The Raven
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Post by The Raven on May 31, 2016 15:57:15 GMT
The High Septon weighed twice as much as the second heaviest man in the room. His crown barely fit upon his brow, and his hands were like gem encrusted sausages. When men shook his hand, it was like holding on to the business end of a mace. There was not a stitch askew in his raiment, and despite his figure, certainly smelled divine. Many of the emaciated and scarred nobles in the Great Sept were quick to murmur small heresies upon seeing the man who would conduct the wedding ritual, including His Grace and the always anxious whitecloak who rarely left his side. Ser Quentyn Ball was said to be a truly honorable man, but one with a filthy mouth, and when Fireball told a joke, one rarely missed out on the punchline.
On each side of the altar stood a line. Behind Lord Belric Blackfort three more men waiting to be wed, their matches just as awkwardly arranged. A Reachlord, ridden with pox scars and a nose nearly removed by the maester's blade, stood across a dainty white haired girl who was clearly battling open disgust at the sight of her future husband. Beside the lord was a handsome lad with bewitching violet eyes and an an easy smile. His much older bride, a Stormlady with powerful connections, was as giddy as on her first and second wedding days. The final lad appeared as awestruck by his surroundings as by his beautiful bride.
Only the Blackforts stood as close to the ceremony as the Blackfyres, for their Lord was the first to be wed. Daemon, crown atop his brow, wandered between the sides as the High Septon prepared, the young king offering encouragement to his relations.
"Chin up, Mors. You're no longer a scullion, but a scion of the Conqueror himself. Show her what's in store later, eh?"
"Monty, lie back and think of Westeros, eh? There's a good knight."
"Dany, your little girl just told me how beautiful you look in your gown. And don't let the scars fool you, Sebastian Florent is one of the gentlest men I know."
"Ravensbane cleans up well, wouldn't you say? Without the blood and mud, you might have a proper noble on your hands."
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on May 31, 2016 16:21:12 GMT
Alice Blackfort stood with her family, wearing her best red dress. It was wool, sadly, but it had a beautiful cut that helped accentuate the young woman's already prelavent curves, giving a tantalising view of leg and cleavage without being tasteless or crass, especially at a wedding. Her naturally straight hair had been curled for the occasion and with a bright smile she looked around the large church, astounded by its size.
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Ser Richard
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Post by Ser Richard on May 31, 2016 16:37:01 GMT
Richard stands with the family, reunited with some of them for the first time since the war had begun. He had been with the now King for the war after Redgrass, and had participated in the final assault. Clean now, wearing a black doublet, and inside the Great Sept of Baelor. How things changed. He shifted, almost uneasy with the massive amount of opulence around him. He glanced aside to Alice, and his mouth turned up at one corner "Little bit different than that little sept in the fort, eh?" he whispered aside while the ceremonies were being set up.
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Boros
Knight
Jon
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Post by Boros on May 31, 2016 16:37:08 GMT
Hoster stood beside Alice also wearing his best outfit, he had even taken a bath for the occasion (if by bath you meant 'sloshed water on his feet and armpits), his hair in a long ponytail; his expression mae it clear he was not happy about it. Being the Blackfort's eldest representative he had, even if unwillingly, be quite presentable at the wedding, or so had his Bonny Boys, who didn't know shit about shit, suggested. First, he had refused to partake in the ceremony, stepping into the great Sept seemed an offense not only to the Old Gods and to his blood, but also to himself; but after having a quite joyful time with his nephew, he knew he had to force himself to attend. Now standing here, Hoster almost repented this foolish idea, every word that fat fuck uttered made him want to spit on those false "hallowed" grounds; the constant reaching towards where his sword should be showed that he was clearly anxious about standing unarmed in such a place.
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Post by Maester Percival on May 31, 2016 16:54:26 GMT
Percival slipped into the very rear of the Sept. He studied the crowd looking for the new lord of Harrenhal. He folded his arms and sighed at the pitiful sight in front of him. His new Lord was so unimportant he was getting wed with three other couples. He studied the couples by the High Septon trying to identify his new lord and lady. Percival decided he was going to need to get quite drunk this evening.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on May 31, 2016 16:55:01 GMT
Richard stands with the family, reunited with some of them for the first time since the war had begun. He had been with the now King for the war after Redgrass, and had participated in the final assault. Clean now, wearing a black doublet, and inside the Great Sept of Baelor. How things changed. He shifted, almost uneasy with the massive amount of opulence around him. He glanced aside to Alice, and his mouth turned up at one corner "Little bit different than that little sept in the fort, eh?" he whispered aside while the ceremonies were being set up. Alice smiled up at Ser Richard, a man she had fond memories of. He'd always been kind to her and had shared a joke and a tale with the young girl, who had always been keen to listen. She was glad he was beside her, what with Hoster to her other side. That one was a drunk lout who had often looked close to trying to grab at her when she worked in the tavern. "I still can't quite believe we're here," She responded to Richard in an equal whisper. "It's all so big and rich; doesn't seem like the kind of place for us Blackforts."
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Ser Richard
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Post by Ser Richard on May 31, 2016 17:20:04 GMT
"We've been blessed, sure enough. Up to us be worthy of it now. Or at least not to muck around too much. Journey good? You never took to horses, but I've forgiven you" he places a hand over his heart as he joked with his favorite niece (Suck it Dacey) "for that horrible sin. Did you get a coach?
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The Raven
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Post by The Raven on May 31, 2016 17:22:30 GMT
Percival slipped into the very rear of the Sept. He studied the crowd looking for the new lord of Harrenhal. He folded his arms and sighed at the pitiful sight in front of him. His new Lord was so unimportant he was getting wed with three other couples. He studied the couples by the High Septon trying to identify his new lord and lady. Percival decided he was going to need to get quite drunk this evening. Percival saw the Lannister party in their usual gold and red, as well as the back of what was almost certainly his uncle Damon's head.
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Post by Tim of Raventree on May 31, 2016 17:32:04 GMT
Standing among her kin, Violet wore her best gown. The weave was fine blue wool, pleasantly soft. A darker blue was used for the embroidery, swirly patterns that ran all around her arms and two inches up the hem of the gown. She wore a simple necklace, a pretty blue stone hanging from a leather cord, and wished heartily that she had gold and gemstones to match the finery of the high ladies. Despite her simple garb, she managed to look pretty as she eagerly watched the lords and ladies. Everyone except from her immediate family was yet a stranger to her though she hoped to glimpse one or two of her acquaintances from the motherhouse.
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Post by Deleted on May 31, 2016 17:35:22 GMT
"We've been blessed, sure enough. Up to us be worthy of it now. Or at least not to muck around too much. Journey good? You never took to horses, but I've forgiven you" he places a hand over his heart as he joked with his favorite niece (Suck it Dacey) "for that horrible sin. Did you get a coach? "We did," Alice responded with a nod. "I still don't like being near horses but a coach is much preferable to riding." She smirked at him before looking up at the king. She'd never seen a king before and didn't really know how one would look like but what she saw seemed to fit. "Is he a good man? The king?" She asked her uncle as she looked their ruler over.
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Boros
Knight
Jon
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Post by Boros on May 31, 2016 17:57:04 GMT
Standing among her kin, Violet wore her best gown. The weave was fine blue wool, pleasantly soft. A darker blue was used for the embroidery, swirly patterns that ran all around her arms and two inches up the hem of the gown. She wore a simple necklace, a pretty blue stone hanging from a leather cord, and wished heartily that she had gold and gemstones to match the finery of the high ladies. Despite her simple garb, she managed to look pretty as she eagerly watched the lords and ladies. Everyone except from her immediate family was yet a stranger to her though she hoped to glimpse one or two of her acquaintances from the motherhouse. "Eh, lassie..." Hoster took a step sideways in order to get a little closer to Violet; even with the frosty winter breeze, it was sweating heavily under all that clothing. "Ah'd like ta sa' sum'thing to ye..." His tone was gentle, almost melancolic, but mixed with some heavy doses of anxiety. "Tha' day in da Camp. Ah didnee act propahly wi' ye. Ah'd like to beg yer pardon, shouldnee hav' talked to yer like tha'. Ye a fine young Lady, not sum street who... Ne'ermind." His shaky hand reached one more time towards the vacancy on his belt. "It's da wine, ye kno'?"
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Post by Tim of Raventree on May 31, 2016 18:03:27 GMT
Standing among her kin, Violet wore her best gown. The weave was fine blue wool, pleasantly soft. A darker blue was used for the embroidery, swirly patterns that ran all around her arms and two inches up the hem of the gown. She wore a simple necklace, a pretty blue stone hanging from a leather cord, and wished heartily that she had gold and gemstones to match the finery of the high ladies. Despite her simple garb, she managed to look pretty as she eagerly watched the lords and ladies. Everyone except from her immediate family was yet a stranger to her though she hoped to glimpse one or two of her acquaintances from the motherhouse. "Eh, lassie..." Hoster took a step sideways in order to get a little closer to Violet; even with the frosty winter breeze, it was sweating heavily under all that clothing. "Ah'd like ta sa' sum'thing to ye..." His tone was gentle, almost melancolic, but mixed with some heavy doses of anxiety. "Tha' day in da Camp. Ah didnee act propahly wi' ye. Ah'd like to beg yer pardon, shouldnee hav' talked to yer like tha'. Ye a fine young Lady, not sum street who... Ne'ermind." His shaky hand reached one more time towards the vacancy on his belt. "It's da wine, ye kno'?" Unfortunately for Hoster, Violet understood no more than half of what he'd said, though she did realise that he was apologising for her. "Thank you, uncle," she said sweetly. before smiling at him. "I know you did not mean to cause offence. I am....not accustomed to being around men who drink wine often. You are forgiven, of course. There will be wine later, at the feast. I hope you will find one to your liking."
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Post by Lord Belric Blackfort on May 31, 2016 18:10:00 GMT
Lord Belric of house Blackfort was a strong man, scared of few things. However, to be standing atop the septom's alter, under gods that wern't his own, left him slightly uneasy. That, as well as the inevitability of his own wedding, gave pause to the fearless lord. He shifted from one side to the other, adjusting the hang of his sword upon his hip. When he had gotten dressed, he had been offered a more elegant ceremonial sword, and offer he declined. It would not feel right, accepting accolade for killing Bloodraven while the sword that did the butchering lay thankless in a quiet room. He wore fine silks and leathers, thankful that the predominant color of his house was black. Belric's face was clean shaven, his lack of beard stripped the warrior of his ruggedness leaving behind a youthful yet handsome man. Were it not for the scar across his cheek, one may have never guessed he was a ruthless killer.
His eyes scanned the room, soldiers eyes seeking out strategic positioning if danger should arise. Here and there he spotted his family, noting that his rugged uncle looked half an honorable man. Belric put his fist to his lips, disguising his chuckle as if he were just clearing his throat. He was thankful for his family's presence, but could not help but think that all of them, including himself, were out of place. They were a long way from the Black Gate.
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Boros
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Jon
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Post by Boros on May 31, 2016 18:11:56 GMT
"Thank you, uncle," she said sweetly. before smiling at him. "I know you did not mean to cause offence. I am....not accustomed to being around men who drink wine often. You are forgiven, of course. There will be wine later, at the feast. I hope you will find one to your liking." "Ah doubt they be servin' tha' dornish piss that they call wine..." Hoster paused, trying to fix his sentence with a less offensive word. "Sorry, I meant wa'er." He swung from one leg to another, taking a look at the architecture of the Sept, during the awkward silence that followed. "Tha's sum bonny... er... roof, innit?" Hoster asked, trying to sound fancier than he actually was. Fancy folk talked about things like ceilings, didn't they? Brother Butcher had said so, it might've been the truth.
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Post by Tim of Raventree on May 31, 2016 18:19:43 GMT
"Ah doubt they be servin' tha' dornish piss that they call wine..." Hoster paused, trying to fix his sentence with a less offensive word. "Sorry, I meant wa'er." He swung from one leg to another, taking a look at the architecture of the Sept, during the awkward silence that followed. "Tha's sum bonny... er... roof, innit?" Hoster asked, trying to sound fancier than he actually was. Fancy folk talked about things like ceilings, didn't they? Brother Butcher had said so, it might've been the truth. Violet glanced upwards, craning her neck. "Yes, it's very pretty. I didn't know a sept could be this pretty. It's truly worthy of the gods. I wonder if the Red Keep is this beautiful inside."
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