Spam is Coming
An Account of the War of a Bunch of Kings
According to the Spammers of House Stark1
Chapter I: Rebel Scum
Chapter II: The Death of Rilla Stark
Chapter III: The Queen in the North
Chapter IV: You Have to Remember His Name
So in the beginning there was nothing, but because God was a pretty cool dude he made light and oceans and fish and shit. This is the story of what came after that. This story is set in Westeros, where a lovely Christmas party was ruined under uncertain circumstances. Everyone blamed everyone else, but the basic gist of it was that Mahz Stark and his buddy King Robert Baratheon were fucking around and took an embarrassing photo of Prince Joffrey doing the horse dance from the Korean video Gangnam Style or whatever. The next day old King Robby was killed by a boar under suspicious circumstances, Prince Joffrey ascended to power, and then ordered Mahz to hand over the picture. Mahz refused, and Joffrey cut his head off and stuck it on a pike.
Needless to say, jimmies were rustled.
Rilla Stark, Mahz's suspiciously black son, wasn't going to stand for that kind of jimmy rustling while he was Lord of Winterfell, so he rallied the north and declared himself a secessionist entity, the Confederacy. King Joffrey Lincoln Baratheon, fully intent on keeping the Union together while also grimly aware of the irony that the Confederacy was led by a black guy, declared war on him. A lot of mean things were said and people got wicked butthurt over the whole affair, so everyone started declaring themselves kings and making war instead of love. Long and convoluted bullshit story short, the Starks and Tully's are at war with the Lannisters and King Joffrey Baratheon, King Renly Baratheon and the Tyrells, King Stannis and whoever wants to hang out with Stannis these days, and the Greyjoys. The only people who aren't being fucktards about this are the Arryns and the Martells, who missed the annual Christmas party, mainly because the Arryns are Jewish and the Martells went on holiday in Bermuda.
Anyway, let's cut to the chase.
Rilla and his top generals, Toellner, Ace, and Jster, have gone south to Moat Cailin with a fuckton of soldiers. There are so many soldiers with them that they had to divide the armies in two, with Rilla and Ace hanging out at Moat Cailin for the moment while Toellner led almost a thousand soldiers south on an investigative campaign to see what, exactly, it is that we're up against. Our mission is to take and hold the north, but we've made it our personal mission to ruin King Joffrey's day. Rilla Stark doesn't take that kind of shit, and swore that he'd kill Joffrey himself and then show everyone the embarrassing photo of him at the Christmas party during the wake, just to be a dick about the whole "murdering his father thing." Also Seravee is involved. She's pretty tight.
Lord Toellner Bolton
Lord of the Dreadfort
General of the First Army
Toellner's army walks into the Twins and takes it from Lord Walder Frey and his fifteen soldiers with less than a dozen casualties.
"Well that was easy," Toellner Bolton said, kicking the corpse of Walder Frey as his men sacked the castle.
Master-at-Arms of Winterfell
General of the Third Army
Of all the armies to be the general of (there were three), being the general of the Third Army was as ignoble as it got. General Seravee Cassel, the master-at-arms of Winterfell and a lifelong friend and ally of Mahz Stark and his sons, had the exceptionally unexciting task of policing the north. It wasn't quite fair, to be honest. She was a better general than Ace Karstark and Jster Umber put together, and yet was left with the routine things. Managing settlements, killing brigands. And that was precisely what she was doing today. A knight entered her tent.
"My lady, we are ready to attack," Ser Drakel said. Drakel was one of the many pint sized lords of the north of little note and less repute. He was, however, noticeable enough to land himself the position of captain of her unit of foot knights. He was a good soldier, and would serve her well until one of them died. This was highly unlikely, on account of the fact that she was leading a solid hundred and fifty soldiers against a mere fifty-five. Her men were well trained and well armed, while their enemies were simply rebellious peasants. And so the two would go on fighting together into the next battle.
"Well then, what are you waiting for?"
"Ah, you, my lady. You're our general."
"Bugger." She never got to sleep in.
The direwolf of House Stark flies before Barrowton.
Barrowton was a tiny town south of Winterfell, barely worth mentioning if it weren't for the fact that a band of peasants had gotten together to ruin her day by revolting and forcing her to kill them all. Kill them all. She liked the sound of those words. She repeated it a few times to herself, and decided that they sounded very nice in her honey sweet voice. Ser Drakel called out to her. His men were ready with the battering ram, their swords were drawn. The militia spearmen were ready behind them. They would charge in first, absorbing the brunt of the casualties while Drakel's knights flanked the single unit of peasants from their left. Caught between the knights wielding castle-forged steel blades and the mob of spearmen, the rebels would die, hopefully quickly.
"Orders, General?!" Ser Drakel called out.
"Kill them all."
And so Ser Drakel killed them all.
1. Not a reliable source of information by anyone's standards.