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Post by Lord Belric Blackfort on Jun 11, 2016 3:23:35 GMT
He welcomed her gentle hands against his side, placing his good arm around her. Belric made sure swing his cloak over Saesha shoulder as well, shielding her from the cold. "We make a good team Saesha, but today I am the one who is proud. If we are too win this day without incident, it has been by your doing. The only thing standing between us and Harrenhal now is Jamie the Smith."
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Post by Ser Tallahar Rivers on Jun 11, 2016 3:27:13 GMT
Tallahar takes a spot near the front of the circle that had formed for the two men to fight. Casting a look over at his brother and his new wife a small smile comes to the Bastard Knights face as he see Belric clearly smitten with his bride.
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Barley
High Lord
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Post by Barley on Jun 11, 2016 3:31:28 GMT
"Those men are in the armoury, hopefully the opening of the granaries and perhaps other outcomes will placate them." Saesha said, pulling the cloak around her. "This end could not have come about unless you sent in the scout party, and got Bruce down from the tower. Daemon would not have put us together unless we were the best fit," she assured him, hoping he was one of those men who got excited seeing their wives take charge than get emasculated.
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Post by Lord Belric Blackfort on Jun 11, 2016 3:44:44 GMT
"I will be sure to thank your brother again for forcing you upon me. He makes a fine matchmaker. Perhaps he missed his calling." He squeezed her against him, teasing her in good spirits. "We should head to the armories once this is over. I would like to meet the man who can inspire five hundred commoners."
Belric's smiled faded, stolen by embarrassment as he noticed Tallahar had caught him having a good time. A man was about to die, this was not the time or place.
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Barley
High Lord
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Post by Barley on Jun 11, 2016 11:42:58 GMT
"Men with a common cause are easier to inspire. I doubt it would take more than, let's get our food and children back," Saesha said, looking out and waiting for the match to begin.
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Vex
Lord Paramount
what is this
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Post by Vex on Jun 11, 2016 11:59:26 GMT
Dacey materialized next to Belric, hiding her disdain for this untimely (not to mention gross) public display of affection with her usual blank expression and wondering if her brother had gone soft already. She followed the Whents with her eyes a while before speaking up; questioning Belric's decisions wasn't really something she ever did.
"Why this?" she asked coolly. "If the old man wins, then what? You'll go treaty with your people, the people you're supposed to protect, backed by the man who abducted and butchered their children?" she inquired, still looking at the scene before them.
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Barley
High Lord
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Post by Barley on Jun 11, 2016 14:17:42 GMT
"People want justice, most people here believe in the Seven. A trial by combat should suffice by most." Saesha looked to dacey, "If you have a way of showing we will uphold the laws, get all the men backing us and feeding the people, I would love to hear it," her tone was not condescending, she at least sounded like she was genuinely curious as to what the woman would have done that would have gained such a favourable outcome. She personally hoped it was Bruce that was the victor, she imagined that would go down best with the people.
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Boros
Knight
Jon
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Post by Boros on Jun 11, 2016 14:24:15 GMT
Hoster, who also suddenly appeared by Belric's shoulder, again shifted uneasily. He didn't give a fuck about the welfare of the people, but that fellow had eaten children, not even those barbaric Ironborn complied with this type of stuff.
"She's right, boyo..." Because he was not drunk, Hoster allowed himself to not be a dick. "We can't habour a bastard like 'tis one."
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Post by Ser Willis Blackfort on Jun 11, 2016 14:34:35 GMT
Willis had probably been there the whole time.
"Even if the old man wins, ain't nothin' that says we have to keep him on at Harrenhal. Revoke his position, cut him loose. Still better than he deserves, though."
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Vex
Lord Paramount
what is this
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Post by Vex on Jun 11, 2016 14:46:55 GMT
"I wasn't talking to you," she told Saesha evenly, though turned to study her all the same. "If we're giving this man a chance at survival, it is not justice."
"Blood begets blood, brother," she reminded Belric with a single glance before stepping away from the crowd that had suddenly appeared around their lord and lady.
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Barley
High Lord
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Post by Barley on Jun 11, 2016 14:57:14 GMT
"I apologise," Saesha replied magnanimously, looking forward at the two men readying for battle, but her eyes were fiery at the woman's rudeness, "Thank you, that was most helpful" Saesha replied cooly, the woman clearly had no real idea about what was going on though. The main issues they had were no food and no money, both which simon had. This caused the least loss of life, they could deal with other problems later. Simon could die.
Clearly Dacey's genius solution to all of the problems would have to wait, as a whole two more people approached.
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Post by Maester Percival on Jun 11, 2016 15:10:50 GMT
Percival had been following Saesha quietly. He listened to the farmer folk berate the High lady. Percival seethed internally at them for daring to question her. There was no other way out this besides slaying every man serving Ser Simon. The farmer folk would just murder the man who had clearly suffered for his honor. Percival hoped Simon would wind, and thought that the gods might agree. Besides Simon being a thorn of discomfort consistently for the Blackforts. He was far more loyal. How could they take a knight into their service who had murdered his former lord.
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Post by Tim of Raventree on Jun 11, 2016 15:22:33 GMT
Violet huddled anxiously in her cloak. She didn't want to watch a duel but there was nowhere else to go. She murmured a prayer to the Father for justice.
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The Gambler
Administrator
Alea Iacta Est
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Post by The Gambler on Jun 11, 2016 16:37:17 GMT
(So everyone understands why plate is so expensive, it was 12 rounds before a hit was landed and 35 before the deathblow.)
The two combatants faced each other across the lumpy misshapen training yard, both clad in the black plate and skull helms that had once marked them as allies. Both men looked resolute, certain in their convictions, certain in the other's guilt of crimes against gods and men. Ser Simon wielded a longsword in each hand, while his nephew, Ser Bruce favored a longsword and a shield depicting the nine bats of House Whent. If he had his way, the ninth bat that had begotten that crest would fall today.
The battle began with little fanfare, no flowery speeches, just two grim men who wanted to kill one another closing the gap and swinging their blades. Their compatriots did not even let up a cheer for their respective champion, knowing the gravity of the situation when kin was forced to fight kin, the yard silent except for the song of steel.
Simon and Bruce battered away at one another, countless blows glancing against shield and plate, their heavy breathing visible in the chill winter air as they swung their weapons, holding nothing back. They danced around the yard exchanging blows, each knowing their treacherous surroundings like the back of their hand. Ser Simon had trained Ser Bruce in this very yard, granted him his spurs as he knelt on the warped stone. When a young Bruce had called the yard ugly compared to the smooth pristine training grounds of other lords, Ser Simon had informed the boy that this was the best place for a knight to train in the whole Seven Kingdoms. No real battlefield was smooth unblemished stone, impeccably flat and surefooted. A battlefield was treacherous, with rocks and roots to snag a foot, and corpses that could send a knight to his back and subsequent death. The fissures and ridges of Flowstone Yard mimicked this variable perfectly, forced a man to mind his surroundings as well as his opponent. If either man thought of these better days, it did not show in their fighting. Time, and perhaps this cursed place, had just left two bitter knights.
Ser Bruce drew blood first, the younger knight bashing the older one in the face with his shield. As Ser Simon stumbled back, Ser Bruce's sword found the spot at his armpit where the joints of his plate met, slamming the blade up and then swiftly pulling back. Blood ran from the wound, crimson drops on the slate grey stone. (Ser Simon takes a Medium Wound for -10)
Ser Bruce moved forward to finish his uncle, but in his haste stumbled over a fissure in the stone. The more experienced (or simply just better fed) Ser Simon struck like a snake; deflecting his nephew's sword stroke downwards with one blade as he side-stepped and drove the other through the back of his opponent's knee where there was no plate so the joint could bend. Bruce roared in pain, dropping to one knee as Simon twisted the thin blade, blood pouring out of the wound (Ser Bruce takes a Heavy Wound for -17.5). Stepping around Bruce as the crippled knight swung wildly with rage, Ser Simon stepped behind him and inflicted an identical injury to the other leg with precision, skewering both kneecaps, the younger knight dropping to his knees like a sinner before an angry god. (Ser Bruce Takes another Heavy Wound for a total of -35).
What followed was no longer a fight, it was surgery, the older knight dismantling the younger piece by piece. As Ser Whent brought up his shield, Ser Simon brought one of his blades down to hack at the spot where where his shoulder met his neck, drawing blood. (Medium Wound for Bruce, -45 now). He dislodged the blade and brought it down in the same spot again, this time resulting in a sickening crunch as Ser Bruce's collarbone shattered. His shield arm went limp at his side as he swung his sword in a wide arc, just trying to buy himself a few feet to breathe, a few moments of reprieve (Another Heavy for Bruce for -62.5). He got neither. Ser Simon repeated the process to the other arm, swatting the blade aside and hacking at the shoulder until the same sickening crunch echoed in the yard, sword arm going limp as well (Another for -80).
With his foe's limbs crippled, Ser Simon dropped one of his swords and tore off Ser Bruce's helmet with the free hand, then began bashing the pommel of his sword into the poor man's face, a face that held some resemblance to his own, He broke Ser Bruce's nose, shattered his teeth, broke his jaw, leaving a pulpy ruin, taking out all the rage at what had been taken from him; his love, his child, his purpose in life. (Another for -97.5)
"Yield!" Bruce managed to shout somehow, in desperation, spitting blood and a dozen of his own teeth upon the black skull visage of death before him. "I yield uncle! Have mer-" He was cut off as Ser Simon rammed the point of his blade into his nephew's mouth, the blade sprouting out the back of his head. It was not a quick death, the younger man choking on torrents of his own blood and fragments of his own bone. "I have none to spare for traitors," Ser Simon intoned, as he slid the blade out and the dead man slumped forward.
(FATALITY! Ser Bruce is slain. Ser Simon Wins.)
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Post by Maester Percival on Jun 11, 2016 17:15:43 GMT
Percival watched the fight dispassionately. He did not want to show his support for Simon because he did not want to become associated with a child murderer. He was quite pleased when Ser Simon won, and nodded once. He walked forward as soon as the battle finished, "Ser Simon would you like me to examine your wounds?" He bowed his head respectfully.
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