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Post by diversegnu on May 5, 2021 1:30:59 GMT
[Go with Salazar]
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Louk
New Member
Posts: 43
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Post by Louk on May 5, 2021 3:30:39 GMT
[Go with Brair]
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Post by TheAPlegends on May 7, 2021 12:28:42 GMT
[Go with Salazar]
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on May 14, 2021 14:34:07 GMT
[Go with Brair] I like him. Well, I kind of like both of them, but I think this choice is more fitting for Janae. I have just a random quote to say man, I love the atmosphere. From the canal to the cog to the fog - it's very interesting. I love a mysterious location, even though Janae's toughness deflates some of the fear (if Jenna were here it would be...well, she would be more anxious) Ah, glad you like it! This is a bit different from what I'm usually doing, Chroyane is by far the most unsettling place in the ASOIAF universe for me, so I want these parts to feel creepy. Horror really hasn't been something I've written much about in the past, so this is something new and exciting for me and I hope it'll make for an interesting read Also, you are right, Janae being the PoV here does mitigate the feeling of dread I want to show here, but even she is anxious. Jenna? Not going to lie, she'd probably faint. She has come a long way, but this is on an entirely different level from anything she'd ever have a reasonable chance to experience. Janae meanwhile is much better equipped, both mentally and from her long career as a fighter, to actually deal with the challenges she has to experience here, but this is very much just the beginning.
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on May 18, 2021 19:41:39 GMT
The Voting is closed!
Janae is going to go with Salazar This was a fairly important choice for the way Janae's storyline in this chapter is going to go. Both options would have led to interesting outcomes, I hope, but Janae's choice of companion will also have a huge effect on how this chapter is going to end for her and for the other characters she's with right now. Also, I hope you all enjoyed this part, there's going to be quite some exciting moments in the Janae parts to come. The next part will be out later tomorrow. It will continue with the Essos storylines, more particularly with Irae's and Jaron's storyline. Last time we saw the former, she went to the Orlatis mansion to give Kareq Orlatis the final dose of the cure, at least that's what she had thought. There, she met Naela in the middle of a meeting with the Spice King, one of the most powerful merchants in Qarth. Despite being at least thirty years older than her, the Spice King was apparently interested in marrying Naela now that her father had fallen ill, promising to use such a union for their mutual benefit. Understandably, Naela is not amused by his proposal and rejected him soundly. That being said, the Spice King denies having a hand in Kareq's poisoning, placing the blame solely on the Tourmaline Brotherhood and considering their methods distasteful. After this talk, Irae went to apply the final dose of the cure to Kareq. It was in this moment that Irae had to realize that the warlocks deceived her. Earlier, Xhoros Qar Xhon, one of the warlock elders, approached her to warn her that her mentor Moros Qo Malxys is trying to fatally poison Kareq instead of curing her, considering him a danger to their own plans with Naela. Irae believed him and instead of Moros' supposed antidote, she gave the merchant the vial Xhoros had given to her. This was what the warlock elders had planned for all along and instead of curing Kareq, Irae unknowingly gave him a cruel, fast-working poison. Incapable of curing him on her own, Irae could only watch as Kareq was slowly dying. In this moment, the Mask, one of the two assassins Irae encountered earlier, revealed his presence. He admitted that he was here to kill Kareq and advised Irae to let him go through with it, as this would shift the blame for Kareq's inevitable death from her and the warlocks to the Mask. Irae agreed with this reasoning and though reluctant to deny Naela a chance to say her goodbyes to her father, she allowed the Mask to put the man out of his misery instead. Meanwhile, in his latest part, Jaron got further dragged into the cutthroat world of Volantene politics. As you hopefully remember, he, as well as Samuel Harrington and Arryn Blackwell, accompanied Lysara Rogare to meet with one of her father's business partners in the city. This partner is Bazaeya Braesendys, a rich and politically ambitious noblewoman. She, like many others in Volantis, has heard of Aegon Targaryen's War of Conquest and she considers this a chance for herself and for those few still left of Valyrian blood. To support Aegon, she first needs to become one of the triarchs, the three elected rulers of Volantis. Right now, she has the means, the support and the momentum to be elected, but unfortunately for her, the next regular election won't happen for several more months. Until then, she fears a political rival within her own party will have gained enough support to be elected in her stead. As such, the only way to force an election in the coming weeks is the death of one of the current triarchs. There is one she has in mind for this: Irrario Paenys, currently the sole triarch who belongs to the tiger party, who stand in opposition to Bazaeya's elephant party. According to her, Irrario is a cruel, crabby and cold-hearted, someone who deserves to die and whom none would mourn for. With his death, Bazaeya could get elected in his stead, allowing her elephant party to dominate the Volantene politics for the first time since their foundation. With deep reluctance and in direct opposition to his knightly vows, Jaron eventually accepted Lysara's request, agreeing to kill the triarch in Bazaeya's name. Naturally, both of his companions, each with way more experienced when it comes to killing people, had their own idea on how to approach this task. Samuel, ever sneaky, prefers to enter Irrario's mansion in disguise, since he is currently looking for a swordfighting tutor for his daughter Alaela. This would give them the means to enter the mansion while bearing arms. Arryn meanwhile prefers a more direct and ruthless approach. He suggests that abducting Irrario's daughter could lure him out of his mansion and that they could kill him then, away from most of his guards and the tall walls he surrounds himself with. However, unwilling to harm an innocent girl, Jaron instead decided in favour of the former option, which is where we'll start with his next part.
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on May 23, 2021 2:18:41 GMT
Irae The sun was burning down as Irae staggered through the streets of Qarth. It was uncomfortably hot even by the standards of this city and most people had fled into the shadows, but she was numb to the heat, to what little chatter reached her ears and to the ever-tempting sights and smells of the greatest city that ever was or will be. With wide eyes and a hollow gaze, the warlock dragged herself ever closer to the House of the Undying. They had lied to her. Even now, she could hear Naela's screams. They had used her. The despair in the girl's eyes as she stared down on the lifeless corpse of her father. She had tried to cure him, she wanted to help him. But the warlocks had other plans in mind entirely. And thinking back, seeing that broken expression in Naela's eyes, Irae knew that their plan had succeeded. This thought made her flinch and with a frown on her face, she placed one hand on her forehead. The Mask had knocked her down, with her outspoken permission. To make it more realistic, as he had told her. From down on the ground, with blood running down her face, she had watched him as he leant over Kareq Orlatis' twitching body, one dagger in hand. By then, it had seemed a small mercy for the dying Prince of Furs. Now, all she could see was the agony on Naela's face and the knowledge that she had deprived the girl of a proper farewell. And the warlocks... they had murdered him. It was not that Irae was outraged by what her masters had done. Naela was all that mattered to them, she and her connection to the Blood Witch. Getting her out of the city was crucial. Kareq meanwhile, he was an unknown factor. He was perhaps the one man who could have convinced the girl to remain in the city, now he was gone and no one could trace his murder back to the warlock order. No, rage was not what she felt. Pity, yes, for the girl and for her father, who had been on the verge of recovery. Grief even, for a man she had spent months trying to heal. And pain, for the warlock order, whom she had served for her entire life, still evidently did not trust her. Perhaps they had been right even, for Irae herself was not certain if she had it in her to murder this man. Her feet carried her back to the House of the Undying on their own and by the time she arrived at those black-barked trees that grew around it, her fists were numb from clenching them so tightly. She was trembling and as she walked through the gate, so were the trees. The leaves were shaking as she walked beneath them and she could eve hear a faint voice, whispering right into her ear. “Irae...”, it hissed. “Irae....” “Irae!”, the much more familiar and much more real voice of Moros Qo Malxis called out for her. She flinched, before she turned to the old man, who was approaching her quietly, a shadow beneath the trees. “You walk with anger in your heart”, he growled. “And sorrow. What has riled you up in such a manner, girl?” She actually narrowed her eyes at his words. “I am not in the mood for games, master”, she replied in a tone so sharp that Moros' cold smile actually faded entirely. “With all due respect” “With all due respect...”, Moros repeated, his tone no softer. “And yet I sense that you are lacking just that. What happened at the merchant's home?” It was clear that he wanted to hear it from her and despite her anger, she could not deny him such a request. “He is dead”, she replied and for a moment, the warlock was taken by surprise. “Who...”, he began, before he paused. “What killed him?” “You don't know?”, Irae replied, sensing her master's confusion. “Your assassin did it. Or did the Mask lie to me when he claimed to be working for you now?” Moros narrowed his eyes. “That buffoon had order to remain in hiding until you were done at the mansion”, he growled. “That's what I get for hiring outsiders to do a warlock's work” “Kareq was dying already”, Irae mumbled and she knew what she had to admit to now would not be easy. “I... Master Xhoros... the Nightling gave me a vial. He told me that you and Master Vathor planned to poison Kareq. I... misjudged the situation” In the past, she had seen her master when he was angry and she expected a reaction just like that once more. Instead, he surprised her, for his expression remained unnervingly calm. “Is that so?”, he spoke, his voice devoid of even a hint of emotion. “And you trusted Xhoros over me?” Irae gave him a reluctant nod. “What difference does it make now?”, she asked. “Kareq Orlatis is dead, by the blade of your assassin, as you desired” Moros shook her head. “You were not supposed to find out”, he hissed. “The Mask made a mistake by revealing himself to you” This actually got a reaction out of Irae, who let out a growl of anger. “Kareq was dying!”, she barked. “Xhoros' poison... it was a cruel brew. Master Estos had a hand in it as well. It was designed not just to kill him, but to make it slow. Painful. The Mask ended his suffering” “I have no need for his mercy”, Moros sighed. “But I suppose he got the job done in the end. You would have found out either way, just not yet” He shrugged and just like this, this unnerving calmness was gone. “This is not how I wanted this to go, Irae, but it matters little in the end. Kareq Orlatis is dead and the girl is free to leave this city as we demand” “We took his coin”, Irae mumbled, as she and Moros approached the main gate of the House of the Undying. The old man shrugged. “Does this surprise you still?”, he asked. “We are not merchants. What use do we have for coin? What reason do we have to keep our word to a dying man? No, girl, we are warlocks. We respect strength, not coin and flattery. Those beneath us are ours to use as we desire” As he spoke, the gates of the house opened silently and seemingly on their own. There was darkness behind it, but Irae was used to it after all these years. A stranger would get lost in these gloomy halls, but Irae had grown up here, she had been shaped by this place. In the past, it used to scare her, but these days were long behind her. Now, she could find her way around with ease and she realized quickly that Moros was leading her to his audience chamber. In stark contrast to Garraman's, where she had met with the warlocks the last time she spoke to the council, Moros' chambers were dark and grim, a more fitting representation of what it meant to be a warlock of Qarth. Where Garraman enjoyed luxury even here among his own kind, Moros' chambers were only sparsely furnished and each tool, each piece of furniture had to have a use. As such, his audience chamber consisted of little more than a dark, dusty table and six old chairs, one for each council member. To Irae's great dismay, she and Moros were the last to arrive. The elder warlocks were waiting for them already and though she had nothing but respect for each of them, they were also the last people she wanted to see right now. Only Garath Garraman was smiling, as usual, equal parts wide and bright. His companions were in their usual mood, with Agaz Darkeye sticking out in particular. “There you are, Moros”, he spat. His good eye stared at the old warlock, but the other one, that dark orb that had given him his name, it was glaring at Irae, severe enough for her to tense up. “You kept us waiting” “Apologies”, Moros merely replied, as he took the last free chair. Irae was left standing behind him, arms crossed behind her back, trying her best to keep her composure. Her fists were clenched, however, and she could not keep herself from glaring at Xhoros Qar Xhon. The Nightling looked back, entirely unbothered by her anger. “This matter cannot be postponed, however”, Moros continued. “Just an hour ago, Kareq Orlatis has passed away” Master Xhoros gave him a calm nod, while his companion Agaz merely narrowed his good eye. “Who?”, Darkeye growled and Irae knew him well enough to realize that he genuinely did not even bother to learn the fur merchant's name. “The father of Naela Orlatis”, Moros explained. “That is the girl the Blood Witch has demanded” “Her again?”, Darkeye replied. “You know where I stand. Instead of bringing the witch what she desires, we should make sure that the girl and her father are reunited” As he spoke, a spark flared up in the dark orb, sudden enough for Irae to flinch. “That would be a waste of our efforts, Agaz”, Estos Ezzara interjected. With both of his hands resting on his massive belly, he looked from Moros to Irae. “Enlighten us then, how did he die?” Moros narrowed his eyes as he looked from him to the Nightling. “Don't play innocent, Estos”, he snarled. “Irae has told me what you and Xhoros have been up to” “Is that so?”, Estos asked and now, Irae could no longer keep quiet. “You tricked me!”, she barked towards Xhoros, only realizing how sharp her voice sounded as those words left her mouth. Immediately, Agaz Darkeye jumped up, but Estos Ezzara held him back with one bloated hand. The Nightling himself seemed... almost amused at her anger. “I will not apologize”, he whispered, his voice echoing through her mind. His lips curled into a thin smile, revealing the horrid, blue-black remains of his teeth. “You wouldn't have gone through with it, so I did what I had to do, for Qarth” “You could have told me!”, Moros snarled, as the two men glared at each other. “Because while you and Ezzara tricked my apprentice, I wasted coin on a hired killer” Now, Garath Garraman rose as well. “Brothers!”, he intoned, but Irae could not deny that his smile seemed more nervous than usual. “Friends! Please, try to remain calm. Tell me, what is this about poison and killers” He looked at Irae. “Speak up, child”, he added, his tone softer now. “Since you were assigned to cure this man, it is only right that you tell us of his fate” He glanced at Agaz Darkeye and Vathor Thrice-Born, both of whom seemed genuinely confused by this turn of events. “Especially those of us who have no idea what has happened there” They all looked at Irae now and their gathered attention was almost overwhelming. Each of those six could kill her with nothing but a fleeting thought and at least in case of Master Agaz, she was certain he had been close to it just a few moments ago. Though she had learned how to serve Master Moros, the rest of the council made her deeply uncomfortable. Before addressing them, she took a deep breath. “I've been sent to deliver Kareq Orlatis' final cure”, she began. “Master Moros and Master Vathor had prepared something, but before I took it, Master Xhoros approached me and he...” She paused, glancing at the Nightling who gave her a quiet nod. “We have wasted enough time on the fur merchant”, he replied. “Worse, I have come to the conclusion that his survival would jeopardize our plans for the girl. He would have convinced her to stay” The warlock elders all nodded in agreement, even Garath Garraman, from whom Irae would have expected at least a little bit of outrage over such a betrayal. “So me and Estos prepared a potion”, the Nightling continued and this time, he actually moved his lips while speaking. His voice sounded different when the words weren't forming directly within her head but even then, an echo of them rang right through her mind. “There was doubt on Irae's face, doubt of her own master, which I used to my advantage” Master Moros pressed his lips together, giving Irae a chilling glare. She lowered her gaze. “Please, forgive me, master”, she mumbled. There was no reply. “I have brought the... the poison to Kareq Orlatis' mansion”, she continued, after a moment of silence. “I thought it would be the cure. But when I gave it to him...” Her voice trembled as she continued, now daring to look up again, at Moros, at Garath, at all of them. “We took his coin. We gave his daughter a promise. And yet, when I gave him what I thought to be the cure, he... he started to die. Painfully” Moros rolled his eyes. “Spare us that tone, child”, he hissed. “Yes, we took his coin, but keeping our word no longer held any benefit to our order. I agree with Xhoros, if not with the fact that he tricked you, but I agree that Kareq Orlatis was a threat to our plans. That is why I have sent those assassins after him. The Mask and Deja have given me an excellent impression and though I would have preferred them to remain hidden even from you, I can hardly be angry at them now that they got the job done” This time, she did not imagine it. Garath Garraman actually flinched. “Two assassins?”, he spoke and even his smile disappeared for a moment. “Even if this man had to die, you trusted two outsiders with warlock work?” “Officially, they still work for the Tourmaline Brotherhood. No one can link them to me and they will not talk”, Moros clarified and immediately, there was a sigh of relief from Garraman, who nonetheless glanced at Estos. The bloated man shrugged. “And I may be no Vathor when it comes to potions, but I know how to hide my marks”, he claimed. “The poison is fleeting. An hour from now and not even the best alchemist in Qarth will find a trace of it in his blood” And just like this, the small hope Irae held was gone. Garath Garraman was relieved, not outraged or shocked by what his fellow warlocks had done. Just relieved. There would be no justice for Naela, not even compensation. They had ruined her life because her father had gotten mildly uncomfortable for them. “Good”, Garraman stated. “I take it the cause of death was your assassin, Moros? In that case, we can proceed as planned. The girl must be desperate now, with her father gone. The Prince of Furs had no ties to the greater merchant guilds. That's what made him a target of the Tourmaline Brotherhood to begin with and while it allowed him to make a decent profit without having to pay to his superiors, it now means that his business stands without allies” Irae closed her eyes, as a sickness rose in her stomach. This was not right. She could stay silent. She should stay silent. And yet, she was a warlock and those were her masters. She respected them, she revered them and even though she did not disagree with their methods, she would not betray them like this. “The Spice King has offered his help”, she revealed. “He has proposed to the girl” Garraman raised an eyebrow. His smile widened as if she had told him a terrific joke and then, a short, stifled laughter left his throat. “Spice?”, he exclaimed. “An old man, not too out of place in our ancient round, my friends. Naela could be his granddaughter” His smile faded and for a moment, he seemed no less cold than Moros or Agaz. His unnaturally youthful face made for a jarring contrast, his skin too smooth, too perfect for a man with such old, knowing eyes. “If she accepts, this might be a problem. The Spice King is powerful and well-connected. He is not someone we can just dispose of” “Coward”, Agaz Darkeye spat. “This entire mess is a coward's work. We are warlocks, not common murderers or poisonmakers and we are certainly not the Blood Witch's lackeys. Who cares what the rest of Qarth thinks? Let them cower, let them burn. If the Spice King gets in our way, I say we send a message to the rest of the city that we are not to be crossed” To their credit, the other warlocks seemed less convinced of Agaz' direct approach. Garraman even shook his head. “You are not thinking straight, Agaz”, he replied. “If we act openly, the city will be up in arms against us. We are the warlocks of Qarth. There is nothing to be gained from making Qarth our enemy, not when we have so many foes waiting for us already” Darkeye glared at him, but remained silent. Hot-blooded as he was, he had at least a modicum of restraint around his fellow council members. “That being said, while I do not agree with your drastic methods, this is a chance we cannot let go to waste”, Garraman continued, his tone jovial and almost conciliatory. “So, I understand your respective plans have clashed this time, but we are here now to discuss on how to continue. Together” He looked at each member of the council, one by one, until they gave him a nod. “Together”, they mumbled, each on their own at first, then all at the same time. At last, he even looked at Irae, who hesitated for a moment, before giving him a nod. “Together”, she confirmed and his bright smile widened. “Excellent!”, he exclaimed. “Now, we have the momentum. The last obstacle standing between us and the girl is out of the way, she mourns for her father and has no reason to suspect our order. We must act fast” There was some mumbling among the warlocks, but they seemed to agree. Even Agaz Darkeye nodded slightly. Irae, however, only further tensed up. “Will she come to harm?”, she asked, earning herself a chuckle from Vathor Thrice-Born, while Moros only narrowed his eyes. “Possibly”, he replied. “What is it to you, girl? You will follow our orders and if they bring harm to the girl, then you will accept this” It was not a warning, despite his stern tone. No, Moros was stating a fact. Harsh as he could be, he had effectively raised her and she would not betray his trust. Never again. “I just...”, she began, but Agaz Darkeye cut her off. “You are to be silent while your betters speak, girl!”, he barked. Garraman, however, smiled mildly. “Now, now, I think we should hear her out”, he brought up. “She knows the Orlatis girl better than any of us, especially now that she has spent so much to... befriend her. We cannot afford to waste her knowledge. Now, Irae, why don't you tell us more about her? What can we expect from a girl seemingly so special that even the Blood Witch is interested in her?” His tone was entirely affable, but Irae was cautious nonetheless. “There's nothing special about her”, she replied. “Not that I could see it, at least. She is headstrong, confident, brave. Admirable traits, but they hardly make her stand out” She took a deep breath, before she turned to the Nightling. “And she loves her father”, she added. “If she finds out what you have done, she will never cooperate” Master Xhoros did not react in the slightest, even ignoring the accusation in her voice. Instead, it was Garath Garraman who replied. “Is this going to be a problem, Estos?”, he asked and the bloated warlock shook his head. “Not a big one, no”, he revealed. “I'd even welcome the challenge of working with an unwilling target. With a necklace made of her fingerbones, I could control her every thought. She would be completely subservient” “We had this before, Estos”, Vathor interjected. “The Blood Witch could take offence to that and as long as we are not ready to face her, we should not go out of our way to provoke her” With the exception of Agaz Darkeye, the other warlocks seemed to agree with the dwarf and Irae could not hide a sigh of relief. “There has to be a better way”, she told them. “The girl, she... does not share her father's prejudice against our order. I can convince her, I can still win her over!” “And how long are we supposed to wait?”, Moros now spoke up. “An ancient enemy has revealed herself, she plots against us as we speak and yet you allow your pity for one girl to get in the way of what's best for our order!” Irae gulped. “I do not pity her”, she claimed and the old man flashed her a crooked grin. “You forget yourself”, he growled. “And you forget that I know you well. You are a miserable liar. Always have been” “How much longer do you need?”, Garath Garraman asked. He looked at her openly and with a genuinely friendly smile, but she knew by now not to expect too much from him. He was not concerned about Naela, only about how it'd look if they'd openly destroy her life. And she had been a warlock for long enough to realize what his words truly meant. She had seen this before. It was a choice, but not really. He expected an answer from her, a rough one at least. If he'd like her reply, he'd grant her that much and not a day longer. At the same time, she she could clearly see it in his purple eyes. She had taken too long and now all that stood between Naela and the full force of the warlock council was his desire to keep a good reputation among the people of Qarth. He did not care for Naela. Of course he did not, but Irae knew she could rely on him trying to do what looked best. However, if she'd ask for just one day too much, he'd refuse. Worse, choosing wrong could push him closer to siding with the rest of the council, those that would undoubtedly call for more drastic action now. So, how much did she need? Truth be told, Irae was not good with people. Few warlocks were. People, even those who did not treat her kind with open hostility, were erratic and unpredictable. Twenty years spent mostly on reading through dusty tomes had left her with a deep understanding for the inconceivable, but with little knowledge about the people outside these halls. Right now, Naela was mourning. Perhaps Garraman could abuse this, but Irae was nothing like him. She knew, she needed to give the girl time. If she'd approach her right now, Naela could grow suspicious, but if she'd wait too long, Garraman would refuse her offer and perhaps condone whatever cruel trick Xhoros Qar Xhon was coming up with next. And it'd be only a matter of time until he'd even consider Estos' approach and should Irae take this long to get Naela to where they wanted her to be, then she knew, there would be nothing she could do for the girl. [Tell him you'll need one week] [Tell him you'll need two weeks] [Tell him you'll need three weeks] [Tell him you'll need one month]
Jaron “Man, what I wouldn't give...”, Arryn mumbled as he stared at the triarch's mansion in front of them. “Living in such a palace, just once. Some people are simply born lucky” Jaron followed his gaze, from the walls tall enough to protect a small keep in his homeland, to the towers that crowned them, to the statues that adorned the alcoves on the building behind. This was no mere mansion, as he'd expected from a Volantene nobleman. No, this was a castle, a fortress fit for a king. There was even a massive tower in its centre, similar to the ones he had seen in Lys, with huge openings in its side. In the past, dragons had rested here. Now, the dragons were long gone and their riders were a dying breed. If the gods willed it, Jaron himself would kill one of them soon. He had been nervous from the moment he got up this morning, after only a few, uneasy hours of sleep. His nervousness had only grown in the last hour, once they had left the guest room of Bazaeya's mansion and with each step they had gotten closer to the triarch's mansion. By now, he could barely keep himself from trembling. He had killed people before, but never like this, never with such intention. There was a difference between striking down an opponent in honourable combat and plotting to assassinate a man in cold blood. And though Jaron knew that he had struggled with his knightly vows in the past, murdering a man would be a big step, one he feared he could not come back from. “Are you nervous, Ser Bastard?”, Samuel growled and Jaron gave him a nod, without looking away from these imposing walls. “I don't know if I can do this”, he admitted. Samuel merely laughed at his obvious discomfort. “Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now”, he spoke and it took Jaron a moment too reply, a moment too long. Samuel placed one hand on his shoulder, before shooting him a long, serious glare, not hostile in the slightest bit, but nonetheless one of the most severe expressions he had ever seen from him. “Think about it”, the sellsword spoke, his tone calm, but serious. “Why are you here? What made you pick Lysara's offer?” In front of them, Arryn glanced over his shoulder, a sly grin on his face. “Her coin”, he proclaimed and Jaron and Samuel both shot him a glare. “Shut up”, they said at once, getting a chuckle out of Arryn, who merely shrugged, before turning around again. “Harpy...”, Jaron then stated, without looking Samuel in the eyes. The sellsword gave him a nod. “That's right, your lady love”, he replied. “Now, if you want to turn around, I won't stop you. Take the drunkard with you, I can do this just fine on my own. But I can tell you, you will regret it. At night, when you lie awake, thinking of her, thinking of what she has to go through right now, wondering if you could have done anything to save her” With these words, he pointed at the mansion. “Well, this is your chance” Jaron looked up again, right at the mansion. It was without any doubt the most spectacular building he had ever seen, easily beating the grey, crumbling keep of Blackhaven, where he had grown up, or even the Burned Man's splendid mansion. Thinking back to those days made him sigh with regret. They had been simpler times, back when he had first left his home a naïve boy with big dreams, the months he had squired for Ser Matthos, receiving his knighthood amid blood and mud in the Mountains of Dorne. Even the death of his mentor hadn't broken him like this, for he had found a new purpose in Oldtown. Without Harpy, he would have left that city behind, he would have found another path. But he had stayed, for her, he had sacrificed, for her, he had broken his vows, all for her. He would do it all again in a heartbeat, for she had given him a home unlike any he ever had. For her... perhaps he could even kill a man in cold blood. All for her. Jaron glared at the mansion now and with purpose in his stride, he walked past Arryn and Samuel. “Are you coming?”, he growled. Arryn chuckled loudly, as he and Samuel quickly caught up with him again. It was the latter who held Jaron back once more. “One last thing”, he spoke and something within his gaze had changed, something that hadn't been there before. A hint of respect. “If the situation allows it, I'll deal the final strike. You can keep your innocence for a little while longer” His words took Jaron by surprise. “Well... that was... strangely heartwarming”, he mumbled and Samuel rolled his eyes. “I have killed more men than I could count”, he spoke. “Some in honourable combat, many more by any means necessary. The triarch will be one more for the latter. I won't hesitate, I won't second guess myself, I won't feel guilty” “Is that gratitude, Harrington?”, Jaron asked and Samuel frowned. They had spent months working together, from the moment they had teamed up to free the Burned Man, to Samuel confronting his brother, then with both travelling to Essos together, once again unlikely allies. And yet, where Martin had become a true friend in less time, Samuel was still a stranger to him. Cold and distant, there was something about him that kept other men on the edge. It was strange that in this city, Samuel Harrington was the most familiar face around. “See it as you want”, Samuel replied. “This deal we struck with Lady Lysara, it's important to me. I won't let you threaten it” Now, something resembling a grin appeared on his face. “And, knowing you, I am not sure you got it in you”, he added, before pointing at Arryn. “He does. He'd kill a man for a pouch of coin” Arryn nodded without hesitation. “He's right I would”, the sellsword growled. “Not you though. You're alright” “I just don't know if you could ever do it”, Samuel admitted. “So, if the chance comes up, leave it to me” By now, the mansion had gotten closer and Jaron feared the guards could hear them, so he merely gave him a nod. “I will”, he promised. In this moment, one of the guards took notice of them and quickly approached them. “Halt!”, the man barked. “You approach the mansion of Irrario Paenys. Identify yourselves or turn around now!” He approached them, spear lowered, the tip pointing right at Jaron. Instead of him, however, Samuel spoke up. “Name's Samuel Harrington”, he barked. “I hail from Westeros, as do my companions. We're sellswords in search of a new master” The guard narrowed his eyes. “And what makes you think you'd find one here, Harrington?”, he asked. “Your master is looking for a new swordfighting tutor for his daughter, isn't he?”, Samuel replied, as Jaron and Arryn flanked him. “We have travelled a long way. Tell him we are here and we'd like to make an impression” The guardsman seemed unconvinced and Jaron even spotted a tiny smile on his face. Behind him, one of his companions walked up to him. Both men were slaves, with thick, iron rings around their necks, a fact not even their well-crafted spears could hide. “What did you say your name was again, Westerosi?”, the newcomer asked. “Samuel Harrington”, Samuel replied. The slave's eyes widened. “Fang of Shadows”, he mumbled, as he turned to his companion. “Fetch the captain” The other man narrowed his eyes. “For a Westerosi?”, he asked. His companions let out a sigh. “Fetch. The. Captain”, he growled, his voice stern now. “He spoke of that man lately. Harrington. I remember” “I see I have a reputation”, Samuel chuckled, as they watched the other slave hurrying back to the mansion. He casually placed one hand on the hilt of his sword and the remaining slave visibly flinched. “You... you'll have to leave that one with us if you want to enter”, he stuttered. “I do not mean to insult you, but the captain's orders are clear. No stranger enters the mansion with a weapon in hand” “Reasonable, if cautious”, Samuel admitted. “I presumed nothing less from the tiger triarch” He was oozing confidence now, whereas the slave seemed visibly intimidated by his mere presence. “Say, man, what can you tell me about your master?”, the sellsword asked and the slave flinched. “He... Master Irrario is a good man, a kind man...”, he stuttered. Silently, Samuel turned to Jaron and shook his head. It had been unnecessary, for Jaron could clearly see the fear in the slave guard's eyes. It didn't take long for the other slave to return. He was accompanied by another man, this time one who clearly wasn't a slave, for he lacked the characteristic ring around his neck. Tall and fair-skinned, this man seemed more a Westerosi than a Volantene, though he dressed just like a nobleman of this city. He had black hair, oiled back and falling down to his shoulder in fine curls. Despite having the clothes of a nobleman, his face was that of a warrior, with strong, sharp features. He approached them calmly, with a curious smirk on his face, but as he came closer, Jaron noticed that Samuel's own smile faded. “I know this man...”, he mumbled. The other man was close enough to address them now. Without taking his gaze off of Samuel, he gave them a stilted, mocking bow. “My my, I stand corrected”, he spoke. His voice was calm, slightly hoarsy and with an unmistakable northern accent. “Here I thought the slaves were trying to make a fool out of me when claiming that Samuel Harrington has come to see me. Consider me surprised, unpleasantly so” Despite his words, he was still smiling. “Dextran”, Samuel spoke, giving him the faintest of nods. The other man raised an eyebrow and Samuel let out a sigh. “I have not expected to see you here”, he added. This time, the Northerner chuckled. “Nor I you”, he admitted. “I don't suppose this is a courtesy visit, yes? If so, you can turn around. Neither me nor Lord Irrario are in the mood for a friendly chatter with Butterfly's best man” “You know each other?”, Jaron asked. That was a problem, a big one. Samuel gave him a nod and this time, the hedge knight could see reluctance on his face. “And who are you?”, the Northerner asked, looking from Jaron to Arryn. “More henchmen?” Jaron shook his head. “We're travelling companions”, he admitted. “I'm Jaron Storm, the Bastard of Blackhaven and this is Arryn the Brave, champion of a thousand battles” “I have never heard your names before”, the Northerner stated. “But allow me to introduce myself out of courtesy alone. I am Dextran Thraller and, yes, I am acquainted with Samuel Harrington here. I take it he had no idea I have started to work for the triarch, or else he probably wouldn't have approached this mansion so openly” “I wasn't even sure you were still alive, Dextran”, Samuel admitted, earning himself a cold chuckle from the Northerner. “No thanks to you, Samuel Harrington!”, he exclaimed. “Do your friends know of your past? Your days as Butterfly's best killer?” He carefully looked at Jaron, likely waiting for any sort of reaction. “I have no secrets from them”, Samuel claimed and Dextran shook his head. “I doubt it”, he growled. “But if they truly know about your past, it says a lot about them” Upon closer inspection, he did not seem angry to see Samuel here. His tone was calm, his expression more intrigued than openly hostile. And yet, neither was he pleased. “To satisfy your curiosity, I've known Samuel Harrington before they started to call him the 'Fang of Shadows'”, Dextran explained. “An incredibly tacky title for such an otherwise modest man. Back in the day, Butterfly was but one of many crimelords in Oldtown, a newcomer who wanted to make a name for himself on the streets of Westeros' finest” He placed a hand on his chest. “As a matter of fact, so was I” “You've fallen on hard times since then, Dextran”, Samuel replied. “Are you the triarch's captain of the guard now?” This time, he got a reaction out of the Northerner. Dextran's smile grew thinner and he narrowed his eyes. “Lord Irrario pays well”, he spoke. “Besides, who is at fault for me having to leave Oldtown if not you? You see, back in the day Butterfly was still a nobody, but word on the street had it that he was paying more than the other crimelords, so soon he managed to gain some serious talent under him. The Alley Cats, Jaylon Gordus, proper Oldtown legends. Samuel had impressed me back then and I made him an offer. With him by my side, I could have ruled that city from the shadows” “Butterfly made me a better offer”, Samuel mumbled and Dextran gave him a nod. “And I hold no grudge about it. I don't hold grudges in general”, he claimed. “Butterfly outbid me on that day. Of course, his first order for you was to cripple my organization and try to take my head, but as I said, no grudges” His smile was dangerous now and Jaron was not sure how much of what had just been said was the truth. “Wait, you fought against the Fang of Shadows?”, Arryn interjected and Dextran gave him a nod, now with obvious pride on his face. “I consider myself an excellent swordsman. Me and Samuel Harrington fought for hours, proving to be each other's equal, neither able to overcome the other”, he explained. “In the end, he made me a surprising offer. He agreed to spare my life, but in return I had to leave Oldtown. Unwilling to provoke such a gifted swordsman, I accepted. I kept my life, I left Oldtown, but I suffered heavy losses. When I arrived in Volantis, I was practically broke” “So that's why you became Lord Irrario's captain of the guard”, Samuel growled. “A step down from your former ambitions. When I chased you off, I didn't think you'd fall on such hard times” Dextran flashed him a grin, followed by an actual chuckle. “I am so much more than just Irrario's captain of the guard”, he corrected him. “I am the triarch's business partner, bookkeeper and confidante. A friend, so to say, perhaps the only one he has. The times were hard for a while, but I hold more power than I ever had on my own back in Oldtown” With these words, he narrowed his eyes. “But enough catching up, Fang of Shadows. What leads you here? If you speak on behalf of Butterfly, you can turn around right now. Lord Irrario has no interest in Westerosi matters” Samuel grimaced. “That's not it, Dextran”, he promised. “Times have been hard for you and they are hard for me now. I left Butterfly's service” This earned him a loud, mocking laughter from Dextran. “You defected?”, he barked. “After all you did for him, you just left his service?” Samuel shook his head. “He betrayed me!”, he growled, with genuine anger in his voice and Dextran's smile grew thinner. “Ah...”, he mumbled. “That makes sense, of course” “I'm hunting for someone now, an old enemy of mine. I doubt your master has heard of him, but I know he has coin, lots of it”, Samuel continued. “And I know your master is looking for a new swordfighting tutor for his daughter. Me and my companions would like to apply for the spot. My plan is to do just that for a few months, get the coin I need to continue my hunt” “Lord Irrario has such coin, of course”, Dextran Thraller confirmed. “You heard correctly, he is looking for a new swordfighting tutor for Lady Alaela. I could even vouch for your skill, though I have to warn you, my lord is a demanding master” He flashed Samuel a wide grin and the sellsword frowned. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”, he spat, now unable to hide the contempt in his voice. Dextran Thraller indeed seemed to enjoy himself . “Of course I am”, he confirmed. “You must be truly desperate for coin to approach such low work. And if you accept, why, I get to order you around after all. Forgive me for enjoying the thought, Samuel Harrington” “Now, wait a moment”, Jaron brought up. “You've fought Samuel to a standstill before, yes?” Dextran gave him a nod and the hedge knight continued. “Then why aren't you teaching the girl? Where's the catch?” Now, Dextran chuckled. “Sharp, Bastard of Blackhaven”, he complimented him. “I could do it, but as I said, I am more than just Lord Irrario's servant. I have the privilege to refuse his orders and he has the foresight not to even ask me. You see, Lady Alaela is, frankly, insufferable. I consider her a spoiled brat and she knows it” The two slave guards flinched at his words and Jaron was surprised, perhaps even impressed that this man would so freely insult his master's daughter. “The lady wants a swordfighting tutor, but that is not a task I'm willing to do. As such, Lord Irrario is looking for someone else”, Dextran continued. “Your arrival here might be a timely one. We had a couple of interesting prospects, but none managed to live up to Lord Irrario's high standards. You though... I don't know about your companions, but I have a good feeling about you. Always had” “Lead us to the triarch then”, Samuel growled. As he took a step towards Dextran, the Northerner held him back with one hand. “Now, not so fast”, he said. “I'd be a fool if I'd let you in there with your weapons. I've seen you kill, Fang of Shadows. You are easily one of the most dangerous men in this city and I will not let you go any further with your weapons by your side” Samuel hesitated a moment, before he gave him a nod. “Of course, that sounds reasonable”, he agreed, before he handed over his sword, followed by the small dagger he kept by his side at all times, though it was clear he was parting with it only reluctantly. Dextran took his weapons, handing them to one of the slaves, before he took a step towards the sellsword. “Of course I'll search you again”, he clarified. “I will not just trust your word” He looked from Arryn to Jaron. “You two, hand over your weapons”, he barked, before glaring over his shoulder. “And you two, make yourselves useful for once. Search them” Arryn and Jaron exchanged a quick look. They carried swords with them, the only weapon they wielded openly. Jaron did not know about Arryn, but he himself also kept a small dagger hidden within his boot. Of course he had no intentions of killing the triarch with such a weapon, but he did not trust the suddenly chipper mood of this Dextran Thraller. He and Samuel clearly had unresolved business between them. If he'd try to get even, then perhaps this dagger was their only chance at getting out of the triarch's mansion alive. As such, while he immediately began to remove the scabbard from his belt, he hesitated to reach for the dagger. Dextran's order was clear, the slave guards would search them and Jaron was somewhat confident that he could keep the weapon hidden from them. [Hand over all of your weapons] [Try to keep the dagger hidden]
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Post by drdestroyer18 on May 23, 2021 15:10:39 GMT
[Tell him you'll need two weeks] [Hand over all of your weapons]
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Post by diversegnu on May 23, 2021 22:58:01 GMT
[Tell him you'll need one week] [Try to keep the dagger hidden]
Some really hard choices here, the chances of Irae convincing the girl to cooperate in one week is slim, but I'd rather not further piss off the warlocks. As for the Jaron choice, it was mentioned that the slaves were intimidated by them, so hopefully that will result in a less thorough search. Besides, Jaron seems like the kind of guy that would follow his instincts, so if he feels confident he could fool the guards, he should go for it. After all, they need a weapon for their assassination attempt.
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Louk
New Member
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Post by Louk on May 24, 2021 3:35:55 GMT
[Tell him you'll need two weeks] [Try to keep the dagger hidden]
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Post by GMS Freeman on May 24, 2021 11:20:56 GMT
[Tell him you'll need one week]
[Try to keep the dagger hidden]
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Post by InGenNateKenny on May 24, 2021 20:05:34 GMT
[Tell him you'll need three weeks] Three weeks vacation is good. Very good. We need more time.
[Hand over all of your weapons] This guy seems smart. Let's not try and fool him.
Am I detecting a possible Mass Effect reference with the "With all due respect" line, mhm? Someone been paying the Legendary Edition?
Really like this part! Really on-point writing.
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jun 4, 2021 0:43:28 GMT
[Tell him you'll need one week] [Try to keep the dagger hidden] Some really hard choices here, the chances of Irae convincing the girl to cooperate in one week is slim, but I'd rather not further piss off the warlocks. As for the Jaron choice, it was mentioned that the slaves were intimidated by them, so hopefully that will result in a less thorough search. Besides, Jaron seems like the kind of guy that would follow his instincts, so if he feels confident he could fool the guards, he should go for it. After all, they need a weapon for their assassination attempt. Yes, the warlocks are very pissed off right now, pretty much the only one who is still against drastic action is Garraman, explicitly not for the right reasons. If Irae angers them further by making an unreasonable demand, Naela will have to pay the price for it. As for Jaron, you are definitely right! As his time in Oldtown has shown, he is someone who goes with his gut-feeling more often than not, often without thinking things through first. I also actually just realized that he is the third-youngest PoV in the story after Ellena and Alys (themselves not known for their brilliant decision-making) and it really shines through in moments like this.
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jun 4, 2021 0:44:59 GMT
[Tell him you'll need three weeks] Three weeks vacation is good. Very good. We need more time. [Hand over all of your weapons] This guy seems smart. Let's not try and fool him. Am I detecting a possible Mass Effect reference with the "With all due respect" line, mhm? Someone been paying the Legendary Edition? Really like this part! Really on-point writing. Ah, not an intentional one, no! I've been using that line for years, not just in the story. That being said, I am coincidentally playing Mass Effect LE at the moment, for the first time in English as well and it is just as brilliant as I remember. I've recently finished the first game and moved on to the second so now I can finally hate Jacob again, now in 4K! Glad to hear this! I've actually been pondering about that line for a moment (as I also really wanted to get a call-back to Martin, whom is a character Jaron has not forgotten about), rewriting it a couple times, so it is good to hear that it paid off
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jun 7, 2021 15:15:44 GMT
The Voting is closed!
Irae is going to ask for two weeks
Jaron is going to try and keep his dagger hidden We actually got a tie for the first part, that happens rarely. Drdestroyer was the first to cast his vote, so that'll count twice. What I can say here is, all four of these options will lead to different outcomes, as this is not just about the warlocks, but also about Naela and both she and the council will react differently to Irae's approach. Either way, tensions are sure rising in Qarth and there will be a climax to this fairly soon. The next part will be out later today. I wasn't feeling too well in the last few days, I got my Covid vaccine shot on Friday (at long last) and had a rather notable reaction to it, including a mild fever, but I'm feeling a lot better now and should be able to finish the part before the end of the day. It will mark a return to the Riverlands storyline, with the first parts for Edrick and a new PoV, who will simultaneously be the last new PoV for Book 2, which is otherwise going to focus on reducing the number of living PoV characters instead of further expanding on them. This new PoV character will be someone you may remember from Book 1, although he was a minor character back then. I won't tell you much else for now, but I hope you can look forward for that. As for Edrick, last time we saw him, Viveka begrudgingly set him and his lowborn companions, Jorid and Darreth, free, as they did help her to capture and execute the Riverborn, even if they did so involuntarily. As such, she argued, they don't deserve death, but that is exactly what they would have to face, since Harmund Hoare is on his way to Faronhall. She is confident in her ability to keep her highborn prisoners safe from the crown prince. As such, she sent the lowborn away, ordering Gawayne to escort them to the edge of her land. Gawayne had his own plans, however. Angry at Edrick for repeatedly humiliating him and for undermining his position at Viveka's court, he eventually tried to kill them and considering that the three were bound and unarmed at the time, while he is a more than competent swordsman, he would have surely succeeded if not for the surprising intervention of none other than Viveka's cousin Sylvi, armed with a bow and aiming at the guardsman. The girl, so far overlooked by Edrick as a kind-hearted but otherwise unremarkable young woman, revealed herself to be the actual Riverborn, with Normund being nothing more than an accomplice. She very much represents a new generation of Ironborn, those who have been born in the Riverlands and grown up in peace and wealth instead of the harsh, cruel life of a raider on the Iron Islands. As such, she sympathizes with the Riverlanders and considers herself more one of them than one of the Ironborn, whose ancestral home on the Islands she has never even set foot upon. This also explains why her little rebellion was nothing more than sabotage and theft so far, since she is obviously still unwilling to take a life, especially since she knows most of Viveka's guards personally. She told Gawayne to stand down, but he wasn't having any of it. Believing her to be unable to actually shoot at him, he went on and tried to kill his hostages, which resulted in Sylvi shooting him in the arm. Edrick used this opportunity to tackle Gawayne and strangle him to death. After that, he and Sylvi teamed up, as they now have a common goal. Sylvi rightfully believes Harmund Hoare to be capable of just about anything and she is certain that her cousin and Edrick's companions in the castle are in great danger. As such, she proposed for them to infiltrate the castle again, in the hopes that they can manage to smuggle all of them out without Harmund noticing. For this, Edrick suggested that they disguise themselves as servants and that is where the next part will start. The new PoV will also tie directly into this storyline!
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Post by InGenNateKenny on Jun 7, 2021 20:04:10 GMT
DIMITRI THE WISE CONFIRMED GUYS.
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jun 8, 2021 23:47:08 GMT
Edrick “Do you know how we ended up here?”
When Edrick opened his eyes, he was surrounded by darkness. There was nothing above him, nor below, just a black void. And yet, there was this voice, a soft, familiar tone, drenched in mourning. He frowned, as he tried to look around, tried to find anything, anyone. Tried to find whomever had just spoken to him. “Hello?”, he growled into the darkness. His head was pounding and his hands were trembling, yet the worst was this feeling of dread that slowly threatened to consume him. “Do you remember?”, the voice asked again and this time, Edrick clearly recognized her. It came from right behind him and as he turned around, there she stood. “Fiona...”, he gasped. Though she was his sister, his only living family, the two of them had never looked alike. She was a short, thin and fragile beauty, with blonde hair and blue eyes, where he knew that even without his scars, his wild beard and broken bones, he'd always look like nothing but a brute, six and a half feet tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes. When they were younger, the other children in White Harbour had teased her for it, claiming that she was a bastard, that their late mother had been sleeping around. For a while, Edrick's father had believed the same, right until he drank himself to death. As for Edrick himself, he had gotten into his first proper fight over these rumours, with a burly fisherman's brat. His first broken nose, not that his face had been a looker before that. The other kid had been roughed up even worse and ever since, the urchins of White Harbour tried to avoid his sister. Tried to avoid him too. He noticed a mild smirk on his face. They were good memories. “What are you doing here?”, he asked, as he looked from his sister into the darkness around them. Those hard days were long past her. Fiona was a woman grown, she had found herself a good man and the two had a child of their own, Edrick's niece. Little Ella... he had seen her only once, a few months before his old friend Barroth had called upon him. A few months before he had left the North. “Where... where are we?” There was something on Fiona's face which Edrick hadn't seen in a while. Grief... a sharp pain flared up in Edrick's chest as he saw her like this. “You don't remember?”, she asked. “You truly don't...” She sighed, before she took a step back. Now, Edrick could see tears streaming down her face. “You shouldn't have left the North”, she spoke. “You shouldn't have left us. We needed you!” She took a other step back and the darkness all around them threatened to swallow her. “Wait!”, Edrick yelled and his voice sounded hollow in his ears. “Wait, I...” He tried to run towards her, but his legs would not move. Fiona took another step into the darkness, until all he saw of her was a general shape. Her voice, however, remained clear and close. “You must remember”, she mumbled. “You must wake up”
“Wake up!”, another voice called for him and Edrick flinched. “Gods be damned, wake up!” When Edrick opened his eyes, he saw Jorid above him. The young soldier had switched his traveller's garb for a much simpler linen shirt, looking no different from most of the servants at Faronhall. Right now, he was shaking his head, visibly displeased. “There you are”, he sighed. “Seven, I get you needed a small nap, but it's been almost an hour!” Edrick frowned, as he quickly glanced around. The hut Sylvi had brought them to was close to the river. In the warmer months, fishermen would gather here, but right now, it was perfect for a different gathering. The girl had hidden some clothes here, but not just that. Edrick had caught glimpses of tools, the kind an unlikely rebel would need for her nightly actions. Not weapons, but he knew she could still do some damage to the Ironborn with those. A saw could be much more devastating than a sword when used to damage a bridge crucial for Ironborn supplies. Pots of flammable resin, enough for one skilled archer to ruin a small fleet of supply boats. One would think Harren's best would be capable of catching one half-grown girl, but as far as he knew, Sylvi had caused tremendous damage to the Ironborn in this region and all without taking a single life. Except for Gawayne, of course. Sure, Edrick himself had been the one to actually kill that whoreson, but he couldn't have done so without Sylvi shooting him first. He didn't know much about her and he couldn't even begin to understand her dilemma, but it was clear that knowing this was tormenting her. Though Gawayne had been an utter cunt, he nonetheless had been Viveka's loyal servant for who knew how many years. Right now, concern for her cousin was enough to keep her going, but Edrick knew that the girl would love nothing more than to curl up somewhere and weep. That's how most would feel after their first kill. Unlike most, Sylvi also had a good heart, else she would have left them to die. Most people would have. Truth be told, had their roles been reversed, Edrick would have left her at Gawayne's mercy and it spoke a lot about her that she didn't. “Fuck...”, the hedge knight mumbled. “Why didn't you wake me earlier?” He sluggishly rose from the thin fur he had been resting on, as Jorid shrugged. “Sylvi said to let you sleep”, he revealed. “She's been gone until now, scouting ahead together with Darreth. She said we needed you at your best, so I did not disturb you until now” “Well, she's not wrong...”, Edrick admitted. His armour was gone, hidden beneath the floorboards. It was old and shabby, yes, repaired more often than he could count, but it was the only one he had and he felt naked without it. Instead, he was now wearing simple linen, of the kind he often wore when growing up. White Harbour was temperate compared to the rest of the North, but he and Fiona had still spent countless nights shivering until they fell asleep. If all went according to plan, they'd get Dante, Alphyn and Reymond out of there before nightfall. Viveka, as the lady of the castle, would be trickier, but Sylvi apparently had an idea or two about that and Edrick was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Either way, it would be tricky and that was not his forte. Sylvi though... fooling all of Faronhall and her brute of a king on top, that took guts and brains. He had underestimated her severely when first they met. Right now, the girl was standing outside, by the river, looking at the bow in her hands. Darreth was standing nearby, silent as well, keeping on guard. Where he was dressed just like Edrick, having swapped his squire's attire for simple linen, Sylvie was wearing a dress, however she may have managed to acquire that one out here in the woods. Though still fairly simple, it undoubtedly marked her as a noblewoman. As Edrick stepped outside, he noticed immediately how cold it had gotten. It wouldn't be long not until the first snow would fall and though winter here in the Riverlands was nothing compared to the North, it would nonetheless make travel significantly harder, perhaps impossible even, at least for a girl such as Lady Alys. Wherever she was, he could only hope she'd find some place safe until he'd finally catch up to her. “So, I take it you're not going to disguise yourself as a peasant?”, Edrick asked and Sylvi glanced over her shoulder, right at him. “Every guard in this castle knows me, Ser”, she told him. “Even if they don't look twice at a common servant girl, someone at some point will recognize me. That'll cause more problems than it could possibly be worth” Her expression was grim and it grew even more severe as she continued. “And I've heard what Prince Harmund's men do to servant girls who catch their eye”, she added, before she shook her head. “Trust me, it is safer this way” Edrick glanced at the bow in her hands. Her fingers were clenched around the wood to keep her from trembling and she still did not quite succeed at it. “Listen...”, he sighed. “About Gawayne...” Her eyes narrowed. “He had it coming”, she admitted. “I know he had, but still... was there no way for him to live? He was down on the ground, you could have spared him!” There was no accusation in her voice, even if Edrick wouldn't have blamed her. He had killed a man she had known for most of her life right in front of her eyes. Deep down though, it seemed she understood. “He would have just gotten up again and tried to kill me once more”, he growled. “When you've made an enemy, one who truly knows you, then you'd do best to follow my example. Never give them a second chance to kill you” The girl closed her eyes, before she place the bow on the ground, next to a wooden log. “It was never supposed to grow this big”, she mumbled. “A missing shipment here, a broken bridge there. At first, I... I just wanted to annoy them. Show them that they cannot tame this land so easily” She sat down on the log and after a moment of hesitation, Edrick knelt down next to her. “But they retaliated, did they not?”, he added. She gave him a slight nod. “That was also on Gawayne. Viveka wanted an investigation, but he made it into a mad hunt. People were hurt, some I've come to care for very much. Up until Normund, none were killed just because they helped me, but... others were sentenced to death when normally, Viveka would have just sent them to work in the quarry. She hates wasting potential workers like that” “She's a pragmatist to the bone”, Edrick interjected. “These people can be lucky to have her instead of someone like Harmund Hoare” Sylvi nodded again, if reluctantly. “When I started with this, I did not see it this way. Viveka is my cousin, I care for her deeply, but she remains Ironborn. She is a raider and a reaver and a cold-blooded killer, things I'll never be. I wanted her gone from this land just like the rest of them”, she continued. “I came to see that things weren't as simple. Viv is far from perfect, but she tries. Others would have taken drastic steps, would have killed the people they were supposed to govern over indiscriminately if it meant getting me to stop sabotaging their presence in these lands. Somewhere in the Riverlands, Ironborn are doing just that to keep the people subjugated” “You wanted to be a symbol for them”, Edrick realized and Sylvi clenched her fists. “Not at first”, she mumbled. “I just... became. When I realized it, it was too late to stop. So, in the end I tried to help them the best I could. I wanted people to see that what happened here could happen everywhere in the Riverlands. Not a bloody revolution like what the Sons of the Trident are doing, but something one doesn't have to become a killer for. It... was supposed to be peaceful” Edrick frowned, as he thought back to Normund, then to Gawayne. “It's a pretty dream”, he admitted. “I'm sorry it didn't work out” “Yeah...”, Sylvi mumbled. “Me too” She gazed at the river, but as Edrick rose to his feet again, she grabbed him by the wrist. “One more thing”, she spoke and there was determination in her voice now. She was very much just a young girl thrown into a situation that had long since grown beyond her control, but Edrick could only respect her for still having her convictions. “I know your people have priority for you. Dante, Alphyn, Reymond, that's why you go back with me” “True”, Edrick admitted and he already knew what she was about to say. “But Viv... she's my reason”, the girl continued. “She has made many mistakes, but she treated you fairly, did she not?” Edrick had to nod at this statement. Viveka had set him free when everyone else would have taken his head just because they could. “Then I want you to go back for her too”, the girl continued. “I want to save my cousin from a monster and I need your help. Once we're in the keep, Viveka will be just as important as any of your people” Edrick narrowed his eyes. “I think we already discussed this”, he stated, but she shook her head. “I told you what we're going to do, you agreed to come with me”, she replied. “But I need to hear it from you. I need to know if I can rely on you” Her hand clenched around his wrist. “I want you to swear that you will do whatever you can to help her. Not just if you can arrange it, if it's comfortable to do so” “You want me to swear?”, Edrick asked, slightly surprised by her request. “What, me saying a few words will change things for you? Do my vows really mean so much to you?” Sylvi shook her head. “I think they mean something to you. I don't think you're the type of man to break such a promise”, she replied and the calm honesty in her voice actually got to him, they actually hit him more than Gawayne's whip had done just a few days ago. He flinched, just as she let go of him. “And if I can't swear it?”, he asked. “I don't want to give you a promise I may be unable to keep” Sylvi sighed. “Then I need to hear that from you as well”, she clarified. “I need to know where I am with you. If I can rely on you to get Viv out of here, or if I need to look out for her all on my own. I'll get you into the castle either way, but please be honest with me. You owe me that much at least, for saving your life” [Swear it] [Refuse to swear it]
Gabin
Faronhall had been a proud and noble keep, once upon a time. House Faron had been no less proud and noble, at the height of their power they even competed with lords as illustrious as Frey or Mallister. Their word had weight in the Riverlands and though their lords had never been kings of their own, they had acted as advisers, as kingmakers even. A thousand years of history and a golden future until the black king came along. Now, Faronhall was nothing but a monument to Harren's cruelty, a harsh reminder of the price for defiance. Gabin Strad knew that one all too well. Not just from the stories, how Harren the Black had put the entire Faron line to the sword, not just those who had insulted him, but those who served them and their families too. It was said that the waters of the Green Fork had turned red on that day. But Gabin knew all too personally that defiance had its price. They had spared him, spared his life, they didn't even torment him as he had expected them to do. But they knew what he had done. Torvin Breaker had paid a cruel price and if the rumours were right, then Garthon Breaker had followed him into an early grave. Lord Tully had left for Riverrun, humiliated and with the knowledge that Harren could take everything away from him in an instant. George had died quickly and perhaps his fate had been the kindest. Only Gabin remained in Harrenhal, without allies and with everyone around him knowing what he had done. And of course, the king had told Lord Orkwood. The dwarf had only smiled and even now, that expression sent shivers down Gabin's spine. He had only smiled and ever since, he had tried to do his best to make him pay, all without harming a hair on his head. Before, the lord hadn't been paying attention to Gabin at all, but now, now he knew how to hurt him. Gabin could live with the fear, he would brave through any physical pain they could think of, but what Reymand Orkwood had come up with had been enough to make him regret the day he ever decided to hear Lord Tully out. Ribel... by law she was Lord Orkwood's wife, but before the gods, she would always belong to Gabin. No septon had wed them, for there had been none in the small village where they had grown up in, but they had spoken their own vows and lived as man and wife long before the Ironborn came to them. That being said, even a vow made before a septon couldn't have stopped Reymand Orkwood, for he was used to taking whatever he desired. And he made sure that Gabin would listen to those unshackled desires of his, night for night, paired with the crying, the pleading, occasionally even the screaming of Ribel. It hadn't been that bad before. Ribel hadn't been free, but the lord had barely been paying attention to her. On the nights where he did find his way into her bed instead of some whore's mattress, he had been too drunken to do anything to her. Now, however, now he knew who she was to Gabin. Now, he was finding ever new ways of hurting him through the woman he loved. This was just another of the dwarf's depraved games. Surprisingly, he had sent Gabin alongside the men that travelled to Faronhall. A small relief from having to listen to Ribel's desperate cries night after night. And yet, Gabin knew exactly what Orkwood was aiming for. Worse, it was working. Ever since they had left Harrenhal, he had barely been able to sleep, fearing what the lord could do to Ribel in his absence. At least in the keep, just outside their doors, he knew she was still alive. He could see her, even if he couldn't be with her. “Eyes up front”, a voice hissed into his ear. “Don't get lost in thoughts now. You know he hates that” Gabin frowned, but he looked up nonetheless, staring at the crown prince at the other end of the courtyard, several rows of soldiers between the two of them. They were still in a loose formation, but standing more relaxed now that their journey was over. Many were chatting among each other, making it impossible to listen to what Harmund Hoare was discussing with the lady of this keep. “Alvarus”, he mumbled, greeting the speaker with a slight nod, but not even looking at him. Alvarus Orkwood was Lord Reymand's nephew. Twice as tall and twice as kind, neither of which meant much. If not for his noble name, he would have been utterly unremarkable. Average height, average build, a forgettable face with a long, thin and hooked nose and thin sideburns. Something about him always reminded Gabin of a bird of prey, a young one at that, for despite his undoubtable intelligence, Alvarus was just barely a grown man, sixteen years old and already heir presumptive of his house. Everyone knew how unlikely it was that his infirm uncle would father a child in his few remaining years and though Alvarus wasn't showing his status as openly as some of the other Ironborn heirs, Gabin had no doubt that he was fully aware how important this made him. “Thanks”, he added and Alvarus shot him a lazy smirk. “Don't mention it”, the young man replied. “I've heard him and Rell talk. Harmund's in a foul mood” Gabin sighed at these words. “Any details?”, he asked and Alvarus shook his head. “I don't think they are going to harm you”, he spoke and Gabin believed him. Alvarus was one of the few honest Ironborn, mostly growing up in the Riverlands, with a fairly gentle temper and an unusual fondness for reading. And yet, he remained and Orkwood, firmly loyal to his uncle and his house. He knew what the dwarf was doing to Ribel night for night, he had seen the bruises and even though he had more of a chance at ending this depravity than anyone else, he was still doing nothing. No matter how affable he was otherwise, Gabin would never make the mistake of trusting this Ironborn. “Should we get closer?”, Alvarus asked and Gabin shrugged. “I can't hear a word from back here”, he mumbled. Admittedly, he wanted to know what Harmund was planning. Knowing what the king and his sons were up to at all times, it had been his way of surviving them in the past few months. Harlan had considered the two of them friends once and though Gabin hadn't spoken to him since the failed attempt on King Harren's life, the one that left the prince injured and nearly crippled, he could only imagine how much he desired vengeance. No, to survive this, to survive them, Gabin had to plan ahead. He had to know what they were planning. “Can't hurt to get a bit closer”, he stated. Both stepped forward, trying to hear what Harmund Hoare was discussing with Viveka Codd. They were both Ironborn through and through. Harmund himself was tall and handsome, resembling his brutish father only in the blackness of his hair, the blackness of his eyes and the blackness of his heart. Viveka, meanwhile, was almost as tall as the prince, a firm, well-muscled woman, with sunburnt skin and a mane of blonde hair, tied into several short braids that each ended just above her shoulders. And while Gabin had expected as much, she seemed less than thrilled to have the crown prince here, him and the hundred men he had brought with him. A small army, more than anything Viveka had been able to muster. That had been by design as well, for Harmund deliberately hadn't informed her of his coming until just a day ago. “Just you, Viveka?”, Harmund spoke. “Where is your household? Where is the feast, the music, the dancing? Where is your cousin, while we're at it? Your uncle has spoken of her quite well” The woman frowned. “My uncle speaks too much”, she hissed. “And... my apologies, Prince Harmund. You have arrived on short notice. The servants are preparing a modest feast for you and a few select guests of honour, but you cannot expect more than that. As for Sylvi, she's not feeling too well. She will not join us” As Gabin took another step closer, almost to the first row of Ironborn soldiers, one of them held him back. He tensed up as he recognized Rell Vessels. Nominally, that man was Harmund's friend, but Gabin was uncertain if a man such as the crown prince was capable of genuine friendship. Even then, he had fought to convince his father to send Rell with him. As for the man himself, Gabin had always been cautious around him, even more so than with other Ironborn. Rell Vessels was complicit in most of Harmund's atrocities and though whatever he had suffered through on the failed raid on Raylansfair had left him more quiet and temperate than before, it was unlikely a man such as him could ever truly change. “Get back in line, Strad”, he whispered. “The prince doesn't need to see you today” “Shame”, Harmund replied coldly. “And please, it's Harmund for you, spare me the titles and the fake politeness. We've fought side by side, we've killed side by side” By now, Gabin was close enough to see that Harmund was holding something in his hands. A linen sack, dark with fresh, wet blood. “I do not expect much of you, Viveka, even less of your house of thralls and salt wives”, he added, as he glanced down at the sack in his hands. “And yet, even then I am disappointed” He opened the sack and Gabin frowned as he saw what was in it. It was the severed head of a young man with long, dark hair. Rot had not yet distorted his features and there was no smell, proving that he had been killed recently. Harmund had grabbed the head by the hair, inspecting it carefully, while dropping the blood-stained sack. “This is what you present me with...”, he mumbled and Gabin could only understand him now because he stood so close to him. “This is the 'Riverborn' who has troubled you for so long, Viveka? The one who has sabotaged our presence in this land so effectively that even my dear father took note of him?” His voice was calm, deceptively so. Gabin had learned to grow cautious when Harmund was like this. Viveka seemed on the edge too. Lord Quellon Codd, her uncle, who resided as one of Harren's advisers in the capital, had spoken highly of her, praising her cunning and resourcefulness. At least she seemed intelligent enough not to relax around the crown prince and though he had her outnumbered quite clearly, she had armed men on the walls, archers and spearmen in a favourable position. Enough to make even Harmund think twice of losing his temper. “He knew this land better than my men ever did”, she stated. “He was patient and he had the smallfolk to hel him” Harmund chuckled. “So, you've been humiliated by a bunch of fishcunts, eh?”, he growled. “And then, you finally capture him. You must have known by then that I am on my way and yet, instead of presenting me with a living gift, you hand me... this” He looked around and Gabin bit down onto his lower lip as their gazes met. Harmund's smirk turned colder and decidedly more cruel. “Gabin! Gabin Strad, fancy meeting you here!”, he exclaimed. “Got something for you, catch!” With these words and without another warning, he threw the head at Gabin. The young man flinched and instinctively tried to dodge the gruesome trophy. It still grazed his shoulder, leaving a bloodstain on the dark vest he wore over his chainmail, before landing on the ground. Several of the Ironborn burst into laughter and one of them kicked the severed head further into the crowd, to the clear delight of Harmund. “By the Drowned God, you are pathetic!”, he exclaimed. “Told you to stay back, asshole”, Rell hissed, his expression barely containing a cold smirk. Harmund shook his head. “Let him stay, Rell”, he ordered and the other man saluted at once. “You want to hear, Gabin, don't you? I allow it. Hear my words and remember them well” He turned around and Gabin allowed himself a minor sigh of relief. If there was anything good that could be said about Harmund, it was that he had barely any interest in Gabin himself. Harlan hated him and it was likely that he had riled Harndon up by now. It was impossible to know what Harrick was thinking at any moment, but Harmund... for all his bravado, the man was just not very smart. Gabin could read him and he knew that the crown prince hated him no more than he hated every other Riverlander. He was the most dangerous of the four by far, but Gabin was confident that by keeping a close eye on him, he could avoid the crown prince in his foulest moments. He could survive him, all of them even. “Now, where were I?”, Harmund mumbled, as he glared at Viveka. The tall woman glared back, not with hostility in her gaze, but showing not even a hint of fear. “You knew I was coming, so you executed this one swiftly, before I could question him” Viveka shrugged. “There is nothing to question”, she growled. “He is... was the Riverborn. He confessed, his crimes were deserving of death, so I gave it to him” Now, Harmund shook his head. “Death? Death is for murderers and rapists and general sons of bitches”, he hissed. “Those not of royal blood at least, huh?”, Viveka interjected and a gasp left Gabin's throat. Next to him, Alvarus took a step back, while Rell Vessels placed a hand on his sword. Though the Ironborn on the far end of the courtyard were still chatting, unable to hear a word of their conversation, the ones around Harmund and Viveka fell dead silent. A tense moment passed, as the crown prince and the Lady of Faronhall glared at each other. Harmund took a step forward and he placed one hand on Viveka's shoulder. “You amuse me, Codd”, he hissed, his voice showing not even a hint of amusement. “Truly, you do” “I'm not here to amuse you, nor entertain you, Hoare”, Viveka replied calmly. “You have come for the Riverborn and here he is. I killed him for his crimes and you can be certain that death will await all who ever helped him” Harmund shook his head. “Death is not what he deserved”, he growled. “Men like him, they can serve a purpose still. They can serve as examples of what happens to those who earn the Black Blood's wrath. Rebels, insurgents... those who lack respect for their betters. In Harrenhal, we give those to the dungeons. To Holt Torv and to my baby brother Harlan” “Here in Faronhall we kill them”, Viveka replied firmly. “I have no use for examples, I need good and obedient men under my command and nothing else” She and the crown prince were now openly glaring at each other. Not for the first time, Gabin was concerned about Harmund's plans for this keep. Why would he bring so many soldiers with him? Why else, but to use them? “In Harrenhal, we have find use for them”, Harmund stated. “In fact, I have brought a gift with me. My father has asked me to make some introductions. A reminder of what happens to those who displease him. To those who fail him. I was hoping to give your Riverborn a similar treatment, turn him into an example instead of a martyr. A stern warning never to cross the Kings of the Isles and the Rivers” He glanced over his shoulder, now looking at Rell. “What are you standing there for, Vessels?”, he asked. “Go, fetch Flinch” Gabin frowned, whereas Rell merely saluted in front of his prince, before heading deeper into the crowd. “Flinch!”, he roared. “Where are you, you ugly piece of shit?” Harmund's smirk widened into a dangerous grin, whereas Viveka's expression was stern and serious. “What is this going to be, Harmund?”, she asked. “I'm not in the mood for games” “Oh, but this is no game”, Harmund clarified. “Take it as you will. A reminder, perhaps a warning. My father has bestowed a great honour on your lowly family by granting them this castle and the surrounding lands. I am not as generous as he is and he will not remain king forever. One of these days, all of my bannermen will have to prove their worth to me. It'd be good for you to have made an impression by then. Under these circumstances, you may consider this... demonstration a gift” By now, Rell had returned from the crowd, dragging with him the most pitiful man Gabin had ever seen. Unlike many, he had not been at Harrenhal to see him before the torture and he hadn't become close to Harlan before the process was nearly done. He remembered, however, Harlan Hoare and Holt Torv in the dungeons, a near-broken man strapped to the table, as they took one of his remaining fingers. Even before the torture, he hadn't been a tall man. Now, he walked hunched over and was barely more than skin and bones, haggard and frail. The rags on his body were hardly enough to cover up the deep scars on his arms and legs, on his entire body. Several of his fingers were missing and some of his toes as well, especially on his right foot, leaving him with a notable limp and depending on an old, stiff cane. Whatever handsomeness the man once had was long gone, his face gaunt and wrinkled, his hair grey and prematurely balding. Perhaps most gruesomely was the gaping hole where one of his eyes had been, his masters not even bothering with giving him something to cover it up. “Viveka Codd, meet Flinch”, Harmund introduced the broken man. “Flinch, this is Viveka” For a moment as she laid eyes upon him, the woman actually lost her composure. Her eyes widened as Rell dragged him before her, while the broken man himself barely dared to look at her with his one remaining eye. He was shivering as he stood so close next to Harmund and the moment the prince looked at him, he actually flinched. “Balon Blacktyde”, Viveka mumbled and Flinch weakly shook his head, still not raising his head. “I thought you tired of him years ago” Harmund sighed. “I? Yes, I did tire of him. Harlan has more patience than me though. He came up with the idea to make an example of him. I've been short-sighted back then, but now I see that he can still serve a purpose” He placed one hand on the man's shoulder, visibly enjoying the startled flinch that went through his body. “Isn't that right, Flinch?” Reluctantly, Flinch gave him a nod. “Y... yes”, he mumbled. “Th... thank... you” Harmund smirked, as he heavily clenched his shoulder. “Good boy”, he growled, before he looked back at Viveka. “You've known him as he used to be” The woman gave him a nod, without taking her eyes off the pitiful man next to him. “Balon...”, she sighed. “Do you remember me?” Immediately, Flinch shook his head. “Please, no...”, he gasped. “I don't... I don't... I don't...” Viveka frowned. “The last I heard was that your father brought him to the dungeons. I thought you would have killed him by now”, she mumbled. Harmund shook his head. “That wretch deserves worse than that”, he growled. “Flinch here, back when we called him Balon, walked up to the gates of Harrenhal and demanded my head. Mine! As if it was something he could just demand” “You raped his wife”, Viveka stated and Harmund nodded without even a hint of shame. “I saw something I liked, so I took it”, he growled. “It is my right as the crown prince. Balon was angered, of course, but instead of swallowing his pride, he gathered his pitiful host and forced my father's hand” He glared at the man now and Flinch flinched. “In a way, I should be grateful. See, father was furious when I heard of what I had done to Balon's woman. Almia Drumm... hm, sometimes I still remember her. Flinch does too, when he thinks nobody's watching” The other man was trembling now, biting down onto his lower lip with his remaining teeth, while Harmund continued. “Father was willing to punish me and compensate him. Not with my head, of course, but with some coin, perhaps even a goat to keep him warm at night”, the prince hissed. “Now though, after he so openly challenged the king's authority... Balon's impulsiveness was his undoing. I would have been fine with just killing him, but father gave him to Harlan and to Holt Torv. Took him almost a year to break him, but if there's one thing Harlan is good for, it's tormenting those beneath him” “By the Drowned God...”, Viveka gasped and for a moment, she seemed genuinely shaken by the sight in front of her. She collected herself quickly though, faster than usual for someone who had just seen Flinch for the first time. “What is this all about, Harmund?”, she asked. “You brought him all the way with you and for what? To make thinly veiled threats?” “Not threats, no”, Harmund replied coldly. “Consider this a demonstration. This is what I wanted for your Riverborn and this is what will happen to all who challenge my authority” With these words, he glared from Viveka to Gabin, who tensed up. “Gabin Strad!”, he exclaimed. “Come, take a step forward” His grin grew truly malicious. “Don't be shy” Gabin did as he was told and in return, Harmund took a step towards him as well. The prince mustered him from head to toe. “Gabin here may not look the part, but he's actually a traitor”, he growled and this time, Gabin flinched. Behind the prince's back, Viveka narrowed her eyes. “He came close to killing my father and my lackwit brother. With him around, Torvin Breaker would have succeeded. I could have been king already” His tone was calm and neutral, but Gabin could see the anger in his gaze. This time, he was not sure if Harmund was angry he even tried to kill the king or angry that he failed. “My father spared your life and Lord Orkwood seems to prefer a different punishment for you”, the prince continued. “He thinks I give a damn about what he wants, that this is the reason why you won't end up like Flinch here” He turned to the broken man, who avoided his gaze. By now, Flinch was shivering uncontrollably, his hands trembling as Harmund took a step to the side. “But I have my own reasons and they have nothing to do with what the dwarf wants”, the prince hissed. “You are not better than Flinch in any way. You are just as obedient, just as cowardly as him. This is your saving grace” Gabin glanced down at his clenched fists and he knew that by now, he was trembling as badly as Flinch, much to Harmund's amusement. “You pity this wretch, you think me cruel for harming him, but when your betters give you an order, you are following it without hesitation, no matter what”, the prince explained and even though he felt sick at hearing these words, Gabin could not deny that they were true. “That is the reason why I'm keeping you around. You can teach all of us a lesson in obedience” As he spoke, he glared at Viveka. “Now, punch him” Gabin gulped. “My... my prince?”, he asked and Harmund rolled his eyes. He placed one hand on Flinch's shoulder and the broken man winced. He did not even try to break free, however. “You heard me”, Harmund replied calmly. “Punch him. Hurt him without holding back” Gabin hesitated and in his stead, Alvarus stepped up. “My prince, is this really...”, the young man began. Without warning and certainly without holding back, Harmund cut him off by punching him in the face. Alvarus staggered back, gasping in pain, one hand pressed on his nose, with blood seeping through his fingers. “Do not interrupt me, Alvarus”, he hissed, only briefly breaking eye contact with Gabin, before focussing on him again. There was a darkness in his eyes, not just the colour, but what could be seen behind it. “Come on, Gabin”, he spoke. “Don't make me ask you again” He took a step to the side and Flinch remained standing. The tortured man could not even keep eye contact. Gabin hadn't known him before, but he could hardly imagine a more pitiful sight. Viveka, however, seemed more angry than intimidated. “What is this supposed to prove?”, she spat. “Just put him out of his misery” And yet, there was concern in her voice. It was true, Gabin felt pity for this man, not just for his fate, but for how easily he himself could have shared it. He would not refuse Harmund's offer. And yet, Flinch was thin and weak, barely able to stand even with his cane, whereas Gabin was a trained soldier, more than capable of fulfilling his duties in Lord Orkwood's household guard. He could probably kill him with one well-aimed punch. But perhaps he didn't even need to. He would not refuse Harmund's demands, that would be just foolish, but perhaps he didn't have to be so harsh. A light punch could have just the effect the prince desired without further harming Flinch. But if Harmund would find out... there was little Gabin feared more than the crown prince's wrath. Could he truly take this risk? [Punch him without holding back] [Punch him lightly]
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Post by drdestroyer18 on Jun 9, 2021 9:14:54 GMT
[Swear it] [Punch him lightly]
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Post by GMS Freeman on Jun 9, 2021 13:23:26 GMT
[Swear it]
[Punch him without holding back]
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Post by diversegnu on Jun 9, 2021 17:04:00 GMT
[Swear it]
[Punch him without holding back]
Yes! Ironborns! I really liked Edrick's little dream sequence, he was a character that was quite hard for me to connect to as a POV, and this helped a lot. I certainly won't be so eager to throw him into harm's way in the future. Also I'm super thrilled to meet more Ironborn characters, Harmund never disappoints, and Alvarus Orkwood seems like an interesting guy too.
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Post by InGenNateKenny on Jun 9, 2021 21:02:24 GMT
[Swear it] I like Viveka too much to want her hurt.
[Punch him without holding back] Yes, let's beat Ree-Flinch to a pulp because that's what friends are for right? /s
Rest in paradise, sweet prince.
I am SHOCKED and horrified that Dimitri the Wise was not the POV. What a massive missed opportunity for creative, meaningful storytelling. Sad!
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Louk
New Member
Posts: 43
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Post by Louk on Jun 16, 2021 17:48:02 GMT
[Swear it]
[Punch him without holding back]
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jun 21, 2021 22:16:25 GMT
[Swear it] [Punch him without holding back] Yes! Ironborns! I really liked Edrick's little dream sequence, he was a character that was quite hard for me to connect to as a POV, and this helped a lot. I certainly won't be so eager to throw him into harm's way in the future. Also I'm super thrilled to meet more Ironborn characters, Harmund never disappoints, and Alvarus Orkwood seems like an interesting guy too. Indeed, more Ironborn! There are a lot of characters that I still need to introduce or develop a bit more in the chapters to come, so I realized a long time ago that another PoV character will be needed to properly do them justice and that Gabin would be the best to fill this particular role, for reasons that should become clearer in the future. Alvarus and Flinch are just two of the new characters that will play a role in Gabin's storyline, but I also plan on further developing Harmund and some of the other Ironborn characters, including some who really have been neglected so far. Fun fact about Gabin, one of his parts to come will include one of the very first scenes I planned when I came up with the story. Of course, that was before he himself had been submitted too, so part of his storyline was written around one of the first ideas I had and to think that after almost seven years of writing, we're fairly close to that scene at last is making me super excited for his storyline. As for Edrick, that was one thing I really aimed for with this part. I remember hearing something similar to what you said before, that Edrick is a character difficult to connect to and in retrospect, I agree. Were I to plan the story all over again, I'd probably even change the PoV role in that storyline to another character (Dante or even Leo might be fairly good choices, they have very rich backstories and I assume that seeing things from their respective viewpoints would lead to fairly big changes to how either character is perceived), but now he is an established character already and I hope to make the best out of it so that the readers can warm up to him. I'm glad this part helped with this goal, there might be more glimpses of his past and what made him into the man he is today in the future.
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jun 21, 2021 22:19:01 GMT
[Swear it] I like Viveka too much to want her hurt. [Punch him without holding back] Yes, let's beat Ree-Flinch to a pulp because that's what friends are for right? /s Rest in paradise, sweet prince. I am SHOCKED and horrified that Dimitri the Wise was not the POV. What a massive missed opportunity for creative, meaningful storytelling. Sad! Dimitri Dimitri awoke at the first light of dawn, as he usually did. It was calm around him, here in the forest. A few planks above him were all the shelter he needed from heavy rain, while a blanket draped around the trees that surrounded him were all the shelter he needed from wind. And yet, he could feel it in his bones. It would get cold soon. Winter was coming. “Ah, good morning, Hildemara”, the old man spoke, as he spotted his trusty pigeon on the ground, pecking at something in the underbrush. The old girl had gotten fat lately, almost too fat to fly. She had been his companion for most of the summer and the passing autumn, but he knew without a doubt that she would not live to see spring again. Perhaps neither would he, but his own fate was still up in the air. All he knew before that was that he would have a hearty pigeon stew before spring. Hildemara was looking at him now as he approached her. She was cooing gently as he picked her up, before resting on his shoulder, somewhere between the thick, long beard that he had grown over the course of this summer. That's how he had done it for many decades, grow his beard during summer to keep him warm and raise a nice pigeon to keep him company. It was remarkable how easy a pigeon could be tamed with a gentle hand and a lot of patience. “I have been thinking, Hildemara”, he spoke, as he began to walk from his makeshift shelter. Others would call it a desolate sight, but not Dimitri. For him, this small patch deep in the woods was all he ever needed. Here, none disturbed him, not without reason at least and those who came usually left small gifts even, all just to listen to his wisdom. At least that's how it had been in the past. Now, very few came. Most of the time, Dimitri was left alone, wandering through the woods, with Hildemara and his own thoughts as his only companions. He remembered a girl from the Vale and her companions. Maya and... He paused and a small frown formed on his face. “I forgot their names”, he mumbled. “It's been a while, yes, but haven't I always taken pride in my memory?” It felt like years since this chance encounter in the woods, even though he knew it had been only a few short months since then. There had been others, men whom Dimitri knew how to hide from. That Maya girl, she had been different from them, a bit startled by him, of course, but otherwise decent. Not the others though. The men she had fled from. And, of course, there was the other man who had visited him from time to time. They rarely spoke, but it had been immediately clear to Dimitri that they had a lot in common. Both of them enjoyed solitude and silence, they both preferred simple lives, taking what the forest so freely provided to them instead of slaving away under some lord or king in the world beyond these trees. And like him, this other man had a soft spot for animals, treating them with the utmost kindness. During their last meeting, about three months ago, they had exchanged names even. Dimitri had revealed his name to him, after which the stranger had finally introduced himself as Wolfius. He had not come to this spot ever since. “This Wolfius, he seems like a nice man”, Dimitri spoke and Hildemara cooed in approval. At least Dimitri thought it was approval. He was not fluent in pigeon, he was not crazy after all. “If anything ever happens to me, I want you to go and find him”, he continued. “He will take good care of you. Yes, he seems like a nice man” They continued their way through the forest, a man and his pigeon. Today, Dimitri's goal was to collect dry firewood, for it would surely be a cold night, not one he could suffer through without a warm fire. His supplies were dwindling too. Perhaps he'd even have to leave his woods to go to the city once again, so that he could... acquire some necessary tools and dry food for the coming winter. “Would you like that, Hildemara?”, he asked and his pigeon did not reply. “Going to the city, I mean, to Raylansfair. We could meet your brothers and sisters, perhaps catch some of them for a good meal” The thought of pigeon stew brought a smile to the old man's face. Of course, not all of them would be as fat and well-tended to as Hildemara was, but he knew how to make a proper meal out of them nonetheless. “I wonder what Maester Eaton has been doing lately”, he continued. “Perhaps I can meet him for a talk. Last time we spoke, Lord Robert hasn't been feeling too well. I wonder if they found a proper successor for him. Not that I fully understand why they need a lord at all. In some parts of Essos, they elect their officials instead, can you imagine that?” Hildemara gave him a blank stare and Dimitri rolled his eyes. “Of course you can imagine that, apologies, my love”, he added. In the distance, a wolf was howling and a frown formed on Dimitri's face. The wolves of this forest had never been his friends, unlike pigeons, squirrels and hedgehogs, but they had left him alone for the most part. And yet, something had changed lately. No matter how intensely he marked his territory, he had found wolf tracks within it more often in the last few months. The pack did not dare to approach his campfire yet, but Dimitri had felt their presence, heard their growls at night. They had a new alpha in these days, a huge, black beast from the North. Dimitri had seen it once, tall as a grown destrier and twice as heavy, a wolf so impossibly large that he had been unsure if it was a wolf at all, or perhaps a monster straight from the books he had read back when he had still been Maester Dimitri, back when the house he served had been more than just a fading name in a handful of history books. In the Age of Heroes, great warriors would have gathered to slay this beast. Now though, all he had seen had been a group of peasants once, woefully unprepared for such a fight. They had a silver-haired hunter with them, so Dimitri was certain at least some of them managed to survive, but that had never been his concern. The alpha wolf, however, he was certain it had seen him on that day. It had taken a long look right at him, through trees and the thick underbrush and Dimitri had noticed an unusual, spine-chilling intelligence within its gaze. Whatever the reason, it hadn't attacked him on that day and he hadn't seen it ever since. But its effect on the wolves of this forest was undeniable. Its mere presence was enough to drive them into a frenzy. At worst, Dimitri was prepared to even leave his sanctuary, to find another forest somewhere else, somewhere to the east. “There is another thing we could do while we're in the city, Hildemara”, he brought up and the pigeon was cooing softly, perhaps with renewed interest. She was a remarkable bird and he loved her with all his heart, for only she was ever truly willing to listen to his scattered thoughts. “I have been thinking about approaching a scribe”, he added. “Or perhaps to acquire some parchment of my own” The pigeon was looking up now and a wide, enthusiastic grin formed on Dimitri's face. “I have been thinking of writing down our little adventures, my love”, he revealed. “See, such few people have come to visit me lately, but I think they still remember me. No, I know they still remember me. I have a habit of leaving quite the impression, wouldn't you agree?” Hildemara agreed with a short coo. “Yes, exactly!”, Dimitri exclaimed. “Girl, you know exactly what to say. Of course they remember me! They probably wonder what happened to me. Maybe I should write down some of our adventures, so that they can see that I am still alive and well. Not all of it, of course, they don't need to read about me having stomach troubles or that time you puked into my beard. Just small parts of it every now and then” He paused, as a new and radical thought found its way into the old man's head. His eyes widened. “Perhaps... I don't know, this sounds like a terrible idea, but... you know how I'm often having trouble deciding on a good course of action? The trappings of a mind as vast and brilliant as my own, I'm afraid”, he continued. “But perhaps I could ask these people, the ones who are going to read about our little misadventures what to do. Free myself of the burden of choice and leave it to them. Now, what do you think about that?” Hildemara looked at him for a while, almost long enough for Dimitri to forget that she was just a pigeon and that he was just a half-crazy old man in a remote forest. Then, she cooed and Dimitri gave her a nod. “Yes, you are right as always”, he spoke. “I am alive, I am well and there are many adventures yet to come for the two of us. Perhaps our friends will read of them too, one day soon” A warm smile formed on his face. “Yes, I think I would like this very much” [No choices for this part]
Full disclaimer: I wrote this in half an hour, no I don't know what possessed me to do this and yes, I am surprised by how much fun this was.
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Post by InGenNateKenny on Jun 22, 2021 17:33:03 GMT
That was amazing! Truly stunning. Like seriously, it was very well-written for something that written on a whim in 30 minutes.
Dimitri was honestly so interesting. Former maester? Knows people? Friend of Wolfius? What an unexpected treat.
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jun 25, 2021 0:45:43 GMT
That was amazing! Truly stunning. Like seriously, it was very well-written for something that written on a whim in 30 minutes. Dimitri was honestly so interesting. Former maester? Knows people? Friend of Wolfius? What an unexpected treat. Glad you enjoyed it! I was hit with some inspiration and thought to myself, why shouldn't I write a Dimitri part as a writing excercise? It was a lot of fun and I may even revisit such an approach at a later point, sort of a semi-official part to show a character who hasn't been seen in a long while. Also, while this is not meant to be an official part of Chapter 4 and Dimitri won't be an official PoV anytime soon (even though I still have plans for him to appear in the story proper), the information revealed here is very much canonical, except for maybe that small meta thing at the end where he essentially decides to just write his own FoT storyline. He is a former maester, he was friends with Eaton (but hasn't been in Raylansfair for almost a full year, so he doesn't yet know what happened to Eaton, Robert and basically the entire city) and he is also one of the very few people who ever had a positive interaction with Wolfius. The two bonded over Wolfius' sole established positive character trait, his love for animals.
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jun 25, 2021 1:06:47 GMT
The Voting is closed!
Edrick is going to swear it
Gabin is going to punch Flinch without holding back Both of those votes have been decided on fairly clearly, so I am going to close the voting already even though the next part is not yet done. I'm sorry if anyone else wanted to vote, but I think the outcome is pretty clear. Edrick's choice is partially a character-building one, he is still very much a knight and indebted to Sylvi, so this is him acknowledging this and actually giving her a proper promise. Gabin's choice meanwhile is a pragmatic one. This is not something he likes doing (and Harmund knows it or else he wouldn't be forcing him), but he doesn't want to risk the crown prince's wrath. It might be a bit cowardly, sure, but no one can blame him for playing it safe with Harmund Hoare. The next part is hopefully going to be out this weekend. I have been super busy these last couple of days, so I must admit I have not made much progress with the part, but it's slowly coming along. Long story short is that my mother is at the hospital again and she's getting surgery tomorrow, it's nothing too serious (as in, nothing actively life-threatening, but it could have gotten to that point if left untreated) and it is supposedly a routine and low-risk surgery after which she's expected to make a full recovery, but the actual confirmation that it's not as bad as I feared came in just this morning. Until then, I really haven't been in a good writing mood, I hope you understand. Though I am still a bit nervous for tomorrow, I am feeling a lot better and I hope I'll be getting the part done before the end of this week, that's why I'm closing the voting now, to give you a small update when to expect the next part. And let me just say, I am looking forward for this part! It'll feature PoV's for Drent and Ellena, with the former returning to Storm's End after Lord Buckler's death during the Chapter 3 finale, whereas the latter is going to have a small change of scenery, as Aegon Targaryen and his court will leave their ancestral home of Dragonstone for a small patch of land previously belonging to Lord Rosby, where the king is currently constructing a wooden fort to serve as a temporary stronghold on the mainland of Westeros. Both parts are set roughly two weeks after we last saw them.
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jun 28, 2021 23:29:26 GMT
Ellena Compared to the huge, smooth keep that was Dragonstone, the wooden keep Ellena could see on the hill, just up the cliffs, was pitiful. It was small, a crude wood-and-earth keep surrounded by a small palisade, barely comparable to the ancient splendour of the Targaryen seat. And yet, King Aegon had seen something in this place, or else he wouldn't have landed here, else he wouldn't have made it his intended capital of a united Westeros. The peasants were already calling it the Aegonsfort and craftsmen from all of Blackwater Bay had already gathered here, in tents and makeshift huts, hoping to offer their service to the new king. It was almost a village and she had no doubt that in time, this rudimentary settlement could grow into a proper town even. That being said, as beautiful as the scenery was, from the strong cliffs that rose up from the narrow beach, to the stark pine trees that grew up there, the Aegonsfort itself was unsightly, hardly fit for a king. “I've always loved this view”, a voice behind her spoke and as she glanced over her shoulder, she noticed the thin, grey figure of Regis Rosby, wrapped in a fine, dark cloak to protect him from the sharp winds that troubled the coastline on this cloudy day. She did a curtsy, as Hemys had taught her and a kind smile appeared on the older man's face. “Lord Rosby”, she greeted him, averting her eyes as she spoke. “How may I help you?” Rosby chuckled, as he walked up next to her. His arms pulled his cloak tighter around his body and even then he was shivering. He seemed sickly to her, pale and grey. The coming winter would be a harsh one and he could surely use the warmer climate of Essos or of Dorne to get through it more easily. And yet, he was here, staring wistfully at the coastline. “Help?”, he asked. “I require no help of you, child. I merely wanted to speak” “To me?”, Ellena asked in surprise and Rosby gave her a nod. “To anyone who'd listen”, he clarified. “You are Lady Rhaenys' newest handmaiden, a lowborn foreigner on top of that. I doubt the high lords and ladies at King Aegon's court treat you with kindness” Ellena frowned, as she thought back to that night, to Visedar Solus. She hadn't seen him since and Gregor Harlaw only once from afar, but according to Cassandra, both were accompanying them to the Aegonsfort and she had seen Gregor's longship somewhere behind them as well. “I have not come here for kindness”, she replied. “Queen Rhaenys has given me an opportunity and I will not let anyone ruin it for me” Rosby raised an eyebrow. “Bold words for such a young girl”, he stated. “True words as well. Few want you around the queen. Many lords would rather have their daughters by the queen's side, while others don't trust you for being a Braavosi” “You do?”, Ellena asked, to which Rosby gave her a slight nod. “I see no reason to distrust a child”, he clarified. “In fact, I approve of Queen Rhaenys' decision. Sure, she could have taken Velaryon's daughter as her handmaiden, or Celtigar's niece, but she already has two handmaidens from families close to her own. As her handmaiden, your duties go above and beyond those of a mere servant” He turned away from the coastline now, giving her a stern, calm look. “You may not see it that way now, but in time you will become her confidante. Almost an advisor of sorts, there to listen to her most private thoughts, to offer your opinion on the most dire situations our queen is going to face. I believe there is value in giving such a position to an outsider, to a girl who has been through things a highborn lady couldn't... or at least shouldn't possibly imagine” “I don't know about that...”, Ellena began, but Lord Rosby shook his head. “You already have influenced the queen's decisions”, he claimed. “Think of the Red Priestess. If not for you, Lady Noelle would have had to leave the court and the presence of the king she so desperately seeks to serve. I cannot say I blame Grand Maester Wulvren for his animosity towards that woman, but at the same time, I believe she will have a role to play in the coming war and it may be best if she remains on our side” “Keeping her around... going with her after all she has done, it hasn't been an easy choice”, Ellena admitted and now, Rosby chuckled, as he leant onto the railing again. “Tell me about hard choices”, he mumbled, as he gazed upon the coastline. “This land has belonged to my family since the Andal Invasion. House Rosby has never been as strong as many of the great families of Westeros, but this land has given us considerable wealth and influence, at least in this small corner of the world” “Yet you have given it to the king?”, Ellena asked and Rosby nodded slowly. “I have always loved this view”, he sighed. “And this fort, it is unseemly” As he stared at the makeshift walls above them, a roar echoed across the bay, coming from somewhere behind them. It was followed by a second, then a third. Ellena was already familiar with these sounds, but nothing would ever prepare her for the sight that followed. She grabbed the railing, as she felt the mighty wings above her, two dozen feet above the sail and yet strong enough to shake the entire ship. Balerion, followed by Meraxes and Vhagar, the king and his queens atop. The three dragons and their mounts circled over the Aegonsfort, while Balerion let out another deep, rumbling roar. “It would be easy for me to claim that I fear them”, Rosby spoke. “I do. Any sane man would fear the dragon. But that was not why I have bent the knee on that day, or why I have so freely given part of my land. Fear did not move me on that day and fear does not keep me by the king's side” Ellena could barely look at him, as she instead stared at the three beasts that were flying over the bay. “What was it then?”, she asked. “I do not expect you to understand, child, but I am an old man”, he explained. “This winter will be a long one, several years at least. More importantly, it will be my last. My father has served House Durrandon, yet he has never seen the Storm King. I have served Harren Hoare, a king I neither know nor like. What I have heard of him paints him as a tyrant of the worst order. It is one of my few regrets that my taxes, modest as they have been, have served to enable this man and the cruel grip with which he holds the Riverlands. Yet I was just one tiny piece of his reign, ignorable at best and I know that no matter what I could have done in my lifetime, I would have never been more than a footnote to tyranny. I resist, he'll burn all I hold dear without even sparing me a second thought. I comply and life goes on, dreary and... mediocre” “The king showed you a better way”, Ellena realized and Rosby confirmed her suspicions with a nod. “I believe that Aegon will prevail in the end. Few share my opinion, but more see the truth with each passing day” He looked up and at the three dragons. “A man bold enough to ride such a beast can achieve anything he can dream of”, he sighed. “One day, a hundred years from now, a mighty city will stand here, the capital of a united Westeros. Castle Rosby will be half a day's ride away from this new capital and my descendants will have the ear of future kings just as I have King Aegon's ear now” “So it was pragmatism?”, Ellena asked and once again, Rosby shook his head. “Not entirely”, he told her. “Just like you have grown fond of our silver queen, I must admit that I have grown to admire King Aegon. He is young and perhaps a bit overzealous, but he's a good and just man. He cares for his subjects and his dreams, lofty as they are, are well-intentioned. I have spent decades serving a faceless tyrant. Just once before I die, I would like to serve a king I truly believe in, a good man worthy of my loyalty” He stared at the coastline in silence and Ellena could only guess what a mixture of emotions had to be flooding through him right now, as he looked at the unsightly keep and at the flag above, a flag he had sworn his loyalty to without hesitation, the first lord of many. There was definitely pride on his face, but not just that. “I think I am finally where I am needed”, Rosby mumbled. He looked at her and his smile returned, thin, but genuine and kind. “And so are you, child. You may not feel that way yet, but trust me, you are appreciated by the queen's side” They were brought ashore on small, crowded boats, Ellena sitting side by side with Hemys and Cassandra. The dragons were already waiting for them, Meraxes looking at them with mild interest, whereas Balerion and Vhagar didn't seem to be bothered by the boats at all. The bond they had with their riders was remarkable, as they remained calm and still with Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys by their side, but Ellena had heard the stories, how they indulged themselves on the wildlife of Dragonstone and sometimes of Crackclaw Point. The darkest of those stories claimed that it wasn't just wildlife they consumed. Cassandra climbed from the boat with ease, but Ellena actually had to help Hemys to the shore. The girl clutched her stomach, a serious frown on her face, as she staggered through the sand. “I hate boats”, she mumbled and Ellena had to chuckle at the expression on her face. “Would you rather ask the queen if you could accompany her on her next ride?”, she asked. Hemys grimaced. “I think I'd hate that even more”, she muttered. “I can only hope we'll stay here for a while. Seven Curses, I've had enough of boats for months” A small group of riders made their way down the steep path that led up to the Aegonsfort and behind them, a larger crowd had gathered, craftsmen and serfs who quite clearly all wanted to get a closer look at the dragons. The riders, however, weren't onlookers, but their welcoming party. Four men were heavily armoured, with cloaks of black and red draped around their shoulders. They carried banners with them and Ellena recognized them from her studies. As a handmaiden, Hemys had told her, she had to learn the basics about the houses that were sworn to House Targaryen. The three-headed dragon was but one of those banners, the others belonged to House Celtigar and House Stokeworth. There was a fourth banner, one she did not recognize, strands of green over a field of gold, with a thick, wavy line of green in its centre. “House Hayford”, Cassandra explained, having noticed Ellena's curious gaze. “Lord Hosteen Hayford is seventy years old and doesn't like hasty decisions. When King Aegon's ambassador came, he asked for a month to contemplate, during which he will remain neutral in the war. Looks like he made the right choice” The man who led the riders was the only one she remembered, if barely, from her arrival at King Aegon's court. He was stout and bald, with a thick, golden-blonde moustache. Even though it was not a hot day by any means, he was sweating notably, as he descended from his horse. “Your Grace!”, he exclaimed. “My queens! Splendid to have you here at last!” Aegon extended a hand and instead of kneeling down in front of his king, the stout man grabbed it and shook it enthusiastically. “Lord Celtigar!”, Aegon exclaimed, his tone almost jolly and most certainly pleased to see his most loyal bannerman once again. He glanced over the banners. “I see Lord Hayford has decided to join us at last” “Took him long enough, eh?”, Celtigar growled. “But credit where it's due, the old man came here in person. He's been waiting for two weeks to bend the knee to you” Aegon gave him a nod. “I bear no ill will towards him for keeping me waiting”, he proclaimed. “I'd rather have a cautious man who thinks my offer through and then becomes a loyal bannerman instead of a hasty turncoat whose loyalty changes with the tides” “He will not disappoint you, your grace”, Lord Rosby interjected. “Lord Hosteen is a man of integrity and his house can muster three hundred soldiers for your cause” He paused, as he looked up the cliff and at the dozens of peasants who had gathered there. “Soldiers we will surely need once King Harren has mustered his full strength” “Then I shall meet with him at once!”, the king proclaimed. “Lead the way, Crispian, you can show me the improvements to our fortifications while we're at it. And send your servants to prepare rooms for my wives and my household” He glanced over the servants who were slowly getting from their boats and briefly, his gaze met Ellena's, as he and his entourage started moving. The three dragons remained unattended for, but the girl knew perfectly well that they didn't need “Already done that, your grace”, Celtigar replied. “We weren't sure how many people you'd travel with, so I allowed myself to prepare all of our available guest rooms” The thought of a proper bed after a week sharing a small bunk with the other two handmaidens brought a sigh to Ellena's throat and it got her the attention of her queen. Rhaenys slowed down a bit, glancing over her shoulder with a mischievous smile. “You have seen better days”, she remarked, especially focussing on Hemys, who was still a bit pale. “Admittedly, my queen”, Ellena confirmed, earning herself a chuckle from Rhaenys. “Why don't you take a few hours off?”, she replied. “I will need you during the evening hours and I will need you at your full capacity, so rest until then. Relax and recover” She gazed at Hemys. “And since I know you will not do it on your own, little lady, consider that an order” “So we got time off?”, Cass asked at once and Rhaenys gave her a nod. “Can I see the Great Hall then? I want to be there when the king takes Lord Hayford's oath of fealty” Rhaenys hesitated for a moment, before she sighed. “If you consider this your definition of time off, then yes, I permit it”, she admitted. “But Hemys, you really need to get some rest. You're not made for such a journey, aren't you?” Hemys frowned. “I'm...”, she began, before she paused. “Perhaps I can get some rest” Rhaenys smiled brightly, pleased with the girl's reply, before she turned to Ellena. “And what would you like to do, my dear?”, she asked. “You have the afternoon for yourself as well, just...” Her smile grew thinner, as she glanced around. There were many people here, peasants and sellswords and soldiers, countless new faces, all trying to get a glimpse of the dragon king and his silver queens. “Just... do me a favour and stay with one of the others. Either go to your room and keep an eye on Hemys, or stay with Cass where I can see you”, she added. “There's a lot of people here and I don't like how some of them are looking at you. I'll have a word with my husband about what to do, but until then, don't head off alone” [Go with Cassandra] [Go with Hemys]
Drent “When I sent you to Bronzegate, it was to aid one of my most trusted bannermen, one of my oldest friends”, King Argilac intoned. The Storm King was sitting at his table, clad in his finest vest of black and yellow, though a rarity for him, he did not wear any chainmail beneath. On his head, he wore the huge crown of his ancestors and around his shoulders, a heavy black cloak. The Storm Princess sat to his right and like her father, Argella was clad in the colours of her house. Her dress was yellow and adorned by a high fur collar, her hair tied up into a high bun and crowned by a small, silver circlet with two tiny antlers on top. Even in this dim light, she easily outshone her father and the plain knights that sat by their side, from Baron Schodek to Landry Swann. And for the entire duration of this ceremony, if it was a ceremony at all, she hadn't even looked at Drent. Finally, Maester Qoherys, who stood behind and between the king and the princess. Once again, Drent realized how unusual this maester was, for his tall build and firm posture made him seem more like a soldier than a scholar. He had his arms crossed behind his back, his long mane of silver hair tied back behind his head. And yet, there was something on his face that made Drent shiver. He hadn't seen it before, but in this light, there was an undeniable similarity to Quingar... Quingar Qoherys... Just what was the maester's relationship to the brute and to House Qoherys? But the Storm King knew about it, didn't he? He had to... right? “Now Benedict is dead, an army nearly took my most important border fortress and with it would have nearly opened my kingdom to the dragonlord and his men”, the king continued, as he glared down at Emphryus Dresfel, who had knelt in front of the table. Behind him was Drent, side by side with the Bernile siblings and behind them were the men who had accompanied them to Bronzegate, some of them still bearing the injuries they had suffered at the hands of Quingar and his treacherous men. Quingar Qoherys himself had been brought to the dungeons, grinning like a madman to the bitter end. The Storm King would not let him die easily, but there was no doubt that he would execute him in the end. Even this thought of death did not scare the brute, for he had succeeded in the end. The last fragile chance at peace they could have had was gone now. Aegon was rightfully crying for blood after what had happened to his ambassador, but now, so was Argilac. “Had you not sent us, your grace, Bronzegate would have fallen”, Emphyrus replied. “These soldiers are heroes. The Targaryen traitors would have taken the keep, massacred its people and opened the way for a larger invasion force. Lord Buckler's death is tragic, but I swear, we'll make those bastards pay for it” Argilac was quiet for a moment, unusually for such a loud man, before he gave him a firm nod. “That we will, Ser Emphryus, that we will”, he growled, before he rose from his seat. “I mourn for my friend Benedict and the good men who lost their lives trying to defend Bronzegate from an enemy who lacks all honour” That was not true, at least not entirely. Sure, what Quingar had done had been as dishonourable as possible. Drent was not naïve and he knew that war was rarely fought with virtue, but even then, slaying a man in his own home after accepting his bread and salt... there were murderers who'd draw the line at that and to think that a knight would stoop so low... and yet, Orys Baratheon had defended the honour of his king on that day. Not all of the Targaryen forces were without honour, as he had proven. But Drent could see the expression on King Argilac's face quite clearly. The last thing he wanted to hear was that the bastard knight was a good man, that there was still honour and virtue on the Targaryen side. “You claim they are heroes then...”, Argilac growled and briefly, Argella threw a sideways glance at her father. The look in her eyes was cold and Drent knew her long enough to see the barely contained fury within her gaze. In comparison, the king was calm, but that was probably deceptive. “I agree”, he spoke at last and the tension that held the hall in its grip slowly eased a little. “You have all risked your lives for our kingdom. Those who are not with you anymore have given even more than that” He rose the chalice in front of him. “Hail the victors!”, he barked. “The living and the dead. Hail the Stormlands!” “And hail Argilac!”, Ser Emphryus exclaimed, as he rose from his kneeling position, only to salute in front of his king. “Storm King!” Now, the soldiers rose as well. “Storm King!”, they yelled. “Storm King!” Only Argella remained seated, not taking her chilling gaze off her father. Something had happened between them and Drent could only imagine that it had to do with her trick at the tournament. She had not just humiliated her suitors, but her father as well and Argilac's pride was probably the only aspect of him that could rival his undisputable love for his daughter. “So then, Victors of Bronzegate!”, the Storm King continued. “Tonight is your night. There will be a mighty feast for you, so eat and drink as much as you want and then some more. Be merry, for yourselves and for those who can no longer be here tonight. Tomorrow, a new dawn will rise and with it comes a glorious war. Targaryen, Baratheon, Velaryon, those traitors of Massey and Bar Emmon... we'll crush them all. Their weakness shows in the cheap attack they launched on Bronzegate, but make no mistake, they will pay for it tenfold” As the king spoke, Argella leant closer to her father and now that he was finished, with the soldiers in front of him bursting into cheers of joy and gratitude, she whispered something into his ear. Briefly, his expression matched her own, cold and visibly unhappy, before he gave her a nod. Now, just for a second, the Storm Princess glanced at Drent, before she rose from her seat. “There is another urgent matter”, the king proclaimed, before his stern gaze met Drent's. The look within his eyes was inscrutable, but Drent instinctively tensed up. “Drent Golton” Drent saluted in front of his king, as Argella turned away from them. Without another word, the Storm Princess left the Great Hall, while the king looked after her. Then, he sighed. “Before you returned, I received a letter from Bronzegate”, he growled. “Two letters, in fact. One from Lord Buckler, the new Lord Buckler. The other is from Warrick Fell” Now, Argilac narrowed his eyes. “Both of them mention you by name”, he added. “I'm sure you can imagine why” Unfortunately, Drent could, at least guess why Warrick would mention him. “We will talk about this in private”, the king snarled. “Ser Landry, with me. Baron, you have the hall until I return” He looked from his loyal knights to Drent and now, there was clear disapproval on his face. “Follow me, soldier” Drent gulped, as he watched the king and Ser Landry leave the Great Hall. Before he could follow them, Emphryus held him back for a second. “I think I know what this is about”, he spoke and he lowered his tone. “Worry not. King Argilac might rant at you for a bit, but Argella bears responsibility for this. She won't blame you for something she came up with” He gave him an encouraging nod, while Torrence gave him a warm pat on the back. “Heads up, Golton”, the soldier spoke. “We'll have your back, no matter what happens” Their support brought a small smile to Drent's face, but the thought of having to face the Storm King was still a grim prospect. Nonetheless, he hurried after his king, leaving the Great Hall through one of the staircases on the far end, behind the high table. It was dark there, with only a sparse few torches illuminating the path up, to the king's private rooms. Drent himself had never been there, few common soldiers had, but this was where King Argilac spoke to foreign dignitaries, to his lords and close friends. “Walk with me, Golton”, a voice called out for him in the darkness and Drent placed one hand on where his sword would usually be, before he recognized the figure that approached him from up the stairs. “Maester Qoherys”, he greeted him and the man gave him a nod. “I have read Ser Emphryus' account and Lord Buckler's letter”, the Valyrian replied. “It seems your quick thinking is the only reason Bronzegate still stands” “I... had help”, Drent admitted, immediately noticing the knowing smirk on Qoherys' face. “From Orys Baratheon, I presume”, he deduced. “Don't look so surprised. Ser Orys is known for his honour, yet he is barely mentioned in Emphryus' report. Instead, the full blame is placed on Quingar. It was clear that Ser Orys would not stand for my great-nephew's deception” “Your... great-nephew?”, Drent gasped and Qoherys gave him a nod, as the two climbed up the stairs together. “Of course there is a connection between my name and Quingar's family”, the maester confirmed. “The Storm King is well aware of this connection. Hiding it would be foolish. In fact, I am the founder of my house” “You used to serve the Dragonlord?”, he asked and Qoherys shook his head. “I used to serve his father”, he clarified. “You don't need to know what moved me to abandon my family in favour of the Citadel, to forsake the house I so pridefully named after myself. Just know that Quingar is my great-nephew and that there is no love lost between me and this short-sighted brute” “Does the Storm King see it that way?”, Drent asked, to which Qoherys gave him a nod. “Me and King Argilac don't always see eye to eye, but I respect him and vice versa. When he learned of my family ties, we came to an agreement”, the maester confirmed. “But I need to know, not from Ser Emphryus and his loyalty-clouded mind or from the new Lord Buckler, who grieves for his father, but from you, a simple soldier who became the hero of Bronzegate... is Quingar solely responsible for what happened there?” Drent didn't even have to think about this question. “Without a doubt”, he confirmed. Qoherys was quiet after this, only sighing once. “How regretful”, he mumbled. “I haven't seen my great-nephew since he was a babe. Though I have forsaken my family, it still pains me to know that he has become the opposite of all the virtues I tried to teach my kin” “And what virtues would that be?”, Drent asked. Beneath Qoherys' long, silky beard, a clever smile formed. “Intelligence”, he replied. “The ability to plan ahead. Honour too, though my definition probably differs from yours. Needless to say, Quingar has none of these traits, if your reports are true. He remains my kin in name only, but he still shames me” By now, they had reached the end of the staircase and a new sound reached Drent's ears. It was shouting, the unmistakable tone of Argella in anger. The Storm Princess was arguing about something, but from here, it was impossible to make out any words. A second voice was there, loud as well, but calmer. King Argilac, most likely. Their argument came from behind a closed door at the end of the hallway. Aside from Drent and Qoherys, no one was in sight. “It seems they're at it again”, Qoherys stated. “One could easily think they'd hate each other with a passion and yet, I have never seen a bond as strong as the one between the Storm Princess and her father” He smirked. “King Argilac is old and this coming war might be his last”, he stated. “But Argella? Woe to the man who tries to tame her, with that temper of hers” “What are they arguing about?”, Drent asked and Qoherys shrugged. “If I had to guess, it is about what the Storm King wishes to discuss with you”, he stated. “Not that I would know for certain. They are royalty and listening to their conversation would be thoroughly indecent, wouldn't you agree?” As Drent gave him a nod, the maester turned around, to his surprise. “Good, I trust you know how to behave yourself”, Qoherys continued. “I have all I needed to know. Now, excuse me, I think the king mentioned a feast in the Great Hall” “You're leaving?”, Drent asked and Qoherys gave him a nod, as he began to walk back to the staircase. “King Argilac requested your presence, not mine”, he clarified. “And a man in my position has to take whatever opportunity he can get for indulgence. Who knows when my guidance will be needed next” As he reached the staircase, he glanced over his shoulder. “Though, if you care for my aid, do not burst in right now”, he added, as the argument between Argella and her father grew louder. By now, Drent could almost make out specific words. “Wait until the princess storms out. Else it would look like you spied on their conversation. And trust me, this would not end well for you, soldier” He left Drent alone in the hallway and soon, only the heated words between Argella and her father were audible. Drent was standing several feet away from the door and yet he could almost listen to what they had to say. Could Qoherys be right? Was this about him? If so... perhaps it wouldn't hurt to take a step closer. He could always later deny having heard anything, but if this was about him, then he had to know. And yet, Qoherys' warning was still fresh. He had been overstepping his position more than once already. Perhaps it would be best to just wait for them to finish, from a respectful distance at that... [Listen to their conversation] [Take a few steps back to avoid listening]
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Louk
New Member
Posts: 43
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Post by Louk on Jun 29, 2021 6:29:49 GMT
[Go with Cassandra] I feel like this is the most interesting option here, going to watch the oath of fealty will definitely be more exciting than having a chat with Hemys and resting. If nothing else, there's bound to be some cool people around doing cool people things.
[Listen to their conversation] Eh, why not.
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Post by drdestroyer18 on Jun 29, 2021 8:11:45 GMT
[Go with Cassandra] [Take a few steps back to avoid listening]
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Post by diversegnu on Jun 30, 2021 9:21:46 GMT
[Go with Hemys] [Listen to their conversation] Never pass up an opportunity to snoop, Drent. I really like Lord Rosby, hope we see more of him.
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