Max's new look got quite a bit of attention. Soldiers who had previously drank with him refused to make eye contact and the more religious folk called him a devil given mortal form when they thought he couldn't hear, yet he heard all of it. He didn't know whether they just weren't particularly quiet or if the egg had also enhanced his hearing. He was by far not an outcast, he had his buddies, but no one wanted to meet his eyes now. They had been striking before, like brilliant, liquid gold but with their slitted appearance, they were unsettling. A few of the more suspicious soldiers had also thrown away the jewellery he had made, giving them to the smallfolk of Seagard, who were more than happy to take them.
When the day came, Max boarded the same boat as king Robert and they sat out to Pyke. It took them 3 days to sail into viewing distance of the island but when they arrived at lordsport on Pyke, they were ready. King Robert donned heavy full plate and his warhammer, which any lesser man couldn't have wished to wield. The king was truly a beast upon men.
They rushed into the port and started fighting against the iron men. Swords were being swung, limbs cut off, chests pierced and crushed. The king had a wild, manic grin on his face as he smashed in chests and skulls. There was a mad glint in his bright blue eyes. He showed them why he was called the demon of the trident and this? This was what he lived for. War, or more specifically the battlefield, was where he shined the brightest. He had won one rebellion and was on a good way to win another.
Max didn't charge recklessly like the king, he instead chose groups of ironborn who were already engaged in battle and picked them off one by one. He couldn't die here, their whole plan needed him to be alive when they reached the walls protecting the seat of the iron islands.
He noticed, though, that his swings with the sword packed quite a bit more punch than he was used to. His muscle mass had stayed the same but his strength increased quite a bit. Limbs were torn from bodies and he felt free. It was like a dance, a beautiful, violent dance which never seemed to end as the ironborn didn't back down. They were pressed back onto the barren rocks which they called home.
There was no place left to run to anymore. It was do or die because: when you play the game of thrones, you either win or you die. That was true for the lords sitting on the thrones but also for the men fighting these wars.
For them, it was either survival, the wall or reuniting with their drowned god and there was no place on the wall for these men.
"Win or die", he muttered as his sword clashed with an ironborn's ax. The two blades crashed upon each other with tremendous force and his sword, which had already killed close to three dozen men, shattered. At first, there were only thin, hairline fractures but with a night roar, the weapon smashed into a thousand tiny pieces. The ironborn thought himself victorious but he let his guard down and Max gripped his ax and he overhauled it into a new sword for himself, after which, he sliced open his throat.
Max took a few moments to catch his breath and orientate himself. The ironborn were fighting fiercely. Corpses from both sides laid across the port town. Lord Eddard Stark, the quiet wolf was wielding the big sword Ice, the ancestral sword of house stark. It was bigger than was practical and yet, the quiet wolf moved like it weighed nothing, weaving through attacks like a leaf in the wind, cutting like a razor blade and defending like a stone wall.
Max, who had only recently taken up the sword, couldn't even follow him as he danced the dance of battle. Max was entranced when-
"Argh!!!"
A sword struck him in the leg. An ironborn cunt had snuck up on him and struck him where he wasn't armoured m, "should have gone for the head", he laughed as he rammed his sword through his attacker's throat. Then, he 'healed' himself and focused back on the battle. That could've been ugly.
Soon, they moved closer and closer to the fortifications of the island. The king gave the command and a tortoise formation was formed around Max. They moved slowly but the archers on the walls couldn't do anything against them. They had never seen this technique before and so had no way to effectively counter it. Arrows rained but it was of no use. When max reached the wall, he placed a hand on it and destroyed. Uncontrolled, mindless destruction, just erasing that part of the wall in it's entirety. He was spent, completely and utterly exhausted. The soldiers cheered and rushed in. As King Robert passed by him, he gave him a nod. His part of the plan was done.
He fell on his ass, panting. Maybe he should've made a smaller hole, that way he could've stormed the castle with them but now was not the time for what ifs, now was the time for resting. His job was officially done.