|
Post by Maester Percival on May 31, 2016 22:58:42 GMT
Percival entered the feast, and looked about the grand surroundings. After one long glance he was already done with the festivities. He walked to a table and grabbed up a bottle of wine. Then he walked in a dark corner as far from the the Lannisters as possible. He sat and drank directly from the bottle.
|
|
Ser Richard
Guardsman
Ornaga
Posts - 387
Likes - 39
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Ser Richard on May 31, 2016 23:01:50 GMT
Ser Richard found the King sharing a cup with Fireball. The Lord Commander saw him first. "Sorry for the farce, friend. No one thought that His Rolliness had the stones. Not that anyone wonders how he hid them." Daemon covered his mouth to maintain propriety as he laughed before saying, "This is a wedding. Show some courtesy for our guests.' He couldn't get the grin off his face. Richard laughed "His Holiness is not what I expected. Have much more respect for the poorer septons, they at least can see their feet when they go walking." he turns to the king after the laugh "But in all seriousness, congratulations Your Grace. I haven't had time to say so yet."
|
|
The Gambler
Administrator
Alea Iacta Est
Posts - 1,984
Likes - 612
Joined - December 2015
|
Post by The Gambler on May 31, 2016 23:03:33 GMT
Although initially mistrustful of the wheeled wooden boxes, which in her experience were used to haul around supplies and men inept enough to get gravely wounded in battle, Dacey got into one with her sisters to be transported to the Red Keep. Despite having marched around in leathers and war paint for the better part of the last five years, she was someone who cleaned up nicely, even if her black dress wasn't anything remarkable. If she was impressed at the surroundings, it didn't show. She took a seat at the table they were assigned, close enough to Hoster to reprimand him if the situation called for it, yet far enough to not be in his immediate vicinity. As Hoster stood up to find less incestuous pastures in which to graze, a morbidly obese lord took his place besides Dacey, the wooden chair creaking in protest against his weight. He was dressed in rich clothes and Dacey likely entertained the thought that his tailor was a very rish man. The wavy green, white, and yellow sigil on his surcoat marked him as Lord Ambrose Butterwell, simultaneously a vassal of Harrenhal and the Master of Coin on the Small Council. "What are you doing sitting around?" he asked Dacey harshly, clearly mistaking her for a serving maid, reaching out to pinch her side with his sausage fingers. "Need an ale to wash this down, wench." he said, before gripping a greasy turkey leg from the center of the table.
|
|
Boros
Knight
Jon
Posts - 456
Likes - 205
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Boros on May 31, 2016 23:09:09 GMT
War had left not shortage of widows, old or young. Lady Mandrake of the Red Trident stood near her young heir, her husband having died in the siege of Riverrun. She still wore black in his honor. Of all the eligible women in the room though, the Mistress of Whisperers, Shiera Seastar, outshone them all. Hoster spotted just what he'd been searching for. Lady Mandrake fit quite perfect the required profile, especially for not being too highborn for him (actually, compared to him, she was... but fuck it, his family owned Harrenhal now, he'd like to see them scorn him). He checked his breath, a bit sour from the wine, but not as bad as usual; he aligned his red overcoat - which he had squeezed out of one of the finest tailors in Harroway's Town after a lucky gambling night- and his ponytail. His shirt was fitted just right to show his hardened muscles - it was that size definitely not because he had taken from a guy much smaller than him. "Excuse me, m'lady..." Hoster approached, having grabbed two chalices of wine on his way there. "I'm Hoster Blackfort, uncle to the just married Lord of Harrenhal." He stressed that last bit less subtly than he intended. "I'd like ta say, tha' I met yer husband durin' tha Campaign an' he was a great man. We fought in many a-battle together, an' t'was an honor to 'ave knowe... known him." The truth was Hoster had no idea who the fuck was her husband, but he believed the lie would stick to the wall.
|
|
The Gambler
Administrator
Alea Iacta Est
Posts - 1,984
Likes - 612
Joined - December 2015
|
Post by The Gambler on May 31, 2016 23:21:04 GMT
Under the pretense that she had dropped a hairpin, Violet excused herself from her relatives and headed towards the group of young Riverlanders. She heartily wished she had a chaperone with her but there were plenty of women present, so that would have to suffice. "Excuse me," she said politely. "I seem to have lost a hairpin. I was hoping someone could help me find it?" She smiled at the group and attempted to lock eyes with the most handsome man in the group. They were all rather fit lads, as war, especially the one in the Riverlands, did not afford any time for lethargy...unless your last name was Butterwell it seemed. Most of the men began to look around in earnest, but it was Lord Roote that stepped forward to address her directly, not falling for the ploy. He was of age with Belric and the time of lord that had always made sure to know not only the names of those under him, but that of their families as well. "Violet Blackfort, all grown up!" he exclaimed, with a broad, if slightly licentious grin, as he looked her up and down. "Last I'd heard, you were on your way to become a septa. Think every lad in this room will light a candle to whichever of the Seven they can thank for that not being the case."
|
|
Vex
Lord Paramount
what is this
Posts - 938
Likes - 241
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Vex on May 31, 2016 23:22:33 GMT
As Hoster stood up to find less incestuous pastures in which to graze, a morbidly obese lord took his place besides Dacey, the wooden chair creaking in protest against his weight. He was dressed in rich clothes and Dacey likely entertained the thought that his tailor was a very rish man. The wavy green, white, and yellow sigil on his surcoat marked him as Lord Ambrose Butterwell, simultaneously a vassal of Harrenhal and the Master of Coin on the Small Council. "What are you doing sitting around?" he asked Dacey harshly, clearly mistaking her for a serving maid, reaching out to pinch her side with his sausage fingers. "Need an ale to wash this down, wench." he said, before gripping a greasy turkey leg from the center of the table. Dacey sat up even straighter when the fat lord landed next to her, momentarily perplexed. Having picked up a dagger a few minutes earlier to cut up some meat, she used it to swat away the lord's hand with the flat of the blade, forcefully enough to leave a mark. His sigil and colours told her nothing. "If you like having fingers, don't touch me again," she warned, scowling at him with the dagger in her hand.
|
|
The Gambler
Administrator
Alea Iacta Est
Posts - 1,984
Likes - 612
Joined - December 2015
|
Post by The Gambler on May 31, 2016 23:44:09 GMT
Hoster spotted just what he'd been searching for. Lady Mandrake fit quite perfect the required profile, especially for not being too highborn for him (actually, compared to him, she was... but fuck it, his family owned Harrenhal now, he'd like to see them scorn him). He checked his breath, a bit sour from the wine, but not as bad as usual; he aligned his red overcoat - which he had squeezed out of one of the finest tailors in Harroway's Town after a lucky gambling night- and his ponytail. His shirt was fitted just right to show his hardened muscles - it was that size definitely not because he had taken from a guy much smaller than him. "Excuse me, m'lady..." Hoster approached, having grabbed two chalices of wine on his way there. "I'm Hoster Blackfort, uncle to the just married Lord of Harrenhal." He stressed that last bit less subtly than he intended. "I'd like ta say, tha' I met yer husband durin' tha Campaign an' he was a great man. We fought in many a-battle together, an' t'was an honor to 'ave knowe... known him." The truth was Hoster had no idea who the fuck was her husband, but he believed the lie would stick to the wall. "Hoster...Hoster....Hoster...." the woman muttered as if trying to recall something, tone amiable even as her nose wrinkled at the liquor on his breath and she moved her son protectively behind her. "Hoster!" she finally exclaimed jubilantly. "Yes, my dear Donyl sent me a Raven every week of the campaign. You were the one that was thrown off his horse into the latrines, yes? I know it is quite unladylike, but I laughed myself to tears when I read that tale. It got me through many a dark knight."
|
|
The Raven
Administrator
Posts - 1,119
Likes - 230
Joined - December 2015
|
Post by The Raven on May 31, 2016 23:47:39 GMT
Percival entered the feast, and looked about the grand surroundings. After one long glance he was already done with the festivities. He walked to a table and grabbed up a bottle of wine. Then he walked in a dark corner as far from the the Lannisters as possible. He sat and drank directly from the bottle. It wasn't long before he was approached by a lordling from the nearby Reach table. "Grand Maester Alford would like you to know that if you're looking for advice, you don't need to get drunk first." There, with the other Hightowers, sat the old man himself, beckoning the younger maester with frail fingers.
|
|
The Gambler
Administrator
Alea Iacta Est
Posts - 1,984
Likes - 612
Joined - December 2015
|
Post by The Gambler on May 31, 2016 23:56:13 GMT
Alice smiled brightly, liking the accent that the queen had. She sounded exotic, making the woman even more beautiful and Alice found herself a little bit envious of the woman. "We do indeed, though I have not heard the whole tale from my brother himself. You see, I hadn't seen him since before his heroics and have not had the time to needle him with mah... my questions." She blushed a little again. "May I say that you look very beautiful, your grace." "I am sure your bards will have it immortalized soon enough. Harrenhal will need at least one song that is not a dirge," she replied, before smiling at the compliment. "I will be sure to tell my father you said so. The gown and dyes were a coronation present from Tyrosh. Everyone needs a little something to remind them of home. Did you bring anything to remind you of your own?"
|
|
Boros
Knight
Jon
Posts - 456
Likes - 205
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Boros on May 31, 2016 23:56:31 GMT
"Hoster...Hoster....Hoster...." the woman muttered as if trying to recall something, tone amiable even as her nose wrinkled at the liquor on his breath and she moved her son protectively behind her. "Hoster!" she finally exclaimed jubilantly. "Yes, my dear Donyl sent me a Raven every week of the campaign. You were the one that was thrown off his horse into the latrines, yes? I know it is quite unladylike, but I laughed myself to tears when I read that tale. It got me through many a dark knight." "Nay, m'lady." Hoster felt the heat coming up his neck; he'd never ridden a fucking horse before, so he couldn't quite have been thrown out of one. He knew she was taunting him, he couldn't give in to pressure. "Ah' don' quite remember tha' story, must 'ave been someone else, pro'bly Donyl himself. Not a good drunk rider tha one." He said with a grin, taking a sit and presenting her with a chalice, completely ignoring her son.
|
|
The Gambler
Administrator
Alea Iacta Est
Posts - 1,984
Likes - 612
Joined - December 2015
|
Post by The Gambler on May 31, 2016 23:59:24 GMT
Dacey sat up even straighter when the fat lord landed next to her, momentarily perplexed. Having picked up a dagger a few minutes earlier to cut up some meat, she used it to swat away the lord's hand with the flat of the blade, forcefully enough to leave a mark. His sigil and colours told her nothing. "If you like having fingers, don't touch me again," she warned, scowling at him with the dagger in her hand. The fat lord yelped and put the stinging finger in his mouth, dropping the turkey leg to the floor. He then made a noise that could only be described as a harumph. "Damnation woman, do you know who I am?" he bellowed, heavy jowels reminiscent of a bulldog.
|
|
Deleted
Posts - 0
Likes -
Joined - January 1970
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2016 0:03:19 GMT
"I am sure your bards will have it immortalized in song soon enough. Harrenhal will need at least one song that is not a dirge," she replied, before smiling at the compliment. "I will be sure to tell my father you said so. The gown and dyes were a coronation present from Tyrosh. Everyone needs a little something to remind them of home. Did you bring anything to remind you of your own?" Alice shook her head. "In all this excitement I completely forgot to bring anything, though I must admit I own very little. Perhaps I can persuade my brother to send one of my books when he... well, not returns home but... I am sure we can work something out!" She quickly laughed to cover up another embarrassment. This wasn't going well. "I do very much like forward to being your handmaiden, your Grace, though I am sure I will have to learn much of what goes with the, uh, position."
|
|
The Raven
Administrator
Posts - 1,119
Likes - 230
Joined - December 2015
|
Post by The Raven on Jun 1, 2016 0:04:35 GMT
"What makes you think it is a terrible storm," Saesha asked, looking at him. The High Septon lowered his voice. "Harrenhal is no place to raise a family. Monstrous heathens built that place with sorcery, and monstrous heathens brought it down again with sorcery.For two centuries, the Most Devout have received reports of heresy, witchcraft, madness, spirits, possession, and worse. If you can... I would urge you to refuse this post. Perhaps a post as Lord Commander of the City Watch. Stay here and keep your king safe. Don't settle your family in the mouth of the Seven Hells."
|
|
Vex
Lord Paramount
what is this
Posts - 938
Likes - 241
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Vex on Jun 1, 2016 0:08:16 GMT
The fat lord yelped and put the stinging finger in his mouth, dropping the turkey leg to the floor. He then made a noise that could only be described as a harumph. "Damnation woman, do you know who I am?" he bellowed, heavy jowels reminiscent of a bulldog. Dacey, who'd already turned back to her plate, gave the fat lout a non-commital shrug. She'd definitely not seen him anywhere near a battlefield and strongly suspected there was a horse strong enough in the whole Seven Kingdoms that could carry this sack of grease around on its back. "No. Who are ya then?" she asked.
|
|
|
Post by Lord Belric Blackfort on Jun 1, 2016 0:16:32 GMT
Again, Belric had to stifle the urge to hit the High Septon; the desire growing increasingly difficult to ignore. "You would ask me to deny a request from my King?" he asked with strength in his voice, built upon loyalty for Daemon Blackfyre. "Based on what, witchcraft and superstition?" Belric stoop up tall, like a bear sizing up its opponent. "I have seen sorcerers bleed and die, the same as any man. I will not be turned away."
|
|