Game of Thrones RP

Discussion in 'Archive' started by Dagolas, Feb 12, 2014.

  1. TheApprentice

    TheApprentice Senior Member

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    Last edited: Feb 20, 2014
  2. Oak7ree

    Oak7ree Member

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    Lord Edgar found her walking in the gardens. His lady wife, Elizabeth Tyrell, usually spent her time in the gardens near the Red Keep. She was few years younger than him. They still hadn't a child, though they had tried for some time. To Edgar she looked beautiful in her green, long dress. She had brown, curly hair and golden eyes he could die for. Any man could, from Dorne to the Wall.

    Edgar sent ser Edmund away. He had escorted his lord to the gardens.

    "Darling" he started. Elizabeth turned to him. She had been examining a bunch of blood-red roses. "How was the joust?" He already knew how it went, but he wanted to hear her view.

    "It was interesting, my love. I woke up late, so I missed the trial, but I had enough time to dress and see the joust everyone were talking about." She walked to him. Now they were beneath a tree. "There was a noble that was in a sellsword's disguise. I assume you have heard about that." She was smiling.

    "How has been your day? Didn't see you in the jousting field or in the bed chamber. Early morning?" she asked.

    He nodded slightly. "The money never sleeps, and I am the damned master of coin. I had few appointments that I needed to attend. Besides, I don't like seeing blood. Not that I fear blood, but I want to avoid it." He smiled back to her.

    "You're hiding something, my lady. What is it?" Edgar asked. He could usually tell when his wife had something important to say.

    "A raven came from Highgarden. My father asked me how I was going. He also asked should he be expecting a grandson any time soon. He was quite discreet about that." She touched her stomach.

    "Are you... pregnant?" Edgar asked. The thought left him almost speechless, but he could manage himself.

    "I am quite sure that I am pregnant. I haven't sent a raven back. I wanted to tell you a day or two ago, but you have been busy with your work lately, and today you rose early."

    "That's great news to your father, to us, to... everyone. I am happy for us, Lizzie." She had disliked that nickname since her childhood. She thought it didn't fit to a noble lady. But they hugged. They were happy.
     
  3. Dras

    Dras Active Member

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    Pyke, The Iron Islands.......

    "Milady, a missive has arrived for you."

    "Ah, must be from my sister. Leave now," Lady Claerys Targaryen Greyjoy dismissed the vassel with a contemptuous wave of her hand. Age and hardship had done nothing for the woman in looks, she tried to cover her ever increasing wrinkles with thick paste but that only added to her look of a stone pillar. The vassel sneered at her when he turned his back and made a hasty retreat.

    Lady Claerys's eyes glittered with a joy and excitement only her letters gave her and her stern mouth actually twitched as if she was going to smile. She excused herself from the banquet hall in which the Greyjoy family had been feasting and retired to her quarters. Once there she bolted the door and raced towards her desk quickly grasping her letter opener and breaking the wax seal on the missive. Settling herself in a large chair by the window, Claerys begun reading.....

    To the Lady Greyjoy;

    I write to you now on behest of your Lord brother Torgan Targaryen
    in the bright morning beginning the reign of His Highness, Our Lord
    King Rickard Arryn, and Ruler of the Red Keep.


    Dearest Sister; A wrong has been committed this night. Through some
    ghastly perversion of the Seven our dearest sister, my wife and our
    unborn child, has been brutally murdered......


    The rest of the letter was lost on Claerys. Rage, white hot and terrible, burned in her eyes and cause her body to shake. Her hands clenched upon the letter and she threw it into the fireplace with a screech. She ripped at her hair and tore the blankets off her bed, causing enough commotion to send servants running towards her door. Cursing and screaming at any god who would hear her, Claerys flung aside the bolt to her door and charged into the hall. Her eyes landed the nearest servant to her and she pointed a long, bony finger at him.

    "You! Tell the stables to ready my carriage, and send my maidens to pack my things. Inform my husband," she sneered, "That he will have to deign to care for his children for awhile. I leave for King's Landing Immediately!!!" she screeched at the poor lad. Nodding his understanding the servant stumbled away from the wrath of Lady Claerys and practically ran down the hall. After he had gone Claerys dismissed all the other servants with a screech and a well-aimed snap of her wrist and stormed back to her room.

    Flinging open the shutters to her winder she glared at the twinkling stars with distaste and swore she would find the person responsible for her sister's death and make him rue the day he had awakened The Dragon's Daughter.
     
  4. Dagolas

    Dagolas Banned

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    Henry paced in front of the iron throne. It was an ugly thing, tall on it's steps of melted iron swords, though magnificent all the same. Rickard looked down upon him.

    "This is troubling news..." he started.

    "Yes. That's not the only proof they've had, a lot of rangers have been going missing. Lord Commander Jeyson says that the wildlings have vanished, and the ones nearest the wall dead, their villages deserted, no sign of a struggle or corpses," he said, his face impassive. "The Wall, and the North, need men. All you can provide, we need to get to the bottom of this."

    "Also, Henry. I've been thinking of whom I shall appoint as Hand."

    Not me, please Gods not me.

    "I thought Mychael Lannister would fit the role nicely."

    Henry nearly sighed in relief.

    "An adequate choice, of course. You heard of the ambush?"

    Rickard's brow furrowed. "No. What ambush?"

    "Torgon Targaeryen avenged his uncle. Or tried to, anyway. My daughter Rowen and Mychael managed to repel them, though at the cost of the latter's shoulder. He's bedridden now, being looked after by a maester."

    "This is troubling news. We cannot allow for fights in King's Landing!"

    "Also, Rickard. There is something else, though..."

    "Out with it."

    Henry hesitated, and then decided to tell the truth. "Some people are... displeased with you holding the throne. My men have even heard talk of assassination, and such."

    "Talk, talk. Men talk. They don't have the balls to do it, Henry. I'll be fine."
     
  5. Keitsumah

    Keitsumah The Dream-Walker Contributor

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    Valkor shivered suddenly, and his eyes narrowed. An omen. Something bad was coming. Turning to face Rowan, he considered the consequences, but then shrugged. She could have learned at some point or other.

    "Don't run. It would be a pain to have to tie you down." he said over his shoulder, then stepped out into the street and put two fingers to his mouth. As he sucked in a breath, Valkor mentally calculated the havoc he would wreak by doing this. The king would be displeased, but at worst only a few small fires would be started -and he could put those out easilly. Then he pinched his mouth and blew.

    The shill whistle hung in the air for several moments, and he felt Rowan's curious gaze bore into his back. But he paid little mind to it, now that the screaming started.

    Shril cries of alarm and terror started up at the stables, then quickly headed in their direction. Valkor remained calm and serene, but he sensed the tension in the air as the people around him began to sense something coming. Something dangerous.

    The hollow, angry cry of an animal quavered in the air, and a blast of heated wind scorched Valkor's exposed face. The crackle of flame could be heard, and then the clatter of hooves. Words became distinct:

    "Look out!"

    "Demon horse!"

    A grin tugged at Valkor's mouth, and he turned to look at Rowan just as a dark shape burst out from an alleyway behind him, charging forward at a pace that was unnatural. He didn't look, he felt. He didn't see, he heard.

    When the blazing flames felt hottest and the clatter of hooves finally halted, he turned. Shadow stood there, flames crackling all along his length. His eyes glowed a mad, blood-red, and the beast threw back his head and let loose that terrible death-cry again.

    Rowen stumbled backwards, almost tripping on her skirt, a massive heatwave washing over her. Unaccustomed to such heat her face flushed and she begun to sweat. After she had steadied herself, she managed to glance up at the cause of the heat.

    "By the Gods!" she exclaimed. Standing behind a very calm Lord Orion was a enormous, fiery beast, it's eyes alight with unnatural fires. Standing in front of such a beast made Lord Orion look fearsome indeed. Gazing at the image the two represented Rowen's mind finally started working again. "Look to your Nightmares" says his house. Well, apparently the Starks aren't the only one to put true meaning to their motto.

    "I assume that is your beast Lord Orion? I shouldn't be so surprised, the Targaryen's had dragons, why shouldn't other houses be seen without their patrons." Rowen straightened herself out and took a step backwards again. Moving slowly towards the Lord Lannister's side and away from the heat radiating off the beast. Born and bred in the North, such heat was starting to get to her.

    "Impressive..." muttered Lannister, coming back to.

    "Please." he said, offering her his hand to Rowen.

    Valkor grinned. "Yes, he is. In fact, if you were to look carefully at any foul-tempered horse, you would find that they may be a nightmare. Only those of the blood of Orion know how to tame them, though. Sadly my father was not of that origin -hence the reason my family was wiped out." Stepping forward, Val waved a hand and Shadow extinguished himself. He only needed the speed of the flames -and the image that the peasants would quickly spread to his enemies. The stallion seemed oddly calm now -following along behind his master without even so much as a bridle to control him.

    Lannister awoke then, and Orion bowed. "Now, let's get you to the Keep. Riding Shadow will be fastest -despite his size, his gait is smooth." he said, striding over to help the man up.

    Valkor grinned. "Yes, he is. In fact, if you were to look carefully at any foul-tempered horse, you would find that they may be a nightmare. Only those of the blood of Orion know how to tame them, though. Sadly my father was not of that origin -hence the reason my family was wiped out." Stepping forward, Val waved a hand and Shadow extinguished himself. He only needed the speed of the flames -and the image that the peasants would quickly spread to his enemies. The stallion seemed oddly calm now -following along behind his master without even so much as a bridle to control him.

    Lannister awoke then, and Orion bowed. "Now, let's get you to the Keep. Riding Shadow will be fastest -despite his size, his gait is smooth." he said, striding over to help the man up.

    He smiled at Rowen and turned to Valkor.

    "Well, let's go then. I believe the king wanted to talk to me earlier."



    After carefully bringing Mychael back to the Keep -Rowen had seemed too scared to go near Shadow, so Valkor hadn't forced her to- they made their way inside.

    "See that the king receives this," he said, handing a note to the small messenger boy who had greeted them. Then Valkor slipped out another scroll from his coat and handed it tot he lad as well. "This one goes to the falcons. I need it sent to all members of the Guild." he refused to elaborate on what the Guild was, but a dark look came to his eyes when he looked upon Shadow again, and the stallion snorted, ears folding back against his skull.

    "You don't like the others, do you? Well at least you'll get a rematch against Phantom." a ghost of a smile tweaked the young Lord's mouth. The Nightmare bared his teeth and tossed his head, apparently having some affiliation with that name. Valkor glanced up at Lannister and smiled.

    "I hate to say it, but I have been holding out on you old man." he jested. "Let's just say it will be beneficial though. Not detrimental."
     
  6. Dras

    Dras Active Member

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    Rowen gazed out the window from the guest quarter's tower. Below her she saw the various guards at their posts pacing and even a few sleeping in the cast of the lamplights. It seemed to her that there was a few more then the last night which only proved how much the death of Lady Targaryen shook the keep.

    Dressed in a long woolen nightgown, the cool breeze from the window felt good against her skin. It also tousled her unbound hair, the thick and black tresses trailing down towards the small of her back. She enjoyed moments like this, where she could just close her eyes and savor the embrace of peace.

    Mychael strode through the guest tower's halls, up to his room on the upmost floor, he passed next to an open door, and gave it a glance, noticing Rowen.

    "My lady." he said politely.

    Rowen spun around in surprise, hand flying towards a hidden fold in her gown where a dagger was strapped to her thigh. She relaxed when she saw who it was.

    "My Lord," she said, curtsying.

    "Mychael, please." he had his arm wrapped in a cast, so used his left to give her a small bundle of cloth.

    "As you wish, Mychael," she said his name gently, testing it on her lips. She liked how it felt. She blinked curiously at the small parcel and looked questioningly at him as she took it. "We have hardly met and you come bearing gifts to my door." she said teasingly.

    "Open it, please."

    Rowen nodded and started to unwrap the bundle. Inside, was one of the most beautiful daggers she had ever seen. Made from the purest steel, the blade shone in the moonlight. The hilt was made from ivory polished to perfection and had a steel wolfs head for a pommel. The wolf's eyes were made from foggy diamonds, catching the moonlight and reflecting it so that they seem to glow with unnatural power. Much like my own eyes, Rowen thought.

    "It's beautiful," she said simply, running her hands across the fine hilt and blade. She tested it for balance and found it also to be in perfect condition. "Must of been a fortune to have this made. However did you come by such a blade?" she asked him, finally looking him straight in the face, her eyes catching the moonlight like the eyes of the wolf.

    "I'm lord of Casterly rock, on top of a gold mine. Money comes rather easily," he said. "And... I'm hand of the king."
    He had butterflies when she looked at him. Damn it, stop blushing, fool. You're a high lord, not some shy maiden.

    "My! Now that is an honor! For the dead," Rowen pursed her lips in thought. "Are you sure the King values you as a friend? The King's Hand is not the most desired position in the world."

    "I don't know what he has in mind. We shall see. Better me as hand than no hand at all," he said. "Though I did expect your father might be chosen."

    "I believe many thought my father would of been chosen. He is older, more experienced. Be wary My Lor...er, Mychael," she blushed over her misstep, "You will have even more enemies then you have already. Speaking of which," she gestured to her nightgown, "you must go. There is many a rumor that would start if someone saw us like this, and My Lord father is due back soon."

    Mychael gave her another bow and turned to walk back out of her chamber. He stopped at the door and turned as if to say something to her but changed his mind and continued on his way.
     
  7. Dagolas

    Dagolas Banned

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    Henry entered the room.
    "Rowen, were you hurt earlier in the ambush?"

    "No father, those lessens you insisted upon helped me avoid any wounds." Rowen said politely, returning to her vigil by the window. "I hear Lord Lannister was elected King's Hand. Saved you from hell didn't he?"

    "Yes, though he has entered into a great one."

    "Father I," she paused for a moment, "I followed Lannister into the town and he spoke with a man in red robes[​IMG]. They said something about the North being hard-pressed by a unknown cause." She looked up at him accusingly, "I know it is not my place, but you have never hidden such things from me before. What is going on?"

    "Things... They are rumours of course," he added rapidly. "But things are happening, outside of the wall."

    Rowen narrowed her eyes,

    "Things? 'Things' don't tell me anything. What concerns the Stark's concerns me, My Lord," she said acidly, giving him a curtsy and turning back to the window.

    "Things beyond you understanding." Henry said with authority. He didn't want to act this way towards her, but she couldn't know. No one could know. It was merely a rumour, false...

    Her father's stern demeanor made Rowen sad, and she refused to look away from the window. In her hands she held the wolf's knife and was rubbing her thumb over one of it's glowing eyes. Sighing, she placed the knife within the folds of her nightgown with the other one and turned back towards him. Keeping her eyes down she curtsied and walked towards to door that joined the Lady's room the Lord Stark's.

    "I must attend to my Lady. Sleep well, Father." and with that she shut the door behind her.

    Stark brooded for a moment. I didn't want to be so harsh, but no one can know. If they did... We have enough problems already, without the dead adding themselves to them.
     
  8. Keitsumah

    Keitsumah The Dream-Walker Contributor

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    A fly buzzed somewhere near his ear, but Valkor didn't bother swatting at it. A moment later, he felt a burst of heat and the offending insect went silent. The grin on his face was too difficult to hide. A Lord! And I no longer have to hide what Shadow is. I have the authority to keep him as my own. Well... even if he had been revealed, Shadow would never leave my side. We are two sides to the same coin. He glanced at the hulking shape of the Nightmare out of one eye just in time to see the flames flicker out along his body. The beast was calm for once, dozing lightly but keeping his eyes half open, just as if they were still out on the plains. An attack could come at any given time, and neither of them were about to let down their guard just because of their new status.

    Stretching his body with a yawn, Valkor pushed himself up from the straw floor and clambered onto the horse's back. He was too excited to sleep, and from the moment he touched the beast Shadow came alert, pawing at the stable floor.

    "Aye -you want a good run too, huh?" Valkor cooed, stroking the great stallion's neck and then leaning down to open the door. Hooves cracked loudly against the stone pavement as Shadow stepped outside, and Valkor sucked in an appreciating breath of the cool night air. But it would not remain cool for long -at least not to him. Shadow was already picking up pace through the streets, gathering his haunches beneath him and careening wildly around the turns. Valkor leaned into the stallion, holding onto nothing but the beast's mane, gripping his sides with his legs, as they bounded over a wagon and toward the Keep's main gates. The guards looked up in alarm as the dark shape hurtled toward them, and drew their weapons in confusion. The gates were fast closing for the night, and Valkor knew that he would not be able to get back inside until dawn.

    So be it. Sleeping in the stables was pampering enough -i don't want to get fat and lazy! he laughed, the sound echoing off the walls as they hurtled closer and closer to the points of the men's spears. Then Shadow let out a terrible scream and burst into flame.

    "Gods! A demon!" one of the guards yelled and leapt aside along with the other just as the nightmare and his rider fled past, slipping through the gates a moment before they shut with a resounding bang. All the time, Valkor kept laughing as they shot over the meadows and around the keep, driving Shadow faster and faster until they must look like a shooting star.

    And to those who might look out their window and see the spectacle, that was what they would be.
     
  9. Oak7ree

    Oak7ree Member

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    THE NEXT DAY

    The Red Keep was all quiet and peaceful in the morning, although there were more guardsmen to protect the king's peace. Servants and cooks in the kitchen were also busy, but it was still quite early by the castle's standards.

    Edgar walked towards the small council's chambers, to greet the king and govern the realm with other councilors. He was slightly early, so he believed he would be the first in the chambers. This was the first council meeting with the new Hand of the King, Mychael Lannister.

    Edgar had never met him before, but he had heard that he was a capable lord. Ruthless against his enemies, maybe, but very capable and intelligent.

    "Lord Edgar!" he heard, when he walked across the crowning hall. He turned. The voice came from the shadows near a wall.

    There was a man in grey robes. He had almost white hair and beard. One could mistake him for a maester, but Edgar knew better. He was lord Raffard the Old, the master of whisperers. He was no actual lord, nor as old as one might think, but he was a natural talent in disguising himself.

    He came closer and talked. "Always so busy to work, my lord? The others haven't gone to the council chambers."

    "Early bird catches the worm, Raffard. And money never sleeps. That's the hard truth. I can't say the same for your little... birds. Were they asleep, when the dragon was slain?"

    "Quite a tragedy, but I must say it came behind a corner. I am surprised that they didn't hear anything, before or after the murder. Although..."

    "Although what?"

    "I heard that the noble-born sellsword, that Valkor Orion, acted slightly oddly in the crowning ceremony. I don't suggest that he would have any part in the act, but it is still interesting. He chose to reveal his noble birth just as he was going against Lord Targaryen, and he was also quite eager to defend Baldric Lannister. I would keep an eye on him."

    "Don't worry, he's just one man. He can't do much to us."

    "All men die alike, from bastards to kings. I want to keep my head, at least for a while longer."

    "We can talk about our philosophies later. Let's go to the council chambers. I think the others will join us soon."

    Mychael strode down the huge halls of the Red Keep. A few guards saluted him as he passed.

    He entered the chambers. There were a lot of empty chairs: At the head of the table was Rickard, and next to him the Hand's seat. Across was Harwyn Tyrell, commander of the Kingsguard.

    Although he had his brilliant white cape and shining gold armour, he still looked weak with his dark complexion and thick stubble. He had bags under his bloodshot eyes, and, though faint, Mychael thought he smelled wine.

    "My lord Hand." Offered Harwyn, the only council member present. Mychael took his seat and engaged in small talk with Rickard and Harwyn.

    The doors to the chamber were suddenly flung open upon the entry of another member of the council.
    "Sorry I'm late gents! I just happened to spending the most wonderful time within the arms of a goodly wench," the man made the shape of a woman's curves in the air, "Damn good lass she was!" The man's voice boomed though the hall.

    As the man drew closer the rest recognized him as Gerard Thunder-Voice, commander of the City Watch. Standing over six feet tall with a very stocky muscular frame decorated with stunning black plate armor, he quickly dominated the room with his presence. As he walked up in front of the King he flourished his golden cape and bowed low before him, chocolate brown hair falling haphazardly over his handsome face.

    "My King!" he boomed again. Then he rose his head with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes, "Please tell me the council sessions will be more entertaining then they were under the rule of are dear departed old king."

    It pleased Gerard more then anything to hear the exasperated sighs of his peers.

    Edgar and Raffard walked to the council chambers. "No one around, huh?" Edgar whispered to the master of whisperers.

    "I cannot see through walls, and there are other doors leading here, my lord." He gave Edgar a small smile. Edgar didn't reply to him. He was thinking his own plans. He would suggest a tourney to the small council. For the "health" of the new king and his Hand, of course.

    "Sers. Lord Hand." Edgar said. He nodded to the commanders and to the Hand. The master of whisperers changed his own courtesies.

    "Your Highness." He bowed slightly while greeting the king. They took their respective seats. There were no master of the ships or the grand maester. It seemed they hadn't arrived yet.

    Rickard sighed, exasperated. "Right, we'll start without them. Edgar, what's the situation of the kingdom's finance?"

    "Your highness, to put it shortly, it's on a solid ground. The peasants are paying their taxes, trade goes on as normal. There's a light overflow of dragons, which we could use for something beneficial."

    "Such as?"

    "I was thinking there could be a tournament in near future, to forget the tragedy of murder and to celebrate our new king and his Hand. The smallfolk wants to have entertainment, I believe, and it could raise your popularity among them."

    "True. It would also be an opportunity to have more people, since so many are still here from the crowning." said the Hand.

    He looked around him: The guard captain was looking past Edgar's shoulder, seated in front of him. The latter was playing with a golden dragon, and Raffard was contemplating a crack in the table. And Harwyn... Seven Hells, was he even awake?

    This awkward atmosphere was a silent question to the king, he knew. What about the murderer of the late Lady Targaeryen?

    "It could be arranged in just few days. I have enough men in my service to build the suitable constructs to a field nearby" Edgar said. "I can put them to work right after this meeting is over."

    Gerard was looking moodily towards the distant wall, "If you had a few extra dragons you should direct it towards assisting the poor instead of a tournament. Me and my boys are having a tough time keeping down the riots started by hungry bellies and greedy shop-keepers."

    He pointedly looked at the Master of Coin, then re-focused his attention towards the King. "Where I have no doubt that the tourney will have a positive input, I'm thinking there should be booths to provide free bread. That way when the festival is over we won't have them banging on our gates asking for more. The common people will pass it off as something attributed to the festival."

    Edgar could answer right away. "I can contact the Tyrells myself to provide us more bread and grain so we could start giving free food, at least until the winter starts. I think my father-in-law is in debt to the crown. We could also buy bread from the Free Cities, but the shipments would take slightly more time, and we should support our own food production, so we wouldn't be dependent on foreign bread. Especially now, after the war."

    "Good." replied the king. Another awkward silence.

    Rickard finally made up his mind, and turned to Raffard. "Anything on the Targaeryen matter? Ever since 's... unfortunate death," he gave Mychael a glance, "there has been quite a bit of discord. The smallfolk seem to have half forgotten the Dragons would happily have burned their homes but two months ago, and weep for the Dragoness and her unborn babe."

    "Not much. My birds haven't seen or heard anything about the deed, which is a shame The mystery dragonslayer still roams free. He could be in the Free Cities by now or in this very room. That much I know" Raffard said to the king.

    "Hmph. Perhaps we should turn to the matters that Lord Commander Jeyson brought to our attention." said the King, throwing a bundle on to the table. Mychael gingerly removed the cloth, and uncovered a small crudely made dagger with a blade like dark green emerald.

    "Dragonglass?"

    "Dragonglass? What use is dragonglass?" Gerard gingerly picked up the crudely made dagger and gazed at it in disgust. "I've seen steel blades cut and last loner then this." As if to prove his point he pulled his own dagger from his armored belt and chipped off a small bit of the dragonglass with it. "The only time this material has proved it's worth are in legends."

    "Legends and long lost stories often hold a grain of truth, my wet nurse used to say, but she also told me about the six-footed cats and double-headed goats. And sometimes she also mentioned the Children of the Forest, who often made daggers from dragonglass. Just a fairy tale, I'm sure" Edgar remarked. He also made a small smile.

    "And Gerard, could you put the knives away before anyone gets hurt. Dragonglass isn't the most common of materials in Westeros" Edgar said with a doubtful tone. He didn't believe in the old stories that told how the Children had ruled all of Westeros. Even less he believed the legends about the Others.

    "What does Lord Commander Jeyson and the Night's Watch want from us? More supplies or men?"

    "Both, though men more than anything. He says his rangers are getting lost." replied Mychael, who was reviewing the letter.

    "Wildlings work?"

    "Ha Ha Ha!" Gerard let out a bellowing laugh, "If those rangers weren't able to handle a couple pelt-wearing savages then I fear for our safety!" He continued laughing, sliding the dragonglass dagger back to Edgar while sheathing his own. "If that's the case then let me send some of my boys up on the Wall. I got a couple troublesome newbloods and some tired old men that would help them nicely."

    "Either that, or we could send the beggars and criminals. There are loads of them on the streets or in the dungeons. They would bolster the Watch's ranks and they wouldn't be our problem anymore. And we would need less bread to give to the poor" Edgar said while reviewing the pointy dagger.

    "Yes. We shall send all prisoners and any men you can find, Gerard. I think we have said all that requires to be said. I shall not keep you further." said the King, deep in his thoughts.

    "About ever-lovin Time! Well, it's been fun chaps but I have new-bloods to train and maidens to carress," and with that Gerard rose from his chair and made a dramatic exit.

    "I'll have some businesses that need my attention. I'll order my men to start the construction works right away." Edgar bowed and took his leave. Raffard followed him moments later with his excuse. Their first council meeting with this setup was over.
     
  10. Poziga

    Poziga Contributor Contributor

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    The Fist of the First Men was a perfect spot for the overlook. But not this day. The fog was creeping over the valley and Eddic, leader of Castle Black Rangers was watching how Greyguard Rangers dissapeared one after the other inside of great white cloud. He was about to turn around when he noticed a single ranger stumbling back from the fog. Eddic strained his eyes, hoping the lone ranger would manage to escape. The ranger got up and started running, but once again fell, like something knocked him from behind. He didn't get up anymore. A pale figure emerged from the mist and went towards the body. It leaned over him and took something out of his body, his neck. It was an arrow.
    Eddic widened his eyes and held his breath. "We must hurry back!" he exclaimed and turned towards his brothers.
    Henric Payne nodded. Though master-at-arms of Castle Black, he stood no chance against the Others, and knew it. No human stood a chance against the others.
    "Fall back. Fall back!"
    Eddic now regretted they didn't take any horses. Curses, he spat on the ground and looked all over the camp if they forgot anything. Then he hurried after the others, but not before he looked one last time behind himself. The cloud wasn't moving anymore. Eddic frowned and wondered what was going on. The Greyguard ranger body was also gone. He didn't knew anything about the White Walkers, except of the thing everybody in the Watch were aware of; run if you see one.
    The Other walked in their direction, it's cold features hard like iron, staring at them, unseeing. It raised it's sword of ice and brought it down on one of his brothers,

    [RANDOM GENERATOR:
    BP: 5 (lower body)
    DMG: 19 (Well done/Excellent)

    cutting him in half. Young Ned's body dangled, held by a thin thread before collapsing, his guts spilling onto the white snow, dieing it red.
    Hobb let out a yell and threw himself at the walker with his axe.

    [RANDOM GENERATOR:
    BP:6 (leg)
    DMG: 7 (failure)

    The Walker stepped out of the way and the axe caught it in the leg, snapping the head off. The Other lifted it's head up and let out a laugh, dark, emotionless, cold. It sent chills down Henric's spine.
    It stopped laughing and looked at the wimpering Hobb, and let out a scream. Blood gushed out of his ears, and he yelled, though his voice was unheard as the Daemon thrusted his sword,

    [RANDOM GENERATOR:
    BP: 2
    DMG: 20

    slicing his arm off. The Walker was very quick and agile, before Henric could shout another order to fall back, he found himself on the ground in the blood soaked snow. He saw his other brothers fall, and Eddic standing there.

    "Eddic!" he roared, taking out the small dagger from his belt, tossing it at him. "Take it!"

    That dagger was their last hope, the only weapon against the Others. Obsidian.
    The dagger glimmered in Eddic's hand. The urge of survival, the urge to avenge his fallen brothers took over him as he hurled himself at the Walker. The first blow was intercepted by the Other's icy blade, but the second swift blast

    [RANDOM GENERATOR:
    BP: 3
    DMG: 13]

    cut him on the corso. The White Walker let out a terryfying scream and put his hand to his abdomen. He then sent Eddic a terrifying look and dissapeared back to the mist.
    Eddic put the obsidian blade behind his waist and fell to the ground. Quiet sobbing filled the air around him. Get it together Eddic, he convinced himself and got back up to his feet. He looked around and calculated the loses.
     
  11. Dras

    Dras Active Member

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    Location:
    Payette, Idaho
    A carriage rolled up to the gates of the keep and begged entrance. Gerard was making his rounds of the Watch forces when he noticed the foreboding vehicle.

    The carriage itself was pitch black, even the metal bindings and wooden carriage driver's seat. However the horses...the horses were white as snow with red eyes, albinos. So rare was it to see an albino horse that to see four at once was astonishing indeed.

    "By all the holy gods a bonny wenches!" Gerard boomed. His loud voice startled the new private next to him and caused him to drop his lance on the parapet. He leaned over the wall and called out to the gatekeeper, "Oi!Who comes?" The gatekeeper held up a miniature banner of the Greyjoy household then a second banner portraying the Targaryen standard. "Bloody hells! Get those gates up! The Lady Greyjoy is not a patient woman!" Even less so now I bet. I wonder if she heard of her dear brother's death as well? Gerard thought worriedly.

    +++

    As the carriage was let in through the gates Claerys steamed inside it. Her anger was only partially abated by the long and tiresome carriage ride however it still smoldered hotly underneath the surface of her icy demeanor. Her personal maid and retainer fairly cowered in the seat across from her. As they neared the keep she shoved her smoldering anger even deeper till even the air around her seemed to chill.

    When the carriage stopped Claery's stepped hastily from the door straight into the keep, leaving her servants to scrabble behind her to keep up. She kept up the rushed pace until she reached the doors to the throne room, there she whipped around and told her servants to take her thing to a guest room with a window overlooking the courtyard. then glared at the doorkeep until he remembered his job.

    "ah...ah! Yes, Milady! Forgive me, right away!" the poor boy cleared his throat and opened the door,

    "My I present her Honored ladyship, the Mother of the Iron Islands, Sister of the Dragons, Lady Claerys Targaryen Greyjoy! umph!" the doorkeep was shoved roughly out of the way as Claerys stormed into the hall.

    "Explanations. Now."
     
  12. Oak7ree

    Oak7ree Member

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    Edmund and Raymond were changing blows in the castle's training yard. They had heard there would a tournament in just few days and they were in need of practice. Both of them were clad in their plate armors, but they were using tourney blades fitted for them. They fought in short, furious bursts, but also in longer duels that needed more eye for enemy's weaknesses.

    "What do you think of the rewards? Your lord has has promised a mighty sum of dragons for the winner of the joust, I've heard. Or will you be fighting in the melee?" Raymond said during their break.

    "Well, I am a knight, but also a bastard without a proper last name. I don't think it would be appropriate for me to take part." He sighed. "Also, I am not that good of a rider. I can sit in the saddle, but it's hard for me to use the lance."

    "I am sure you would be one the winners. You could win some dragons and fame. In this world you make your own name and fortune, not your House or your birth. If you don't, who will?"

    Edmund's face slightly changed. Raymond could tell he was thinking hard. After few seconds he opened his mouth and said to Raymond.

    "Very well, I'll participate the melee. You can win the joust, while I deal the melee."

    ------------------------------

    Lord Edgar was in his chambers, planning the tournament. His wife Elizabeth was walking towards the chambers, but she stopped just before she was to enter the room. She listened to what her husband was talking about with their steward.

    "So the reward for winning the joust will be ten thousand dragons, five thousand for the second and two thousand for the third" the steward said.

    "That's right, and four thousand for the melee's victor, and for the top archer two thousand dragons" Edgar confirmed. His steward helped him with the arrangements.

    The tournament would last three days. On the first day there would be the jousting, from morning until the evening. On the second day, a melee would be arranged, possibly two, if there would be enough participants. Then on the final day, an archery contest and a feast in the evening.

    "And the crown's coffers have enough money for all this, my lord?"

    "Yes, I've checked them more times than just once to be sure. Remember who's in charge for the coffers. Now go to make the official announcement to the people of King's Landing: the tournament will be in three days. You may leave."

    "Yes, my lord."

    The small and balding man left, and addressed his lady, slightly surprised. Elizabeth gave a careful smile and a greeting. She entered the room with a wide smile.

    "Lizzie, come in. You're just in time" Edgar turned. "Have you sent the raven back to Highgarden?"

    "No, I haven't yet. Do you have something to write?"

    "Actually yes, I have something for your father. In the morning's small council meeting, we decided that we should give free bread to the smallfolk. You know, to ensure that there won't be any food riots now that the war is over."

    "Okay, I can write how I've been, and you can tell about your plans in the same letter. I can start immediately, as I haven't much to do here."

    Edgar rose from his chair and said to her. "You don't need to write to him. I'll contact him by myself. I want you to go to Highgarden, to stay safe. Soon, the King's Landing won't be safe for a fine lady like you, and you know why."

    "Yes, your plans, with my father. You've told about them. You're going to sit on the Iron Throne." She still smiled. "Your plans, and our revenge. The king shall remember the Baratheon and Tyrell's words. Growing strong... and ours is the fury."

    After his wife left the chambers, Edgar wrote the letter to his father-in-law. It was short.

    Our plans are in motion, Flowers. Be ready in five days. I will contact the Good Man. I am going to make a contract with him. Burn this letter, when you get this, just as always. Signed, the Man in Black.
     
    Last edited: Mar 22, 2014
  13. Dagolas

    Dagolas Banned

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    The King was brooding alone, sipping a cup of Arbor Red.

    "Lady Claerys? I was not warned of your arrival."

    Claerys gave him a steely glare.

    "Is it not only natural for me to come when my sister and her unborn child were murdered in their beds in a place you promised them protection?"

    "Aye... We have still not found[​IMG] the killer. The whole of the City Watch is looking."

    "Oh? have they any suspects yet? Surely there wasn't that many people who had access to my sister's chambers without arousing suspicion."

    "Aye, the guards and... well... Myself. But, the guards were found dead also, it could be anyone. Sellsword, cuthroat, peasant, lord..."

    Clearys glare hardened and she walked further up to the throne til she was practically beneath the Kings feet.

    "I am not satisfied. Those are only speculations not suspects! I hear there is a tournament coming around. I want you to give me the authority to act as a personal investigator on the behalf of the Targaryens. I would also speak with my brothers, tell me where I can find them."

    "Well, erm. Malerys got angry and..."

    Claerys's anger was starting to surface with the pale performance of the King. She took and step closer and spoke quietly to him, her voice seething with her irritation

    "Don't beat around the bush with me, your highness. As a King you owe it to your people to tell them the truth, the straight and whole truth, rather then play sugar-coating with them."The king seemed so out of his depth that Claerys had a poisonous though, literally. Perhaps when her husband came for the tournament she would do a little housecleaning then apply[​IMG] for the kings mercy and affection. With that in mind her attitude changed.

    "It is the least you could do for your people. Forgive my uncouth manor, the loss of my sister grieved me so..." Claerys even let a small tear run down her cheek. The fact that it was a tear of anger then sadness was something the King didn't need to know.

    The king sighed. "We are doing our best. Baldric Lannister was accused, but the Gods proved[​IMG] him innocent... In any case, we will find the killer. Rest assured."

    "I will trust in your judgement then. You still have not told me of my brother's however," she reminded him sternly.

    "Malerys... Met his demise. In the streets," he answered awkwardly. "The champion against Baldric was Torgon Targaeryen. A knight... of Orion! Believe it or not," Orion was an ancient house, Rickard had thought[​IMG] it quite extinct, "And... Torgon also met a premature death."

    So not only my sister but both of my brothers were slain. This is too coincidental to be a mere chance. Someone is planning this, and planning it well. Claerys felt as if she was thrown into a pit of snakes all of a sudden and the thought of not being the only one with such skills of deception and murder chilled her. She closed her eyes in quite reflection,

    "I see. If I had know i would of brought my escort. As it is now I only have my two servants with me, I feel very....revealed," she said, letting worry tinge her voice and the shoulder of her dress slip down slightly to reveal more of the smooth skin at her neck and collar bone.

    "You may have additional servants from mine own," replied the king, his face stone, an emotionless mask.


    "I thank-you for your kindness," she said, returning the stony look yet keeping that little[​IMG] bit of bare skin showing. "I expect a report on the search for the murderer of sister. And....i would like to talk to the man who dueled my older brother and the people who were involved in the death of the younger."


    "Valkar Orion, and Lord Hand Lannister."

    "I see..." The fact that both of them are associated with the Lannister household is something I must not forget. "Thank-you, Your Highness, I shall take my leave then. Do enjoy your wine," and with that she spun around and headed out the door hurriedly.

    The king buried his hands in his face and sighed. Bugger all this, bugger the kingdom. The crown felt heavy upon his head. He had barely been crowned, and all this commotion... The Targaeryens, they were the center of it. Those bloody dragons. Pardoning them and their bannermen has just worsened the whole situation. Soon enough[​IMG], an angry dragon may attack the lion... And what chance does any beast have against a dragon?
    Rickard sipped his wine pensively. None. None at all.
     
  14. Glen Snow

    Glen Snow New Member

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    Location:
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    The Dornish Marches:


    “My Lord a raven from the Capitol” A messenger called, a thin trail of dust followed his horse as he galloped up.


    “So, The Falcon has a crown. Is that it? ” Errys Dondarrion had been dozing in the shade of a large juniper tree when the boy rode up. Everyone knew not to linger too long in the Dornish sun. Everyone save for this boy apparently. He was clad in in a blackened steel breastplate, what seemed to be a padded gambeson underneath.


    It's a wonder I can't hear his fat sizzling. In comparison Errys wore next to nothing. A thin linen shirt open to the navel, a pair of light brown cotton trousers and of course his axe hanging from the loop on his belt.


    “No My Lord, err well I mean yes” The boy stammered leaping from his saddle. His foot caught on the stirrup sending him plummeting to the ground. Luckily the breastplate took most the impact, unluckily several scraps of parchment were sent flying into the sand. The boy scrambled on his hand and knees chasing after his messages.


    Hmm, A message and a show. Messenger and a fool, odd choice of professions, but who am I to judge”


    “Come now boy get on with it” Errys said standing and walking out of the shade. “A good messenger doesn't need notes to remember what to say”


    “Aye Ser, apologies this is my first go of it” he finally caught his last paper and stood. He wasn't very tall but neither was he short. His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat. The sword on his belt was far too long to be a traveling sword. Errys doubted he could even unsheathe the damn thing.


    “You don't say, so...the message?”


    “Messages my lord. Firstly His Graces coronation went well. Err...well until Lady Targaryen and her um...babe were murdered.”


    “What!?” Errys was shocked how could that have happened The King was supposed to protect them.”So much for that 'peace' everyone's been talking about” Some of the men within earshot stopped what they were doing and began to gather around to hear more. It was the most exciting thing they'd seen all month, the bandits and highway men seemed to have moved on to greener pastures so to speak.


    “It's true my lord, not only that but,” he fumbled through his stacks of paper. “ Lord Torgon died in trial by combat”


    “Against whom?”


    “Uh, a Sellsword who proved to be the heir to House Orion, championing for Lord Lannister”


    “Orion? Is that the one with the badger or the horse? And which Lannister?”


    “The Horse, a blue one I believe. Um, Lord Baldric Lannister” he was sweating even more now, he looked as if he just stepped out of a rainstorm. “Also there's talk of a demon horse running through the streets of King's Landing”


    “I'm not the least bit interested in the ravings of drunk peasants” Errys said, he had heard of giant eagles, Unicorns, harpies and even Unicorn Whales. A demon horse was new but likely in the same boat as the rest.


    “Of course my lord, also Mallerys Targaryen attacked Mychel Lannister in the streets and tragically succumbed from a wound dealt by Lord Lannister”


    “Really? So much for Dragons coming in threes eh?”


    “Yes Lady Claerys has set sail for the Capitol last I heard” He breathed. The heat seem to really be getting to him. He was beginning to wobble a bit. His eyes fluttering. “and...”


    “Take of your armor boy”


    “Pardon Ser?” He asked, fear flashing across his face for some reason.


    “Take it off before you broil shed the damn quilt too”


    “Yes my lord” he unbuckled the clasps letting the armor fall to the ground. The embroidered coat of arms now visible. A ship with an onion on its sail. He quickly stripped it off revealing a thin white under shirt soaked completely with sweat.


    “Fetch the boy some water” Errys said to the group of onlookers. “Bit warmer than the Rainwood eh...? Say what's your name boy?”


    “Thank you” he said as a skin of water was tossed to him. He completely drained it before answering. “I'm Tetos Seaworth my lord”


    “The son of a lord sent across the Marches alone?” Errys asked.


    “I volunteered I've always wanted to meet you” he blushed. “I was at the Tourney at Riverrun. You were terrific. I begged my father to ask you to let me to squire for you”


    “Tourney a Riverrun? Ah yes, now I remember. Well...go rest. I suppose I should return to Blackhaven.” Errys said. Dread growing across his face.


    “Oh there's talk of a Tourney being held to honor the new King.”


    “Crowns, murder, streetfights and a tourney.” a glimmer flashed in Errys' eyes. No need to return to Blackhaven now. “You heard him boys at sundown we make for the Capitol” The men scattered. Saddling horses and filling water skins.


    “Tetos fetch my 'lordly clothes', saddle my horse. And for the Warriors sake get a sensible sword I need a squire that can fight if need be”


    “S-S-Squire?” He stammered, shocked.


    “Dreams do come true, now hop to”


    “Y-Yes Ser” A smile breaking across his face.


    Poor boy has no idea what a squire does, he'll learn though.
     
  15. Oak7ree

    Oak7ree Member

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    Location:
    Finland
    The Free City of Pentos, over the Narrow Sea

    It was late afternoon. The magister of Pentos was sweating in his silk tunic as he was paying to Aegon Howe for his services. The magister was a lean man in his late forties, an aristocrat who hadn't never done an honest man's work in his life. Aegon didn't like the magister, but tolerated him, as he was the man who paid and sheltered him and his six thousand sellswords.

    "Here you go, Captain Howe. Twenty thousand coins, as were promised two months ago." He pointed to great wooden chests with simple decorations. "My servants will help you with them and then you can be on your way. Do you already have a destination?"

    "No, not yet, but I'll be ready to move my troops in two days. They need some rest. Perhaps you will have an opportunity to earn your money back during that time."

    "Two days are all right, as long your men don't harass my people too much. Pentos has seen better days, and the Pentoshi need some peace." The magister sounded relieved, but Aegon could bet that there was some anguish in his voice. The Good Man and the sellswords had been there for one reason, to help defend the city from a raiding khalasar, and now they were overstaying their welcome.

    "I'll take my leave, magister My lieutenants and soldiers need their paychecks in time, or else there will be heads rolling... literally."

    "Have a pleasant day, captain" the magister said to him.

    ------------------------------

    It took him a while to get to his campsite. The sellsword company Aegon commanded was camped outside of Pentos. It had been there for a week to ready the men for the long weeks of marching and foraging. There were everywhere small bands of soldiers training and drilling.

    When Aegon neared the officers' tents, he noticed a group of gamblers. He was going to stop them, but could manage himself. To Aegon gambling was a hobby like any other, but he wouldn't like it when it could pit a friendly soldier against a brother-in-arms, but now, they were resting and relaxing, not really playing for keeps.

    The magister's servants followed him with the chests of gold and helped him to share the reward to the officers. They then would share it to the lower ranking soldiers and sergeants. It was a helpful pyramid.

    Aegon would have retired next to his tent for the rest of the day, maybe gone to a brothel in the evening, but a messenger came bolting to him.

    "Captain, a raven came from Westeros. A lord has requested an audience with you, it seems."

    Aegon was curious. "Why? Has a war broken out there?"

    "It doesn't say so, nor there hasn't been any news of that kind, although there has been some kind of trouble in King's Landing, I've heard. The message only says it's urgent."

    Aegon took the letter from the messenger and read it in his tent. He read it few times through

    Good Man, I have heard that you are a son of an exile. I know, it might not be appropriate to start with such ominous words, but I want to meet you in King's Landing and propose a deal which you might find interesting if my plans go as, well, planned. I cannot tell you everything in this letter. You have every right to say no, but I am confident that we can find a solution suitable for both of us. Find the ship Northern Maiden, and we will meet in the Tavern of Bard tomorrow night. Be cautious, as there are many eyes and ears watching over Pentos and King's Landing. Signed, the Man in Black. P.S. Burn this letter, if and when you get this.

    Aegon Howe burned the letter right away in a nearby brazier. He watched the burning letter and the flames for a while, and then made his mind.
    I am going home, it seems.
     
    Last edited: Mar 28, 2014
  16. Dagolas

    Dagolas Banned

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    Location:
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    Squires and children ran around the fields in front of them, rushing to bring messages, playing peek-and-seek. Mychael noted his nephew Tommas Lannister, who was fighting his older brother Norman.
    "Your sons going to compete in the mêlée?" jested Mychael to his brother.
    "Give them a year and they'll be able to. Norman keeps practicing with stronger and stronger opponents, adults even, back at Casterly Rock." replied Baldric.
    They both wore Crimson plate with Gold engravings. Mychael's pauldron's were wrought of gold and showed two roaring lions, their eyes large rubies.
    Around Mychael's neck was a necklace made of golden hands, as was customary for them. A small, old man approached them in his black robes his shiny scalp glistened with sweat.
    The sun was beating hard on them indeed. Whatever the Starks said, it bloody well wasn't winter.
    "My little birds sing of bets." informed the old man.
    "Well, Raffard?"
    "Good odds for you, my lord hand. As to my lord's brother..."
    "The smallfolk show you no love, Baldric."
    "Well, they've never seen me joust or fight!" he retorted angrily.

    I wonder why, thought the Hand, though he kept it to himself.

    Ser Raymond Tarly was readying his horse in the stables, a destrier named Emmett, for the day's jousts. He had to take care of it by himself, because he didn't have a squire or stablehands to help him. Not that he needed help.

    Emmett was a beautiful horse, a dark brown destrier straight from the Reach. It had been a gift from his father. It was pity that there were not many lords or others from the Reach in King's Landing to take part in the king's crowning or the tournament, Raymond thought.

    Or to see my skills. Especially, my father isn't here to see me.
    That didn't matter, though, as there were enough lords and ladies to see his jousting abilities. Maybe some pretty lass would see him and be impressed, but was only a day dream. There were many knights taking part in the tournament, who were much more experienced and older than him. Besides, he hadn't been in a joust for quite some time. He closed his eyes and thought.

    Gods, don't make me to look like a fool out there.


    Rowen was having a most wonderful time! Lady Stark had given her the day to herself and she took advantage of it fully. She had saved quite a few coins and she browsed the many booths with more then detached interest. She found the stalls that sold sweets were her favorites and she bought a small apple pie and some taffy. She took her prizes towards the edge of the sparring fields where she sat on the yellowing grass and watched the hopeful contestants.

    She soothed out her voluminous skirts about her, the emerald green fabric making a beautiful contrast to the grass and complementing her dark hair. Unlike her black dresses, the green velvet shortsleeve one didn't pale out her skin and gave her a more lively countenance. Her hair she left unbound, curly tresses falling down her back and over her shoulder yet held back from her face with silver pins decorated with flowers of green gems. So happy she was that she had the day to herself she even lightly powdered her face and added a little extra color to her cheeks and eyes so she looked like a summer fairy.

    As always, despite her appearence, Rowen did not forget her weapons. Her spare throwing knives were concealed on her legs with small openings within the folds of her skirts so she could reach them. The wolfs-head dagger given to her by Mychael was worn proudly on her hip, it's eyes glinting in the sunlight as if alive and watching out for it's mistress.

    Satisfied with her spot and appearance Rowen pulled the apple pie from her wicker basket and begun nibbling it around the edges, ever mindful of crumbs as she tried to make as little mess as possible. She watched the sparring combatants with interest and often gave a slight chuckle to the antics of some of the younger boys attempt to look like brawny warriors only to end up looking all the more the fool.

    "Tournaments in five minutes! To the lists!"

    Mychael saw the King being fitted with his armour, a dark blue and white plate. On his helm rested a crown wrought of silver and decorated with Sapphires, at the front a hawk with it's beak open, on the sides resplendent wings.

    At the lists, the Hand saw his first opponent: Tymon Swyft, of the Kingsguard. Not the best adversary, he contemplated. Baldric had Henry Stark, and he saw Valkar's name somewhere*.

    "First joust! Albar Blackwood against Morgan Banefort!"

    Two sons of lesser houses. The smallfolk and non-participants were rushing to the jousting grounds, and betters flocking around, making bets. The odds seemed to be in Blackwood's favour, who apparently is noted for his skill with a lance.

    Spotting Rowan, he approached her.

    "My lady, shall we watch this joust?"

    "Ah! My Lord Hand," Rowen smiled but didn't bother to get up and curtsy, "Forgive me should I not greet you properly. I assume we are friendly enough terms that such pleasantries can be dismissed for the moment. It is so nice just to sit in the grass, it is too cold in the north for such luxury." She eyeballed his armor, "Are you participating in the tournament as well," she hesitated,"Mychael?" she said softly, still unused to the sound of his name on her lips.

    To break her uneasiness she reached back into her wicker basket and pulled out one of the taffys she had bought earlier.

    "Here, have some. I have bought far too many for a lady of my size to deem reasonable," she smiled and reached out her hand with the taffy sitting on her palm.

    "Indeed. Your lord father too, I take it."

    He smiled and took the toffee, putting it in his mouth and savouring it.
    Turning around, he saw the children sparring. Norman was duelling two other children at once, and seemed to be winning.
     
  17. Dagolas

    Dagolas Banned

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    "First joust! Albar Blackwood against Morgan Banefort!"

    Valkor looked up at the cry, then slapped down the last buckle to his saddle and sprang up onto Shadow's back. It wasn't his turn yet, but he wanted to judge the competition.

    Snatching up his helm and cape from the horn of the saddle, Valkor clapped them into place -the helm now plumed with a white feather but the rest of his regalia the same as before- and steered Shadow out of the stables.

    It was then that he spied another late-comer, still fussing over his horse. He looked a bit frazzled. "Worried about the competition?" he called, "Come on man, show some backbone. I'd sooner lose after putting up a good fight than flop off of my horse looking like a plucked chicken!" he laughed.

    Raymond woke from a thought. "Are you talking to me, ser?" It took a better part of a second for Raymond to realise that the knight had spoken exactly to him, as there was no one nearby. Emmett raised his ears and lowered them back. He felt foolish.

    It took the rest of the second for Raymond to recognize the knight as Valkor Orion.

    "Ser Valkor, is that right? I am sorry as I didn't recognize you. I was lost in thought. I am pleased to meet you finally face-to-face." He took a second to take a step from Emmett and examine the mounted Valkor. He looked as impressive as during the joust against the Targaryen. His jaw didn't drop this time, though.

    As Valkor sat on his horse silent, Raymond answered to him. "And yes, to be honest, I am slightly worried. This my first joust in ages and the second tournament I take part as a knight. I bet you have plenty of experience of both."

    Valkor smiled. "I don't expect everyone to recognize me -or my House. But the only reason I have not ended up as an ...inexperienced... Lord is due to my trials as a mercenary for Lord Lannister. Still, I very well may have died on the battlefield and then no one would have ever witnessed my return!" his laugher echoed hollowly in his helm for a moment.

    "Still, experience is nothing. It only takes a lucky strike to bring down even the greatest of men. Take heart to that -besides, I plan on being able to meet you in the arena." With that, the young Lord turned his steed away and headed off to the jousting stalls.
     
  18. Dagolas

    Dagolas Banned

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    The joust was interesting, contemplated Mychael, as they dragged off Albar Blackwood. The lance had struck him in the head and hurt it quite considerably, judging by the thick blood stuck to his face. His opponent, the Banefort boy, looked please though still not so proud of having injured his friend.

    He was seated next to Rowen, near the King and his other lords. Many smallfolk were there. In fact, the whole bloody kingdom's here.

    "What did you think of that, Rowen?" he asked.
     
  19. Dagolas

    Dagolas Banned

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    Rowen only nodded as she watched the wounded combatant being led off the field.

    "Luck. There seems to be a lot of that these days. Makes me wonder if our luck is about to run out soon," she said cryptically. As her younger brother's name was called she pulled out another taffy and threw it at him, successfully landing it in the opening of his helmet. Martyn quickly pulled off the helmet an dug the taffy from out of his collar and gave her one of those innocent beaming smiles of his as he kissed it and plopped it in his mouth.

    Rowen gave him a wave and a smile before sitting back down beside Mychael. It seemed strange to her to be so close to him but she was comforted by his company.

    "Martyn always said he wanted a favor from a lady," she told Mychael fondly.

    "Only a lucky strike, huh?" Raymond muttered to himself. "Then he has had more luck than most men, I am sure." Emmett jerked his head. Raymond checked the saddle for the one last time and lead his horse out of the stables to the sunlight.

    "Raymond *lastname* against Martyn Stark!"

    Stark's younger brother, eh? If he's as good as with father, should be entertaining.
     
  20. Dagolas

    Dagolas Banned

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    Raymond straightened his lance. His opponent, the young Stark lad, was readying his. Their eyes met. This should be good.

    His horse galloped. He steadied his lance...

    His blow brushed against Stark's hips, the wolf's blow catching him straight in the helmet. The steel rung and the taste of blood danced in his lips. He caught his balance and clasped his horse strongly.

    "One lance for Martyn Stark!"

    Bugger. He grabbed another lance and rushed.

    This time he hit, but the blow merely grazed his shoulder. Stark's blow was aimed at his chest, and could have unhorsed him had his horse not veered at the last second and barely scratched Raymond.

    His steed is not helping him today
    . I will win this, aye, though with little honour.

    He took his third lance. An equal score of one on each side, the next won the match. The crowd were holding in their breaths.
    Make it count.

    His steed charged. The crowd around him's cheers faded, he only heard his horse gallop, the clanking of his plate, his heartbeats...
    His vision was set on the Stark boy. Lower your lance, aim well and strong, unhorse the bastard...

    As the lances hit, his body shook. A jolt went up his arm, as his lance smashed into Stark's shoulder at the joint, going past his plate armour, ripping mail, leather and flesh. He toppled over, grabbing at the air, and crashed onto the ground, his lance spiralling off into the distance.

    Raymond reared his horse in.

    "Raymond is the winner[​IMG]!"

    The crowd cheered. It had been an impressive fight, though Stark's steed was partly to blame.
     
  21. Oak7ree

    Oak7ree Member

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    Aegon had arrived to King's Landing in time on the Northern Maiden. It was early evening in the city, when he was looking for the Tavern of Bard. And soon he found it.

    It was quite near to the harbor. Aegon stepped in and examined the place quickly. It was half-empty, although there was a tournament in town. It was dimly-lit, but also very pleasant by its atmosphere. An elderly man approached Aegon.

    "Welcome to my tavern. My name is Bard, and I am your friendly host. Would you like to have a meal or rent a room for a night or two? We have many empty rooms, and they are clean."

    Aegon answered to him. "I want some beer to clear my throat, and some chicken and bread to fill my stomach."

    "Right away, my good ser. You may want to take the table on the back corner. There might be someone who's interested in your... character."

    Aegon looked to the back corner of the common room, and there really was a man in black clothes with a pint of beer. "Thank you for the hint" Aegon said.

    He got to the table, and the man raised his head. He was a man in his early thirties, but he had many old scars. His hair was cropped. He looked like a man that had taken a beating or two.

    "Aegon Howe, I presume?" the man asked. To Aegon it looked like the man already knew the answer. He had a calm, deep voice.

    "You presume right, ser. I am the Good Man" Aegon said with a lowered voice. "What is it that you want from me?"

    "Me? Ha! What makes you think I want to hire you? I am but an agent, a lowly servant to a higher man. A client of mine wants to hire some muscle. If his plan goes as planned, you'll go back to Essos as lot richer man." The man drank from his pint.

    "So, what does the Good Man say? Does he accept the contract?"

    "Only if I knew what the contract would require me to do. Often the people who buy my services give me some information about the job." The innkeeper Bard brought his meal to the table took some coins Aegon absently gave to him.

    "For now, he wants to reserve your free company for some time. You'll get an advance payment to cover the expenses, but if my client's plans go enough sideways, he'll hire your free company to fight for him. Then he'll hire your men for real, I can assure you that."

    Aegon thought for a moment and drank his beer. Would this be a deal with a devil his father had warned him about? What the heck now, sometimes you'll need to take your chances, father. It's the only way to live as a sellsword.

    "All right then. The Good Man says yes, for now."
     

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