, but we pressed forward.

“Hold the line!” i bellowed, my voice cutting through the chaos.

The carrier moved under heavy escort, arrows slicing through the air as CTW flanked from both sides. POKSUM himself led a final, desperate charge, his shield shining like a beacon in the storm.

LadySam’s voice rang out, fierce and unyielding:

“Let’s sow death!”

Her blade flashed as she cut down another foe.

“And death cannot be stopped.”

Through sweat and blood, i grinned.

“Let them taste it, then.”

In the final moments, everything seemed to slow. The battlefield quieted, not in peace but in finality. CTW’s forces faltered under our relentless assault. The gold of Winterfell was secured. The MisFits’ banners flew high.

The victory was ours.

EPILOGUE

As we gathered after sowing death, the battlefield fell silent. My gaze swept across the fallen, their sacrifice etched into the snow.

LadySam stood at the forefront, her armor battered but her spirit unbroken.

"The SoW playoffs still elude us,” she said softly, her voice a blend of pride and sorrow.

I placed a hand on her shoulder.

“This was never about the playoffs. We fougth because we are MisFits, because we will not let defeat define us.”

Eyaka joined us, his armor spattered with remnants of battle.

“Legends are made in moments like these,” he said, a weary grin breaking through. “And we are legends.”

How does he always find just the piercing words and end up having the final say? i wondered.

Pulling my lute from my saddle, its strings miraculously intact, i began a melody. It wasn’t a song of triumph but of remembrance.

The MisFits sang with me, their voices blending into a chorus of defiance and resilience.

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Through defeat and victory, we carved our fate,

Where chaos reigned, we sealed their slate.

No great rewards claimed, no title adorned,

But legends rise where hearts are sworn.

The Springs ran red, the banners flew,

Yet every step, our bonds we knew.

With blade and shield, through blood and bone,

Together we stood... MisFits, our home.”

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As the final notes faded into the frostbitten night, i felt the duality within me settle... not a minstrel who fought, nor a warrior who sang, but both. Thus will be my fate, and my ballads are far from over.

Thank you for reading, and until we meet again.

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