Welcome to A Song of Revenge and Gold: House Malroy Quest. In which you take the reins of a House of storied glorious past since Aegon’s Conquering, but whose fortunes have taken a turn for the worse in the doom that Robert’s Rebellion brought. Taking place in 284AC a year after the Rebellion has ended you are Brynden Malroy, second son to Lord Vamos Malroy and Lady Esemella Hayford and the last living heir to Steadhold and House Malroy.
House Malroy is a pre-genned House designed around the idea of a story within the Crownlands of a House fiercely loyal to the Targaryens and their attempts to live in this new world after Robert’s Rebellion. The new Lord Brynden Malroy is as well pre-genned but will take direction from the players in his ways and how he develops himself further. This Quest will be moderately more story driven than others of its kind, but the development of the House and her lands will take just as much importance.
If you’ve played one of the many Quests within the ASoIaF setting the rules of the SIFRP system should be known. I will be using the Game of Thrones edition, as well as a few of the expansions namely OOSP and a few house rules which will be explained as we come to them. If you have questions about how things work or why certain actions are taken I can explain them as we go along. In truth this is a learning experience for me as well.
Google Documents Mastersheet:
And now without further ado.
“I should have a mask, ring, and scepter of silver my Lord.”
Fixing Benjin with a flat look you respond, “I’ll add it to our expenses.”
Your Maester is busy fidgeting with your chest, as suspected you had a bruised rib, you held a clothed block of ice to it while he took his time mixing a pain reliever, “If I returned to the Citadel I may be of more help to you my Lord. When I was told my place would be with your House I began to study warfare and economics. My studies of medicine suffered for it,” he sighs.
“You’re still a fair hand at-” you grunt in pain as he removes your hand and the ice with it and begins to feel around, “Ahem, a fair hand at it, Benjin.”
“It was my speciality my Lord,” he remarks proudly, “The Archmaester of the time had been grooming me as his replacement, Archmaester Maxwell, formerly an Algood of the Westerlands. Breathe in deep my Lord, good. Not to say I have not put it to good use here in Steadhold, do not mistake me my Lord.”
Your eyes sweep the room mess of a room, poultices, salves, various books and dried herbs, you note a book that was of the Summer Islands, no doubt Solhas’ own. Benjin had been with your family longer than you had been alive, he had seen wars and battles near unending since, you recall the story of him saving your Lord father, Vamos Malroy, that by all rights should have been dead upon the Trident. More recently his quick actions had saved Illiad, sans a lower leg. How well he handled Mason’s head trauma. Not to mention the multitude of times he had patched you up leaving hardly a scar as a reminder. The list was unending it would seem, and it made you curious, “What happened then Benjin?”
Benjin continues after a lick of his lips reaching for a cold metal rod you hadn’t the foggiest clue the purpose of, “Citadel politics, in short. A rival for the position saw to it I was sent away. I will admit, my youth betrayed me in that moment. My focuses became varied and I left within the year. Here take this my Lord, swallow it in one go.”
Downing the thick liquid you near retch it up but Benjin keeps your mouth shut with a finger with far more strength than it had any right to have, he nods and leaves off again to collect another some badges, “Why do you wish to return then?” you ask taking the conversation back a moment.
The elder man sighs again staring into his bag, “Archmaester Maxwell passed recently my Lord. He and I… Kept in contact after I had settled and calmed down. He was privy to all my research, my knowledge. the catalogue of herbs and their purposes book I wrote? His idea. After his death I received a raven from the Citadel, telling me I had been nominated as a candidate to take his position. My most recent paper, of natural cures of the Summer Islands and the constitution of their inhabitants earned me that nomination I am told.”
So that was why he had been spending so much time around Solhas and Barq Zos, “That is incredible Benjin,” you responding having little else to offer as he loosely wraps your chest, he chuckles in response and finishes up with a pat to it that makes you cringe. Benjin lowers your arm and examines your face and clicking his tongue. He rummages through his drawers finally settling on an ointment that smells vaguely of sunflowers with a sickly yellowish color. Your immediate response is repulsion and the elder man rolls his eyes grabbing your chin to keep your face steady. Another flat look is given and he merely chuckles to himself while cleaning up your bruise.
“As incredible as it would be my Lord, I would need attend a Conclave in the Citadel.”
“If it is a matter of gold Benjin I’m sure I could manage-”
“Erm… My Lord while that is generous of you and I would indeed require such. I was more concerned with the time away from Steadhold I would need to take. And who would look after the books. The younglings learning. Your health-”
“How long Benjin?” you interrupt.
“As few as six months. As long as a year and a half.”
Benjin sighs, taking a seat next to you, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I really hadn’t intended to bring this up now my Lord… It seemed inappropriate given the state of the House and your need of me here-”
“Benjin,” you respond bluntly.
“I would need 1000 gold dragons for passage and various purposes in Oldtown, my Lord. I may also require the services of Solhas za Tarbeck and Barq Zos. They are invaluable to my research at present.”
Gathering your undershit and easing it back into place you begin to mull over the idea. You would missed Benjin dearly, had it not been for him it is likely the House would have fallen to ruin and you would need to take over more administrative functions while he was away and attempt to avoiding stabbings. However, it was a chance of a lifetime for Benjin and you couldn’t think of any reason why he would be selected, the prestige of hosting an Archmaester within your own home could be large, and certainly rare.
>Questions for Benjin?
>Encourage Maester Benjin to go
>Do not, you need him in Steadhold
This is the Holding upgrade you would be investing in if you decide to go ahead with it next month.
Cost: 5 Wealth
Time: 6+2d6 Months
Bonuses: +1 House Fortune, +1 Influence | Receive +1D to rolls relating to the Maester’s specialty. Each year he will need to spend 1d3 Months at the Citadel.
Your House is blessed with the service of a master of a field of study amongst his brethren. He will be given a mask, ring and rod of the corresponding metal to his field of study, a prestigious honor. Though he will have more commitments with the Citadel his attendance of your House is still his priority and for most of the year he will attend your House. While he is away you will receive a temporary replacement, likely a student of his own and far less experienced as would be expected.
For those curious this is a custom personage holding before in my other games. I may be messing with the canon a bit having an Archmaester still serve a House, but eh, it's somewhat accounted for.
When would you leave? Would you be able to come back or have a short term replacement sent while you are away?
Also good to see you Dad. Question from last time that didn't get posted before thread died. Would it be possible to invite our Cousin and aunt to Steadhold a few days before the wedding to talk to him?
Well enough. Thank you for asking. Just dreadfully boring.
>Would it be possible to invite our Cousin and aunt to Steadhold a few days before the wedding to talk to him?
I suppose that could be an option. I'll make sure to include it as a vote later on.
>Encourage Maester Benjin to go
Also ask for all the advice he can give on running the House before he goes, in private.
We pretty much ingnored his advice at every single meeting, might as well make the most of him while we've got him + make him feel valued. Plus what he thinks of others in our house, like Varys pet mute.
As an aside-
I caught up on a few threads I missed over in Dec / Jan yesterday. And (not wanting to sour things with Obella- she is gonna be the mother of our heirs after all) but anybody else get the feeling she knew Arryn was going to shaft us?
She was a bit funny before the meeting and Doran clearly knew, and she was working for him....
>When would you leave?
Benjin fidgets with his chain a moment, pulling at the link of silver in thought, "As soon as possible my Lord. Preferably within the next few months."
Benjin nods his head, "The raven mentioned as much my Lord. Maester Sanford, I am lead to believe he was once of House Flint from the North. It would be a few months after my departure before he arrived. No doubt he would be a young man and this would be his first House. A trial run to put it simply. He would serve function until my return."
"But not nearly as well," you remark with a laugh.
"Unlikely my Lord," he responds having gathered himself up to take inventory of his cabinets after your most recent misadventure.
>advice on running the House
You receive a sidelong look from Benjin from his desk, "Don't sign anything unless Ser Mason reads it first."
He turns and gives you a wrinkly old smile, "My Lord if I gave you my advice it is just as likely you would ignore it. The House functions well enough without my intervention. Simply review our figures before the end of each month, and don't empty our treasury. Oh, and don't let Gawen get hold of the Hayford ledgers. His son is doing far better than he is presently. The Bay of Banks will not forget your debt, as you should not as well. You will need meet with the collector."
You make a mental checklist as he names off the various needs and actions of the House. Who performs what duties and who to go to if everything is on fire. Turns out that's Dontos, joy.
>What he thinks of others in our House?
"They are your people my Lord."
"What does that mean Maester?"
"In short that I trust each as far as you do. Lady Elionwy is an excellent stewardess. Her knowledge of numbers is impeccable, often she balances our budgets and fixes simple mistakes I would overlook in my old age. We all know why she is here, but it would appear Varys has little interest in us at present."
If only you knew, you think to yourself before waving him on to continue.
"Ser Mason, Wesley and Lucas each serve their purpose my Lord. The former most is certainly taking far more responsibility amongst the Household than I had expected of him. He has even earned Dontos' respect, a rare sight indeed. He is the best option for a castallean outside of your Uncle I would imagine.
Gawen will be cross with my leaving, he dislikes having to speak to you directly. Nerves he claims. But as loyal and good as a man as you could expect.
As for the others, I cannot comment too much. Every man and woman has their agendas my Lord. But within Steadhold I find I trust far more than I distrust. Even our resident spy."
>Anymore questions for Benjin? or shall we proceed?
She wasn't particularly aware but was informed of how important it was Brynden be there. So she was armed with the information necessary to make sure he didn't get cold feet. Because Doran plays the long game.
Two different people entirely.
A thought on Samuel - if Wes & Winston are hell-bent on him not taking the Black. (Don't want to sour things there.) We could push for him being sent to Essos.
Have him followed. We've got enemies there, could be an option.
(The Black is the better option, though if Wes & Winston won't hate us for it.)
Hmm, interesting I say encourage him and help him.
As for the meta I think you could use a rank between archmaester and regular maester. Hopefully we will get more on the citadel inter politics in the next book.
The doublet you had worn most of the day was stained with sweat and felt clammy as you went to put it on, eventually forcing you to decide against it, this was one of the tighter ones anyway and you disliked it immensely for it. You shoulder it and walk over to where Benjin is working, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I think you should go Benjin. Gold is hardly an issue. And while we will miss you here in Steadhold, I am sure we can manage for the few months it will take for you to earn your mask.”
“My Lord are you certain?”
“Very Benjin. It is not often a House is served by an Archmaester. And I am certain your expanded knowledge of healing could come in handy. Given what is on the horizon…” you trail off and he pats your hand, nodding.
“Thank you my Lord. I will write a small reminder and include it with next month’s ledgers come the first and proceed to gather what is needed. I will need to call upon Solhas… Cabinet is a mess...”
“Are you not more excited Benjin?”
“Ecstatic my Lord. However collecting my research and everything necessary may take the better part of a month.”
You begin to laugh and he rolls his eyes in response. Benjin finishes up with his desk and swivels around on his chair to face you, ruffling himself up as he often did when speaking of a prickly topic.
As long as we don't hurt our relationship with Winston & Wes it doesn't really matter what happens to Samuel, really death is better..
But we really don't want to fuck up having Wes and Winston onside so maybe it's better to give a little...
Like the Golden Company idea though, it's not like with his personality he'll make any friends there.
“Intentions with Samuel my Lord?”
You sigh, fixing your hair, the braid having come loose sometime ago, “Dontos suggested he be put on trial. He assumes he will demand a Trial by Combat, when he loses, allow him to take the Black.”
Benjin sniffles and tapping his chin for a moment in consideration, “A fair solution my Lord. I will admit my surprise when I was called upon to tend to your cousin. Ser Mason was fairly quick to take blame for the broken nose he suffered. And nary a scratch on him otherwise. Tell me Lord Brynden, why did you not retaliate? That is hardly like the Lord I have served for the past year.”
You frown deeply, and sigh before responding, “He wasn’t worth it Benjin.”
“Yet his brother is worth far more should things go your way my Lord,” he draws slowly, and removing a long piece of parchment from his sleeve and you give him a queer look, “I have read the treaty my Lord, at length. Lord Clarence Crabb’s Maester was adamant of including some silly clause wherein we would provide support upon the Narrow Sea, idiot man. Regardless I am more than aware of your need to bind these things with marriage. Wesley is the easier choice this is certain. But I do not think him the type to lead a House if I may be frank. ”
Grimacing you nod your head, you had faith in Wesley, but it was honest counsel all the same. Benjin takes it upon himself to finish your chat, hurrying you off and insisting you rest for the evening, the feast tonight did not require your presence. Tomorrow would of course as you honored the victor of the Melee, but for tonight rest. Arron follows after you, ever quiet as he is, having taken instruction from Benjin to reapply the ointment to your face before bed and in the morning after you had bathed. As rare as it was for you to actually take Benjin’s advice the day’s wine and activities had taken its toil and you found yourself lying in bed with a want. Four months until Obella arrived left a burning in the pit of your gut. You attempt to will it away, pushing the thoughts to the side and rolling over in bed to look out the window, watching the sunset and listening to the joy and fun below in the yard.
“Lord Brynden?” you hear Arron ask from the doorframe.
“Do you require anything tonight? Food, drink? Anyone specifically? Or am I free to leave for the night?”
>Call upon someone? (Specify?)
>Decide to go out instead, Benjin’s orders be damned
>Turn in for an early night
Solhas and Barq Zos would both go with him as mentioned. For security and research purposes.
Maybe? I've used this one before and it worked for me.
>>Call upon someone? (Specify?)
Here have a draw dad. A kind drawfriend did it for me in the Draw Thread. They said they'll finish it in a few days.
Probably best to start off hard, i.e he attacked me as a guest, and insulted my sister's memory. Do you have an alternative to his execution? I'm only asking you cos' we're bros.
If we can get him to suggest the black, we're gold.
No, sucking up to Winston and Wesley by alievating some of Sam's punishment after he beat us and broke guest right is not a good idea. It'll only invite others to take advantage of us if they think we'll roll over after such a grievous offense
Oh wow that's awesome. I'm flattered.
Looks a bit like Old Man Brynden though. Suppose that's the drawback of white/silver hair.
Either way I appreciate it immensely. Feel free to tweet me the finished product if it it's finished in the coming days, I'd love to see it. Thanks.
Anyway, looks like we definitely want to talk to the Hayfords, couple directions on that one.
Who to speak with?
>Ser Wesley Hayford
>Lord Winston Hayford
>Both of them
>>Ser Wesley Hayford
Might want to smooth things over with the future head of his house, cuz we're kinda responsible for sending his other brother packing. Who knows, maybe he'll like us for that.
Having them accept it willingly is better than having them do it because it's in their best interest.
This is how gudges start.We've already gots lots of people who hate us, we want people who are going to stick with us when the shit hits the fan.
That's good, we could go for cold anger at the beginning and that we are only restraining our selfselves on his behalf. Mention execution or maiming and let him suggested alternatives if he doesn't mention the black have Benjin on hand to suggest it.
Now all we need is a family portrait with Victus, Obella, and Dontos.
Speaking of Obella and the Night's Watch, we should invite the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch to the wedding, he's a Qorgyle afterall.
The nights watch is basically propped up and supplied by the starks and the northerners, and live a weeks ride at most away, if its a lame horse. Its a special situation. Its not going to happen.
Good point. We might be able to wring them for some info.
>I've mentioned before that Wesley is aware and told Winston and Samuel whenever they came to Steadhold for the melee. It was a bit ago though.
My bad, that's one superior eidetic memory dad.
“Arron, tell the kitchen to bring dinner. No wine. And invite Lord Winston Hayford and Ser Wesley Hayford to my room,” the youth nods in response and makes to leave without a word before you stop him, “And then you are free for the night Arron. Be sure yourself and Victus stay out of trouble in the camps.”
“Yes Lord Brynden,” he responds with a bright smile before dashing off.
The dinner is much more simple than it would be in the great hall, not that you minded much, your chef had taken your advice of more spicy ingredients rather close to heart and your mouth burned for the mistake. Hopefully a Dornish chef wouldn’t attempt to kill you with food, even your Valyrian blood struggled with the heat. Victus however would likely devour it in a single sitting, not missing a bit, the boy loved his peppers and spice, suppose he got that from yourself you muse before being interrupted by a brief knock.
“Enter,” you respond with a slight pang of pain upon your cheekbone.
Lord Winston Hayford, your uncle, enters first. His hair looking disholved and his manner far less Lordly than you had come to know. Far more like the first time you had met with him in King’s Landing, nervous and unprepared. Wesley follows after him, sporting a black eye, a slight limp, and a grim face. You find yourself mirroring it and inviting them to sit with a wave of your hand. They both remain silent for the most part, Winston having trouble meeting your gaze. And Wesley playing with his fork between bites.
You sigh, best you started this time, “Winston. You and I are both aware of why we must speak.”
“Brynden, I had no idea he would be so foolish. I would not have begged you to meet with him. Please, you must forgive-”
“Forgive my brother?” Wesley interrupts annoyed, “He broke guest rights father! And then proceeded to attack you when you came to him! This black eye is not from the Melee cousin. Samuel has lost his bloody mind!”
“Wes, please. This can be fixed…”
“How father? By Brynden forgetting a beating? Samuel isn’t exactly keeping this information to himself, even with the broken nose from Mason. Brynden had every right to fight back! He’s lucky to be alive at all!”
“As he will remain Wesley, please. Just. Let me. Brynden. You must understand. I cannot afford to lose my son. He is a fool of a man this is true. But it would be the same thing if House Malroy lost you. They would fall to pieces,” Winston continues, stumbling over his words.
Wesley throws his hands up in the air and you can feel his frustration in his eyes, clearly this argument had been going on for quite some time. No doubt your cousin was just adverse to the idea of seeing his brother die, but clearly favored a more severe punishment. You understood Winston’s position, they were but three but Samuel was a the bad egg. He would do nothing but harm them. You sigh and put your hand up, Winston stopping his blathering to it.
Nah I only remembered because I had to check last thread to make sure Samuel could use it.
So what would you suggest? I would be well within my rights to execute him. Not only for attacking me but brandishing a knife against my knights and assaulting a sworn sword. This is not something to be done lightly Winston and the only reason we are conversing now is he is still family.
"Out of consideration to you uncle and for the fact that we are family, I will not even consider taking his life even if I were in my rights to do so, but I will not let this matter go unpunished."
Point out, how Samuel wronged us. What he said about Isis. The Hayford's should know by now we have a bit of a temper.
But also let them know we're not hellbent on killing him, BUT we can't have him running their House.
Lead Winston to water, see if he drinks.
Sam is damaging both our houses reputation
He needs to be punished, but not killed due to family ties,
He will actively try to undermine everything we are attempting to do
Tell them why sam is acting this way (as far as bryden understands it)
ask for suggestions
Do note that a decision does not need to be reached right now, but sam will remain under house arrest until a decision is reached.
Try and plant the idea that sam will be bad for his house's future, subtly. The man has evidently caught a fine red mist of madness that would lead them to ruin sooner or later.
They know some of it, and are hoping to placate other bits. Making the point of: No, this shit is not going unpunished or forgiven, straight up, leaves them a lot less room to manouver in requesting it.
Is just one example.
It does occur to me that sam could easily be replaced with a maester.
Winston, what your son did was no trivial matter. He assaulted me, went after one of my knight's with a knife, and said things one should NEVER say about ones own family. You should count yourself lucky that I still consider him family, because if he wasn't we wouldn't be discussing punishment. He would be dead.
>Sam is damaging both our houses reputation
>He needs to be punished, but not killed due to family ties,
>He will actively try to undermine everything we are attempting to do
>Tell them why sam is acting this way (as far as bryden understands it)
>ask for suggestions
Absolutely this. We want to paint Smauel, (rightly) as a nightmare for their house. One that we are trying to help them solve, despite the aggreious attacks we have suffered.
Let's just not lay it on too thick.
Winston, the damage is done. The nature of your son's offences and the public manner in which they were brought about means I cannot let this matter lie. Your son will be punished, and it will be severe as is befitting the nature of his crimes. Now, we can discuss what your options for your son are, but keep in mind how few there are
“And what would you suggest Winston? What Samuel did cannot go unpunished. Were we not family, this conversation would not even be occurring,” you say firmly, your eyes catching the evening sun and flaring up with emerald flame.
Winston maintains his quiet for a moment longer, his eyes fleet about the room, clearly looking for wine to little avail, “I… Corporal punishment my Lord. Allow him to take his lashes and I will take him back to Hayford under lock and key until he can be trusted again.”
“Samuel can never be trusted again father.”
“Wesley, please, I’ve told you. He does not deserve to die for this-”
“Maybe he does father,” Wesley responds with a solemn tone.
“Winston, Wesley. I do not wish to kill Samuel. It is within my rights to do so as Lord of this House. What he said, about me, you, Isis, it cannot be forgiven nor forgotten. And there is still the matter of my own reputation, to do nothing or something of little impact would only serve to encourage others. But he is still family. As you are. I do not forget this, while he does.”
“Please Brynden. Allow me to deal with him. Take a finger! A public punishment, just...”
“I’m not sure you can father,” Wesley remarks slumping back into his chair, “He hates Brynden. Me. You. If we brought him home, how long before he snapped again? And what if you are his target, he attempted to stab Mason. That could have been you, and where would that leave the House?”
“In far more ruin than if Samuel was simply removed altogether,” you add, “He is convinced we are rot. My family, yourself and Wesley. I may have little stake in the Rebellion as I was not here to war with my family. But if these loyalties run so deep as to cause him to take these actions, where do you think your House will go with him at her lead?”
Winston looks near broken at your words, mumbling to himself before looking at you, “He is a fool. I rely on him for everything in Hayford, his business savvy, it’s the only way we’ve survived. Brynden you can’t… What would I do?”
“Wesley can return home with you,” you state simply, “He managed to bring together the melee with little help. He is just as capable as Samuel.”
“But what would we do with Samuel, cousin?” Wesley says, his response tinged with nervousness.
“Essos is always looking for sellswords and merchants with business sense,” you say offering the poorer of the suggestions.
“Seven no Brynden. He does not have your skill he would die there! A death sentence all the same!”
“Then the Black,” Wesley says looking you in the eyes, having seen your plans. He was far more capable a son than his father gave him credit for. Samuel had merely become the favored son by taking on so much, no doubt hoping Wesley would fade away in some forgotten marriage or as a Household Knight.
“The Black,” you repeat, “He would stand trial. In front of the Seven, Trial by Combat, whatever his desire. And when he is convicted, which he will be for such a public act, he will be allowed to take the Black.”
Winston’s eyes are distant, Wesley looks unhappy but not so much so to disagree, he agreed with you to a degree, but was well aware of the larger implications of the action.
>Roll 5d6 for Convince
Wesley, success. One degree.
Winston, success. One degree.
Just barely though.
Your Uncle looks you in the eyes, and slowly nods, tears begins to form in the corner of his eyes, “The Black,” he repeats admitting what he already knows to be the best option, “I… Please excuse me my Lord. I need… I need to speak with my son. Likely for the final time.”
Wesley looks between you and his father and you wave him off with a hand gesture and a nod. The quiet is interrupted by the sharp clicks of Winston’s boots and the closing of the door. Your cousin takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. You just now noticed that he is still nearly entirely armed, his breastplate still dirty with the mud of the day’s melee. His hair the usual tumble of dirty blonde stained with dirt and grim.
“Wesley you look miserable.”
“Could say the same for you Brynden.”
He scoffs and touches at his eye, flinching away from the pain, “It was for the best Brynden. Samuel told me what he said, Isis, she didn’t deserve those words. And then he punched me in the face.”
“You looked good in the melee today Wesley,” you offer in response.
Wesley sighs again, “Lucas did better, no doubt he’ll win. And… I doubt I’ll be able to serve you here in Steadhold.”
“Plan on returning to Hayford then?”
“Don’t think I have a choice Brynden, my father needs me. And… I just can’t leave him alone after this. The House will fall apart without Samuel, I know it will.”
You frown, at least your cousin was willing to return home. However, you had little idea if he would be willing to marry the Brune girl. Winston was still aware that your signing of the treaty was tomorrow and would of course attend. But Wesley was still your backup. Marriage, Seven Hells this was far more effort than you had wished it to be, this turned into a disaster.
>Attempt to get Wesley onboard with the marriage
Promise to support Wesley.
Not now with the Brunes, explain things to them seperately if need be. Now is inappropriate.
Crackclaw Point came to us. We want to solidify things, but not at the cost of having Wesley think we're playing chess with our family.
Before you entered my service you where a kid playing a Knight just as I was a sellsword playing a Lord.
We're not playing now, we are the real deal and when you'll go back to your House you won't be Knight playing a Lord but a real Lord, a great Lord.
>Attempt to get Wesley onboard with the marriage
Wesley, this is a shitty time to bring this up, but given we'll likely both be be very busy soon I need to ask... Would you consider marrying one of the Crackclaw girls? Not just for my benefit, but for your house as well. I mean it, you could really benefit, and I'd like your house to prosper in spite of what your brother thinks."
If he doesnt take the Black he dies.
Wes you know about the attempted marriage I think it would help you and your house out. If you dont want to talk about it now its fine but I will always be there for you cousin.
He just agreed to send his brother to Hoth never to return.
If we ask, at best it's likely to be a High DC convince roll, and he's likely to worsen his attitude to us.
Crackclaw came to us, until it comes to full war with Royce, or the Brunes marry off their daughter there's still time.
Plus if we go to war with Royce now, we're fucked anyway.
Besides, Wesley likes us, so there's potential we could work on getting him a better match.
Hell Arryn owes us for fucking us. How about Giselle.
Arryn might see that as us calming the fuck down. Might be sellable. AND Gulltown is just across the waters from Crackclaw with a Navy.
Don't get me wrong, Crackclaw Point alliance is a good alliance, but it has downsides too.
A faction of former Targ loyalists likely won't be percieved favourably by the King. Who still hates them 15 years later.
The entire point of appearing to be the hands man is to shield us from such. Its a reputation game.
Sweet summer child, the ride never truely ends, so you had best get comfy and at least try hash out a working relationship.
>a faction of former Targ loyalists
oh whatever, anyone who thinks we're trying to something like that after our display to Arryn, you're fooling yourself. The Crackclaw Point Alliance is a good alliance for us, but a great alliance for the Hayford house
Lots of anons disagree on many things, but the point is being the hands man nominally is the best survival strategy in both unshackling our house and fending off attackers until we can stand independant. Even then, good relations with the hand are not to be sniffed at. Our wife will understand, so will dorne, by and large.
Your welcome, and i was not supporting the marriage option FYI. This was the convo train from not wanting to be involved with him at all. Anon who wants to try broker a Giselle marriage is smoking something.
>The only people who saw that were in the room and either disgusted by it, or motivated to keep it quiet
Um, why would Arryn want that quiet? He wants us as a sacrificial lion to show that the houses most damaged by the war are bending knee to the new king. He'd expect that news to be passed around, are you kidding me?
It was stated in thread that events got out. Arryns entire reason for that event was to be loud.
Conviniently, it does help us scubber some smear attempts in court that were brewing while we were away.
He doesn't, really. The man is hypocritical to some degree, like all vale lords are. The Spider even stated that he distaned the game and all who play it (in canon GOT), which should tell you his opinion of it.
He values the realm above his personal honour because its paradoxically the most honourable thing to do.
He doesn't care at the shot to his personal honor if it means keeping the realm whole, which is what he thinks is more honorable. If using us like that would help in stopping a civil war, then he will and did
“Wesley, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Little else to be said Brynden,” your cousin sighs deeply, “I never suspected my brother capable of these things. I only wanted to be a Knight, to do as was expected of me. Win a few tourneys, a melee or two, see your House back to greatest heights. Now... “
“You’ll be a Lord.”
“I never asked for this.”
“Neither did I Wesley. Yet we are. A sellsword and a Knight of hardly a year.”
“What a pair we make,” your cousin responds with a slight laugh.
The silent consumes the room again, both of your eyes watching the end of the day, the sky having turnt to red, orange, and purple. You turn to him meeting eyes, a tear having rolled down his cheek before speaking again, “You’ll do well Wesley. I’ve faith.”
“I can only hope faith carries me as far as it has you cousin, excuse me,” Wesley says, getting to his feet and leaving the room without so much as a farewell. It was a difficult thing, even though his words were harsh and he thought his brother’s death was a possibility, you knew he didn’t wish it to be so. You yourself hardly wished to condemn family to death, at least this Brynden didn’t. Six, seven months ago? You couldn’t say, this life had changed you. Despite the burning in your heart, the flame fit to boil over in your pools of emerald fire, the feeling of emptiness in your gut, you refrained. The sellsword may still dwell somewhere within you, but now, you felt the Lord.
The crowd’s roars its approval as Ser Ambrose Oatwright is announced the victor of his first bout. You had begun to commit to memory the names of the Knights that would be serving your House soon. Ser Yarys Yelshire had fallen to the upstart Hedge Knight, before them Ser Keegan of the Gullet, Lyonel Hill, and Quinton Crabb had all advanced to the second round. Oatwright was a man hellbent on winning, he fought with a fierce unforgiving style, entirely willing to take hits in order to land his crushing sweeping and overhead strikes, and would roll into his opponents guard with a spinning pommel strike to their shields with absolutely no regard for his well-being. The man was certainly impressive, you had to give him that, but Dontos disliked his style immensely, and you could read it relatively easily.
“He’ll be the first to die in combat,” Dontos remarks with a grunt.
“The way he slams that sword into people, his own comrades, I’ve my doubts uncle,” you respond, sitting on the edge of your seat, watching his celebration of little fanfare.
“AND NOW LORDS AND LADIES ALIKE, ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE, SER LUCAS LONGWATERS,” the herald calls. The crowd roars into action again, you were aware Lucas had become a favorite amongst the smallfolk, he wasn’t entirely unlike your younger self. The women fawned over him and you could see more than a few blushes in the stands of your more noble standing. Lady Racheal Conklyn claps politely, her smile obvious. The herald introduces his opponent, Ser Keegan of the Gullet, he takes the field with far less support and clearly favoring his right side.
“Lucas will have him in five minutes,” his brother, Ser Jon Longwaters comments to your side, his Lady wife Saraya attempts to keep their son upon her lap, but he is far too excited to see his Uncle.
“I’d say seven,” you respond, “He’s right handed, and his left swings usually miss their marks, can’t take advantage.”
“Pfft, a wager then?”
“No, no wager. Hold your son,” Lady Saraya interrupts fixing him with a stern look and he relents while you laugh.
“Yes my Lady, come here Aenys. Let us watch your Uncle beat the Seven Hells out of a man,” Jon says to the delight of his young son. You glance to Saraya, her hands upon the small bump in her stomach, another child along the way, if a girl you had allowed them to use Isis name in honor. They were a good House, good people. Jon interrupts your idle thoughts, “My Lord, I’ve a few things of note I wished to speak to you about. Would you rather money or murder?”
>Talk about money, you guess?
>Murder, sure, who doesn’t like murder
Sorry about the delay, girlfriend just got home.
My lady does me a great disservice. I am no stranger to bloodshed, but no lord who pretends to stay in power on these difficult times can be. Still I rarer deal with coin than with blood.
“In the Free Cities those things go hand in hand, Jon,” you respond with a slight laugh.
“Hah! You act as if such things are not true of Westeros,” he responds, finally getting Aenys to settle.
You pause a moment watching the field, it was split into four sections at the moment, to make the one v one rounds go by a bit quicker. Lucas and Keegan were in the quarter closest to you. following clockwise was, Ser Titus Sarsfield and Robb Brax, the latter had surprised you immensely in his resilience. Of all the competitors he had easily fought the most over the past week, winning the Squire’s Melee and then following all the way through to the finals of the Knight’s Melee. If he could keep his comments to himself he would be a fine Knight. The herald played up the how this was a match of master and apprentice. Though it looked the latter was nearing the end of his miracle run with the way he limped onto the field and his sword arm limp for the moment. Following this order is Ser Jon Pryor and Lyonel Hill, the former being the clear favorite, he still looked strong and able, while Lyonel had taken a relatively bad beating in the previous round. Rounding them out was Ser Grag Hutter and Jon Pyle, the two you easily knew the least about, Ser Grag was a demon with his warhammer however and Pyle was a giant in grey armor, no doubt they would beat the hell out of each other for a good while.
“Well either way Ser Jon, I suppose both. But let’s speak of murder first, seems the easier topic,” you respond watching the flag drop, the crowd’s cheers threatening to drown you out, three of the four battles go to hell immediately, while Hutter and Pyle circle each other trying to gain measure.
“Murder it is,” he says, placing hands over his son’s ears, though in response to what you aren’t particularly sure, “The pirates I spoke to you of. We’ve a potential lead of their leader.”
Hutter finally makes a wild swing at Pyle, his warhammer slamming into the ground where the latter had once stood, his last moment leap and roll keeping him safe for now.
“A trader in Pentos told a contact of mine that a small fleet escorting a cog filled with iron delivered their spoils to a rather lavish ship by the name of the Kingcrab. Sound familiar to you? I’ve never heard the name myself, but they say it is a Westerosi ship.”
Lucas is dancing with Keegan now, trading strikes that fall harmlessly off each other’s shield, Aenys’ arms rise up and he screams Lucas’ name over and over, likely being one of the handful of names he is capable of. Keegan missteps, his strike too low, Lucas meets it with his shield, bouncing it and the off balance Ser Keegan to a spinning step, showing Lucas his back as he attempts to regain his footing. Dontos grunts at the amatuer mistake and even you admit it was a major mistake, though more likely made of tired than a lack of form. Lucas however unloads onto his back, a strike to his lower back make him arch in pain, the follow up digging into his now open right side. Ser Keegan goes down gripping his side and begging mercy. Six minutes and twenty-one seconds.
“I was closer,” you say.
“And went over, my win. Regardless, the ship, name ring a bell?”
>Roll 3d6 for Memory
>Auto-success if you can name her captain
Success, one degree.
“Celtigar,” you state bluntly memory suddenly flashing back to the fateful encounter in King’s Landing. Ser Wilson Celtigar’s AWOL ship, “Wilson Celtigar’s ship was named the Kingcrab. The brief time I spent on it, yeah lavish would describe it relatively well.”
“Seven bloody hells.”
“Jon,” Saraya says giving him an admonishing look.
“Sorry my Lady. I had feared as much, my Lord,” Jon responds, wearing a grim face, “Ser Wilson is dead my Lord.”
You tear your eyes away from the melee, regarding Jon full with a blank stare, the screams of the crowd indicates the fight between Brax and Sarsfield you were watch had heated up but this news, it couldn’t be. He was an idiot, a rather large idiot at that, but dead? Within months in Essos? He had the money and men to provide for himself, it was not difficult to survive so long as you were not overly stupid, “Are you certain Jon? How did you come by this news?”
“His body was delivered to Driftmark not a week before I took ship to come to Steadhold. His sister, Lady Hilda Celtigar, Lord Velaryon’s wife, confirmed it was him. Lord Celtigar has yet to make the announcement, though I imagine his grief is as great as his wroth.”
“By the Seven,” you mutter to yourself, “His sister, younger brother?”
“Nowhere to be seen, though my contact did report a woman and child with the captain of the Kingcrab, a man of Valyrian features I’m told. Long silver hair, purple eyes, the works.”
He nods towards the field, and you pause a moment to watch Ser Robb Brax absolutely hammering away at his former teacher, Ser Titus Sarsfield guards himself on bended knee with a shield that hardly looked more than splinters and broken iron ring at this moment. Though in his haste you notice Sarsfield half-handing his sword and crushing it into Brax’s leg on the latter’s downstroke. Brax’s knee buckles immediately and falls to the ground, Sarsfield rolling to the side quickly to avoid his fall and springing to his feet to finish off his former squire. A sword pointed to his neck brings about a swift surrender, and the crowd cheers, escalating further when Sarsfield pulls Brax up into a hug. A proud moment for all. You can feel Dontos’ beam of approval from behind you, the first man he ever Knighted had a fair run, finishing with an honorable battle.
“Does your contact have anything else of note?”
“Hardly. Outside of them having some Myrmen with a sigil of some merchant prince in Myr with those ridiculous crossbows as security, the ship was simply docked in the seedy port of town, moving every time a delivery was made. Nothing spectacular.”
Wait. A man with Valyrian features? Myrish crossbows? These things felt too connected, again your memory jumped but you couldn’t piece it all together.
>Roll 3d6 for Memory
>Auto-Success is anyone puts together all the pieces
Damn captcha eating my trip. Get out of here with that nonsense.
Tychano Osten dragging my name through the mud with this Ambrose playing as me. It even works in the myrish crossbows we've just added to our ranks. No wonder Celtigar is worth at me.
Success, one degree.
Your mind scrambles, piecing together information, trying to remember the months of information since your return. Until it hits you, completely fully, remembering the wisps of words from Illiad’s dying mouth, Yanno filling in the blanks, the memory had been pushed down a bit you were too busy and didn’t particularly like the idea of remember one of your dearest friend’s having his leg sawn off. Illiad had described a man of similar build and design as yourself, barring the eyes and the callousness he could feel by his very being. Your mind skips back a few ticks, remembering your trip to Dorne, the slave assassins sent to kill you, the muddled admission of a dying man tell you of the myrish merchant prince, the wannabe Magister, Tychano Osten. They were all connected, and now somehow were connected to the Celtigars.
Eyes wide you attempt to focus of the end of Pyle and Hutter’s battle, Pyle had gained the upper hand, hammering Hutter into submission, ironically, the first sight of crimson lept from his nose after losing his helmet in a close engagement. The giant grey knight raised his sword in celebration much to the joy of the crowd. The only engagement left was Pryor and Hill, the latter listing bad, his shield arm was a mangled mess, and his parries slow and cumbersome. Pryor was in prime form, his strikes precise and for the most part his style tight and practiced. Even Dontos was impressed from the noises he would make when Pryor would so effortlessly parry a strike.
“They are being bankrolled by Tychano Osten, a merchant prince of Myr. The man with them, his name is Ambrose. My men had a run in with someone matching the description purchasing myrish crossbows in Myr. Illiad’s younger brother was a slave held there, and Illiad had a rather rough encounter with the man, to say the least. Why he needs iron though, let alone our specific iron… I can not say. But it sounds like they are building an army.”
Jon frowns deeply, leaning over closer to you, “I can ask my contacts to retrieve more information. I’m assuming it would be dangerous but this is bigger than I had originally thought. We need to know more. Saraya’s family, in Volantis, they have been my eyes and ears in Essos. Say the word, and we’ll figure out who this people are.”
>Allow Ser Jon Longwaters to collect more information about this enemy
>Do not, it’s too dangerous and the paper trail will lead right back to him
>>Allow Ser Jon Longwaters to collect more information about this enemy
Be very careful. This is not an enemy to be going against without thought. He may be one of the more dangerous opponents out there.
Probably Helena and younger brother. Man though there's a big insignificant chance that when the malroy lord crab was looking to get under his thumb fucked off he shopped around for one who was willing.
>Do not, it’s too dangerous and the paper trail will lead right back to him.
We've got better options. Sure our future spy wife knows somebody who could help with that- for instance.
>Saraya’s family, in Volantis, they have been my eyes and ears in Essos.
Does that mean that our nigga Jon got a spy network of his own?
>Allow Ser Jon Longwaters to collect more information about this enemy
But friend, be very, very careful about that we may be advancing into something too big for our britches
>Do not, it’s too dangerous and the paper trail will lead right back to him
We can wait until we have a decent spymaster to coordinate with them, the Longwaters shouldn't be messing with this business
I'm not sure he's internalized exactly how much he's risen. He probably academically knows that he's basically at where the high end of knightly houses starts to intersect with the low end of lordly houses, but not instunctually so he still defaults to acting like he would've before his rise in fortunes.
Dude fuck off, we have every right to be paranoid. Courtly politics is serious fucking cloak and daggers business, or have you forgotten one of our own men from the Golden Company betrayed us
I guess that's pretty much what Aerys though when he heard that Tywin was coming.
I'm not the guy with the shadowrunning set to 11.
I'm not saying they'll betray us, I'm just saying "it might never happen, but what if?" You on the other hand seems to say "It'll never happen"
One man did, a sellsword.
Because it won't. I will give you 10$ fucking dollars if it happens.
We aren't trusting goldcloaks anon, or the fucking spider, or fucking peter baelish
I never said the Longwaters did anything, just that we had a right to a healthy sense of paranoia after all the bullshit we've had to deal with. All I said was it couldn't hurt to verify the information
These people aren't anointed saints, just a knightly house that's been nice to us. I would be less worried about possible allies being enemies if we didn't have the long list of enemies we did. Quit acting like fact checking them is some condemnation
>Because it won't.
You've read OP's note? It most likely won't I admit, but we both know that In and out of character that shit can happens.
Look at Illiad for fuck's sake, he told us that he'll just buy his brother's freedom and when he came back we had to cut his goddamn leg.
If he had told Brynden that he'll break his bro out of jail you can be sure Brynden would have said "fuck the Hand" and jumped on the ship with Illiad, it's why he said it was a simple buy.
I never said that we should, all that I've said is it doesn't hurt to be open to the possibility and plan accordingly. If nothing comes of it good, we can rule out the possibility. Also, in doingsome fact checking of our own we may come across some info Jon missed
Can you imagine his RL players right now?
Pryor is playing with Hill at this point, Lyonel’s strikes are so sloppy and misplaced he can Pryor is just brushing them aside with simple swipes of his sword. The crowd has turned on Hill at this point, demanding he surrender, but you can see pride in him still. Unwillingness to put down the sword. Pryor finally puts the sad dance to an end with a quick flourish, disarming his opponent with a wrenching motion. Hill is unwilling to go down wit a sword at his throat and instead thrusts it aside, going for a final gambit, that is throwing himself at the pink and yellow Knight with nary a spot of dust upon his surcoat. Ultimately this fails as Pryor sidesteps him and Hill lands face first on the ground, the sword held to the back of his neck and reluctantly his hands go up surrendering. The crowd sheers Pryor loudly and he takes a bow towards your seat before leaving off.
“That man will give Lucas a run for his money,” Dontos remarks.
“If he gets past that metal giant Pyle, fancy footwork doesn’t mean a damn thing against an immovable object,” Jon responds.
Dontos scoffs and you cast him a glance of general agreeance, fleet footwork had served you well enough in the past. The field is clearing and you wait for people to settle again before speaking with Jon Longwaters again, “Jon, I appreciate your offer. Believe me I do. But this situation is far too dangerous. Tell your contact to back off, keep him out of harm’s way.”
Jon frowns, “My Lord, I assure you he’s more than capable and understands the risks involved-”
“Jon, with all due respect, these men sent trained killers to Dorne and ambushed me in the streets, and I barely scraped by with my life. I do not wish to risk your men nor Lady Saraya’s the paper trail will lead right back to Long Isle, and I do not wish that upon you, please back off until I can verify everything at the very least. And then we will proceed. That is not to say we will not handle these pirates regardless. ”
He pauses a moment, watching the field intently, “As you wish my Lord.”
“You know you can call me Brynden, Jon.”
He grunts and sits back in his seat, running his hand through his hair, the short silver matching your own. It was odd to think that your greatest Valyrian ally was a House born of a bastard years after the doom. The forgotten House to be certain.
The field begins to fill again, the herald calling attention to the first to enter, Ser Aden Brune of Brownhollow and Ser Quinton Crabb. Lady Brune is cheering her heart out for her brother and Lord Clarence and Ser Dustin seem to be discussing a wager, pride as would be expected. Wesley and Ser Wat Waters are the next to follow, the former gaining a large ovation from the crowd, you cast a glance to Lord Winston, clapping with solemn eyes, as would be expected. Ser Walder Lowther and Ambrose Oatwright are next and then Ser Duncan Ureye against Ser Gendry the Grey, battle of the Hedge Knights. The crowd is called to attention again by the flag held aloft by the herald. It drops to a roar and again, hell breaks loose upon the field.
“If we are to wage war upon these pirates, I’ve a proposition then my Lord,” Jon begins again, his eyes trained to the Crackclaw Point Knights battle.
Ignore his calling you ‘my Lord’ again you gesture for him to continue.
“I need more ships. My fleet is small, but I find myself in need of more, particularly to fend off these pirates. Our business partnership has left me relatively well off, but not so much so as to build a whole new fleet alone. I would suggest, perhaps we split the costs, they would come to my beck and call and be ported upon Long Isle of course, and in return of the five new ships, three will belong to your House and two to my own.”
Well then, that might be a chance to include the Maester's absurd sea support cause in the treaty.
>Split costs with Ser Jon Longwaters build a fleet of Trained Warships (5 Power, 1 Wealth)
Yeah I'm fucking dying. That is what took me so long I kept reading everyone's paranoia.
Anyway, here's an updated melee bracket.
>>Split costs with Ser Jon Longwaters build a fleet of Trained Warships (5 Power, 1 Wealth)
Only if you stop calling me "my Lord" Do I have to ask for your Ladywife help for you to do so?
>Split costs with Ser Jon Longwaters build a fleet of Trained Warships (5 Power, 1 Wealth)
Heck the Longwaters owe us so much that we could probably get Victus married if their second child is a girl.
Alright that's a pretty overwhelming support to go in on a fleet. Hurrah ships and not having to pay your own fare to cross the Narrow Sea now.
Let me update a couple things real quick and we'll get back to it. For some reason I'm feeling pretty good so I'm just going to keep going for a bit.
Yeah I have a few replacement Knights in case something like that happened or some other situation.
Nah, if you had the processed lumber upgraded I might say yes.
>Split costs with Ser Jon Longwaters build a fleet of Trained Warships (5 Power, 1 Wealth)
Should be helpful if we're looking to expand our influence in Crackclaw Point
We should find a reason to call on Longwaters for aid soon though. It can't be a one-way street and we're not an atm. Don't say this though.
That's... Honestly part of the appeal? He'd have an early excuse to go start running things so there's much less "the malroys are controlling another sovereign house!" because its a man taking care of his betrothed's household.
On the Longwaters, probably not. Jon seemed a bit disappointed we didn't go for his spying idea, but that was probably in order to soften us up to request warships. He doesn't know just how much we love him.
“Call me ‘my Lord’ one more time and no deal.”
Ser Jon smiles at you, “So do we have a deal?”
“Do I get to name my ships?”
“Of course Brynden.”
“A deal then. I will send a timber with the next shipment of grain. How long do you estimate it will take?”
Pausing for the melee you watch Wesley hammer Waters’ helmet with the pommel of his sword, and he nearly doubles over from the pain. Your cousin takes this as an opportunity to thrust his knee straight into Waters’ gut, is armor caught most of it, but you can see from your seat how clearly winded he is after the exchange and how fresh Wesley is in comparison. Your cousin’s sword lashes into Waters’ again and again, avoiding his poor attempt for a guard now, the shield, broken in half from a previous hammerblow, rests uselessly on his his arm. Any blocked attack seems to be taken more on the arm than anything and you can’t imagine that’s particularly good for Waters’. A loud crack follows after another block and you see Water’s crumple, Wesley standing over him watching his opponent clutch his arm. A brutal win, but a win all the same. Wesley throws his sword to his squire, Orion, and takes a seat alone to watch the rest of the melee.
“No more than three months, we’ve an efficient system in place. Simply haven’t had to make use of it since the War of the Ninepenny Kings. What a joy it will be to see the confusion in those pirates eyes when they see your golden courser flown over the Narrow Sea. Has your House ever had a sea presence Brynden?”
You think on it for a moment, your Malroy history was rusty but you did recall the failed branch House from years ago, the shield being in your great hall being the only reminder of the short lived Knightly House, “I couldn’t say Jon, certainly not within my lifetime. Nor recent history. Horses aren’t particularly known for their swift swimming ability. The dothraki would tell you as much.”
Brune and Crabb are going at it in their quarter and the crowd have turned their attentions to that for the moment. Crabb is using a flail and is surprisingly good with it, his attacks aim mostly for Brune’s legs. That being said Brune is far more agile and has been skipping over the low blows and attempting to get within his opponent’s guard for the better part of a minute. Crabb’s momentum keeps with each swing, what would appear to be a poor miss turns into a backhanded swing that catches Brune right below his knee tripping him up immediately. Crabb is on him in an instant, pummeling away with the blunt end of his flail and in a moment Brune submits. They receive a strong round of applause and that leaves you with two.
Dontos grunts a noise of approval, surprisingly as much as he prefers the longsword.
Jon speaks up again, “Brynden, a question,” you gesture vaguely and he continues, “I do not wish to overstep my bounds. Are you certain your House is so able to aid mine own? I feel we aid you little in return, if there is anything I can do to repay your kindness, you need but ask.”
They're also the ones that face more risk with us pissing off the celtigars seeing as they're on blackwater bay and we're not. I'm not entirely sure I actually want to mention that though...
Well you could continue as you are. You are one of the very few people I trust right now. Even with my house hung so low you do everything in your power to help as it is. On top of that you yourself have been a friend since meeting. One of only a few from Westeros. You just being around has helped me immeasurably and to hear you put yourself down is an insult and if you continue I shall send the Black Knight if Malroy at you! Last bit with a warning glare.
>the failed branch House from years ago, the shield being in your great hall being the only reminder of the short lived Knightly House.
Tell him we've got his back, and we know he's got ours.
Ah, Jon, all that I ask is you continue to stay as you are, a loyal and true friend. You may think that is but a pittance, but friendship and loyalty seems to be in short supply as of late and yet here you are with wealth of it
I feel like Jon Longwaters is the only legitimate friend outside of your own House you guys have. I'm not sure if I'd get this response from any other House.
Time to kill them.
Dad if you do that I will track you down. I will find you. And when I do you will regret that action. However if you let them live we will have no problems. I won't track you down. I won't find you. And we can continue to enjoy this quest. Also hotness in pic as bribe?
Nope, bride comes wearring House sigil on a cloak, exange wows with the husband in front of a Septon, husband removes bride's House cloak and place his own House cloak on his bride.
>exchange wows with the husband in front of a Septon
Specking of which, we need to call for another a Septon for the wedding. Nothing permanent, just ask one of our allies to bring one of them. I don't trust the westerlands guy, and I bet he isn't a true Septon.
I think he's just bandaging his ribs now that anons are remembering that we have a Lannister for a septon.
whoever decided to place this particular septon at this particular House got some nice trolling skills
Proles is a tongue in cheek shortening of proletariat. Not actual proles since society is preindustrial but the common folk who don't have houses to have cloaks with the sigil of.
“Jon, all that I ask is you continue to stay as you are, a loyal and true friend. You may think that is but a pittance, but friendship and loyalty seems to be in short supply as of late and yet here you are with wealth of it.”
“You honor me far beyond my station Brynden, I… Thank you.”
You nod and soon find Aenys crawling his way over to your lap, pointing at the field eager to understand what is occurring. Your eyes catch upon Oatwright again ravaging his opponent with his greatsword, the great sweeping strokes keeps Lowther on his backfoot nearly the entire time, sending them traveling in circles about their quarter. The Reach Knight is obviously outmatched, but isn’t blowing all of his stamina on attempting to land hits. Lady Saraya is eyeing you carefully as you put out to Aenys all of the things occurring, the people around him and upon the field. As a child of three he hardly understands, but enjoys the attentions all the same and his mother begins to relent her endless stare.
Oatwright finally lands a solid hit to Lowther’s shield arm, and nearly wrenches it free twisting his opponents arm up in a moment. You can tell Lowther is in a great deal of pain but wards Oatwright off with a flourish of swings, abandoning his shield in the process and allowing his sword arm to hang loose. Seeing an opportunity Oatwright allows a strike to clearly strike on his left side but rolls into a swinging attack that crunches into Lowther’s now shieldless arm that he instinctively raises to protect himself. You assume it was a mixture of pain and force that ultimately put Lowther down, Oatwright gives a bow in your general direction and helps his opponent up, the first time you have seen him show any sort of camaraderie with his fellow Knights.
>guilt as being part of a House that fucked our shits up.
>guilt at the amount of butthurt and shitfliging that will happen when he's in post laughing his ass off, a man shouldn't have this much fun, you know?
Surprisingly Duncan and Gendry the Gray are the last men standing. You knew Duncan could take a hell of a punch if your little tavern brawl all those months ago was any indication. The memory brings a smile to your lips, old Brynden still in prime form. Duncan’s old beaten up armor would need replacing to something far more appropriate once this was all said and done, you were certain he would appreciate the gesture. Gendry takes a stab at Duncan that he jumps to the side to avoid. He had lost his shield awhile back and is now two handing his bastard sword. Gendry fought like Quentyn Qorgyle, a well practiced sweep to keep his opponents distanced. And following up with stabs and defense. Except he was far slower than your soon to be dornish brother in law, and Duncan knew it. He jumps back from the sweep and waits a moment, just half a second. Gendry’s spear flies far right with another dodge and Duncan clamps his arm down on it. Smashing the tip of the spear off and rolling down the shaft before disarming his opponent in a final movement. Duncan kicks the spear away from him and swings his sword stopping a mere inch from Gendry’s face. His hands are not soon after, surrendering. You weren’t aware Duncan still had that much movement in his step, and applauded an effort well done.
“Alright little one, time for a nap,” you hear the sweetness of a female voice from behind you. The field is clearing off and Lady Saraya takes her son from your lap, holding the boy that is obviously tired out from all the action close, “Thank you for the invitation my Lord, Jon and I will see you tonight at the feast. Please do enjoy the rest of the melee and do not worry after us, our son is far more important.”
Jon nods, “Of course. It was a pleasure speaking to you again My Lor- Brynden. I do hope we can do so again soon. I will have my Steward send any information necessary for the ships in the next iron shipment. Beyond that, enjoy watching my brother win your melee, Brynden. Good day.”
The Longwaters leave off and you are left alone with your uncle, Dontos Malroy. There is a brief intermission between this round and the next so you stand to stretch, deciding to lean over the bannister and look over the field. Many things still weighed heavy upon your mind, but for now you allowed yourself to enjoy and be happy. Jon was a good man, as has his brother, you were lucky to have them, though it worried you that they may not be so lucky to have met you. You sigh and brush the free strands of hair behind your ear, aimless thoughts. You would enjoy the day and deal with these poorer thoughts later.
“Page, wine,” you call.
[End Chapter XXVI]
Alright sorry about the lackluster use of writeins. I got a little distracted and it was about time to end the thread because of demands of the opposite sex. Ahem.
Anyway, next thread is Thursday, 11 February, 2PM EST. See you guys then. Thanks for playing as always.
It still makes me laugh I will admit. It was a great decision all around on my end.
This is right actually, entirely guilt driven wishes to make up for the sins of the family, even though he hasn't been a Lanny for at least five decades now.
Hahaha Yeah I'll allow it.
Oh and final update for the Melee. We'll finish those up and get to the treaty signing right after. Some feasting, because come on of course we need some final temptations. And then get into the rough stuff with the Hayfords.
Man I ran late tonight, that's weird.