Archive Entry: The Riverrun Scribbles
Date: 280 AC Source: The Book of the King of Rivers (Restricted Collection, Oldtown)
[This document, found hidden behind a loose stone in the solar of Riverrun, offers a chilling look into the mind of Edmure Tully during his youth. It reveals a man who viewed his world not through the lens of chivalry, but through a systematic framework of power and progression.]
A few days into my leveling plan, and the foundation is solid. I was right to prioritize the Learning skill; it has turned into a force multiplier for everything else. I have moved beyond simple effort; I am now hunting for synergies.
Talent is a lie told by the lazy. I have found that I can bypass my own physical deficiencies through cross-training.
Running (Level 10): This is my priority. The Infinite Stamina perk is the ultimate cheat. It turns training from a finite resource into an infinite grind.
Archery: This isn't just about the bow. Each level provides a +10% boost to coordination and body reflex. Every arrow I loose makes me a better swordsman and a better shield-bearer, simply by refining the machine that is my body.
I don't need to be good at the sword yet. I just need to be the person who can swing it for twenty hours while my opponent tires in two.
Hoster Tully returns tomorrow. I expect no grand revelation. In the lore of this world, he is a man of duty who wears a mask of iron to hide a soft heart—a heart mostly reserved for Catelyn.
The dynamics are clear: Catelyn is the heir he wants, and I am the heir he has. I will not fight this. I will play the role of the dutiful, improving son and use my sister as a buffer. If I can butter up the golden child, the father will stay off my neck, leaving me free to grind in the shadows.
My plan for the next few years is simple: build a resume. By fourteen, I want to be an heir held in such high regard that my legitimacy is unquestionable.
But I am not here to play Industrial Revolution. I have no interest in Roman legions or factories. Social standing is a shield, nothing more. My true power comes from the numbers on my internal panel. I have reached a conclusion regarding the Apotheosis at the end of the bars: I don't care about being a god.
Godhood is a target. Instead, I will aim for the plateau of the Superhuman. My rule is absolute: Be a superhuman to fight humans; be a god to I must fight superhumans. I will always be over-prepared. If the world expects a lord, I will give them a legend. If they expect a legend, I will give them a nightmare.
The Mad King, Aerys II, is currently busy alienating the entire realm. He has insulted Tywin Lannister, threatened the Martells, and is tightening a noose around the necks of the Starks and Arryns.
House Tully is a Great House with the shallowest roots. We were never kings, and the Riverlands has no natural defenses. We are a granary in the middle of a highway. When the civil war begins, I will advise my father to stay out of the center. Let the Kings of old blood butcher one another. We will provide the bread and the mud, but we will not bleed our top nobility for a crown that doesn't fit our heads.
The betrothal of Brandon Stark to Catelyn is coming. Petyr Baelish will make a fool of himself in a duel, but I have a different goal. I will grind until I can defeat the Wild Wolf Brandon with ease. Not because I hate him, but because he is the perfect benchmark. To defeat a Stark heir is to prove my worth to the realm without having to navigate the filth of King's Landing. I'll try to hint Starks about their doom, but with how stubborn they are, I doubt they'll heed my advice.
I will ignore the Tourney at Harrenhal. Defeating Rhaegar or Robert for a dopamine rush is a death sentence under the Mad King's gaze. I will stay at Riverrun. When the chaos of the tourney turns the countryside into a den of looters and deserters, that is when I will move. I will be the one who cleans up the mess. I will be the visible, immovable force that people turn to when the heroes have all gone to war.
[Commentary from the Historians of Oldtown] The "Edmure Scribbles" continue to baffle the Citadel. His obsession with "levels" and "perks" suggests a mind that had entirely detached from the romanticism of his era. He spoke of Godhood as a burden to be avoided, yet he spent every waking hour pursuing the power to kill gods. Was he a savior who practiced restraint, or a monster who simply preferred a quiet life?