Listen Audio Game Of Thrones: The Impaler Of Blue Fork - High-quality, Dedicated Voice

While lions, direwolves, and crowned stags fight for the Iron Throne, Black Eagle of the Blue Fork is quietly forging his pig iron and phalanx.
In 287 AC, the long summer wind was filled with the smell of corpses.
Otto Hohenzollern, with half a piece of broken armor, took over an unwanted tidal flat on the edge of the Riverlands.
He doesn't talk about knightly honor. All he had in hand was a territorial black book that calculated half a spoonful of coarse salt.
Loyalty has a clear price tag, and legal principles are determined by blood.
The white salt here is used to hollow out the bottoms of smuggling ships, and the privately minted dead silver fills the stomachs of greedy princes.
The eagle flag of Seaside City and the sealing mud of Riverrun are nothing more than political skins used to cover the rise of high gray stone walls.
The refugees were driven into quicklime pits for disinfection and put on rough fish-scale armor.
They were deprived of the right to speak and only heard the sound of bone whistles. The shield wall hit the ground, pushed flat and strangled.
They were like a cold, smelly stone mill, using their barbs to tear off the noble knights who broke into the territory from their saddles, and grind them into pieces in the puddles.
Winter is coming.
The only bargaining chips for survival are food, cold iron and the dead rule of never retreating.