Daeron stands with his Aunt, Ser Rymon and a handful of guardsmen on a long pier, made of sentinel wood atop dressed stone. The stone has blackened where a fire had burnt the pier during the Rebellion, but the wood was new, and the stone below still sound.
Sailors from the Ice Maiden are throwing lines to a number of men at the moorings, and the ship it quickly held fast. A heavy gangway is lowered onto the deck, and his Uncle Gilder strides across. Gilder looks well enough physically, although he has a small bandage on his upper arm. His smile beams as he sees Daeron, and walks to him directly, passing Lady Ayala without a word. “Daeron, my boy! I hope that you’ve had a good lesson in politics while I taught these savages something of war!” He gestures to the Ironborn vessel, which has also been brought into its moorings. It’s figurehead is more clear now: a mermaid, bursting out of seafoam, but her face is in a rictus of fear, and her eyes appear to be bleeding tears down her cheeks onto her breasts. Six men are escorted from the vessel in iron shackles; They are stripped to their leggings, and each bears a tattoo of a teardrop, blood red in color, on the center of their chest. “Two of their ships, Daeron! Two of them against us. It was like the old days, they chase, and we sweep their decks with arrows. I should give a title to that coxswain, keeping us even in the water as he did. When it was done, one of them turned tail and we boarded and took the other as a prize.” He turns to his wife, “A prize for your, Lady,” and bows with all the gallantry he can muster.
“The call her ‘Saltwife’s Tears,’ but you can change that, of course. Something more appropriate, I imagine, about herons or trout.” Gilder’s smile is genuine enough, but Lady Ayala looks shocked, and her eyes glint darkly. She nods her head and says without emotion, “Thank you, husband, it is almost as fine a gift as knowing you are home safe.”
“Well, quite right, quite right. I should like to have your company this evening after dinner, then. Good. And I see Ser Rymon has come to see me safely home. I hope that you are well, and that my wife’s hospitality has been to your liking? Good, good. So, Daeron, there will be time for my adventures later. Tell me, what have you learned these past few days?” He throws a conspiratorial arm over Daeron’s shoulder, and begins walking to the horses on the shore.
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"Unfortunately, Uncle, the politics have been, or at least seem to be, rather straight forward." Daeron lowers his voice somewhat and begins to explain about the appearance of the Drowned Priest and the disappearance of the Ironborn ship; Malcolm's midnight ride and the beacon fire in the early light; the morning council meeting and Roger's garrison-joined voyage.
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ooc: If Daeron knows that Gilder speaks Braavosi then he will explain what has happened in that tongue. In any case, he will pause when he notices anyone uninvited by Gilder approaching to eavesdrop (Awareness: (4,4,5)+3 = 16).
Gilder’s brow furrows as Daeron recounts the events of the last day. “I see. You were right to send men north. Ser Roger and Ser Sigurd were good choices for command, I’ll wager. I wish that Malcolm had not left on his own, but you’ll find he does that. It may be these lot, “ he gestures to the Ironborn behind him, “know of this ship. I’ll put some of the lads to work asking them questions when we return to Tidehall. And perhaps we should put questions to this Drowned Priest as well.”
ReplyDeleteDaeron notices that both Ayala and Ser Rymon are close enough to hear Gilder. Ayala seems lost in her own thoughts, while Rymon is watching Gilder intently. When Gilder gestures at the Ironborn, Ser Rymon looks at them as well, with what Daeron thinks may be fear. Before he can be sure, Gilder adds, “Let’s return now, and what word of my brother Erryk? How is your father?”
The column is forming, with a dozen Seaguards falling in behind Gilder as he and those that left Tidehall begin mounting their horses.
Looking at Wesley, Daeron silently admonishes the horse to remember their bargain, then begins to mount.
ReplyDeleteOnce mounted, Daeron faces his uncle and states, "My father has not gotten better," then falls silent for a bit.
Just as Gilder is about to speak again, Daeron suddenly speaks, "Oh! I had forgotten, but Maester Aldrik mentioned there may be some herbs or mushrooms or some-such found in the old ruins that may help." That is, if Father wants to be helped...
Daeron's thoughts, although unspoken, cloud his face for Gilder to see.
“Your father is a strong man, Daeron. When we were boys, Erryk could outwrestle our brother Cassian. He was killed during the Rebellion, you know, but a fierce warrior nonetheless; knighted at 14. If the Maester says these herbs will help Erryk, we should send men to collect them as soon as this odd business with the Ironborn ship is passed. Speak to Aldrik and see that he provides you with drawings and descriptions of the plants for the men, we don’t want them bringing back useless weeds.”
ReplyDelete“I will continue to pray the Mother watches over Erryk, Daeron.” His Aunt’s voice is quiet but clear from where she rides behind him. Ser Rymon only grunts, but Daeron takes it as support. Gilder nods appreciation in their direction.
They ride along the edge of the market, and the smallfolk pause to bow their heads as Gilder rides past, followed by the Guardsmen and the Seaguards. Their train ends with a line of 6 prisoners in shackles, who are spit upon and heckled by the crowd behind Daeron.
As they reach the edge of town, Daeron spies the watchmen on the walls of Tidehall, peering back at him. The castle bridge is still lowered, and the portcullis is up to admit a funerary cart. He looks reflexively towards the spot on the beach where he had seen the Drowned Priest earlier today, but there is no sign of him now, just a few fishing skiffs and women tending nets.
Daeron silently nods at Gilder's remarks. He turns at his Aunt's statement and gives her a brief yet sincere smile, "You have my thanks for your prayers."
ReplyDeleteooc: moving Daeron to Tidehall.
ReplyDeleteSer Roger considers the boy’s words as he attempts to calm him. While his ravings are confused, Roger senses he is trying to tell him what had happened to him over the past few hours. He made references to the Gods, and Roger thought a battle as well. Further understanding would require more consideration. The boy becomes silent and his eyes are glassy with tears, staring into the waves as they push south.
ReplyDeleteRiker and Roger step a few feet away. “Ser Roger, I know only what I’ve told you. He’s one of our smallfolk, and bears the rebel’s ink, but Ser Malcolm stayed my hand when I moved to kill him after the battle near the burning ship. He said the boy had information that should be heard, and then collapsed. The boy spent the night with us in the huts, rocking and muttering about not wanting to hurt anyone, and something about fish as well. We tried to get him to eat or sleep, but he refused. When the rebels fell on us this morning, he just kept screaming ‘Father, Father!’ and hacked at our attackers with Ser Malcolm’s sword. Truth be told, with some training he could turn out well, I think. If he’s not a madman.”
The ships round the densely wooded outcrop of land that forms the northern boundary of the cove, and begin tacking into the deep waters around Tannyr’s Quay. Ser Sigurd and his sailors give up a shout that startles the men of the Fog and Ser Roger. Sigurd says, “Look there, Ser Roger, at port! There’s the Ice Maiden, and the rest of the fleet! Lord Gilder must be returned home. I imagine he’ll require your report, and your cargo, immediately.”
The ships pull into the Quay, and mooring lines are thrown and tied. Ser Malcolm is moved on a litter, closely watched by Seff, and the rest of the men begin to disembark. The boy still lies on the deck.
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ooc: I believe there will be an “end of session” at the end of this game day – we shall see what transpires. An advancement will go out then.
ooc: oh, in case you missed it in the other thread, a rider appears as your disembarking, leading a train of a five horses to bear people back to Tidehall. One of the horses is a draft animal that appears unused to the saddle, but should bear Ser Roger's weight.
ReplyDeleteAwareness: [6,5,4,1]=16
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"Mother be praised, that is the Ice Maiden. And would you say that is a Reaver ship? It appears we were not the only ones to see action," Roger remarks. "Thank you for providing us a safe voyage home," Roger says with a strong pat to Sigurd's back.
As they pull into dock, Ser Roger disembarks and yells for Riker and Yarr to join him. Waiting for the two men, Roger turns toward Seff. "How is Ser Malcolming fairing, and the other wounded? Be sure to get them to the Maester as soon as possible. Use whatever men you need."
Roger thanks the rider bring the horses as he swings up onto the stot.
"It is past time we got a report to Lord Gilder," Ser Roger states as Riker and Yarr choose two more of the horses and mount up.
As they ride, Roger places the Reaver's head on the end of his great sword and is sure to hold it high for all to see, especially the peasants who may be contemplating the worship of a certain drowned god. Some of the blood had yet to dry and it crept down the blade, black as sin and slow as molasses.
It was quite obvious that Ser Roger was proud of his newest triumph.
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Awareness (Empathy) for the crowd (looking for their reactions: [5,5,4,4(3,1)]=18
Ooc: I enjoy the possibility that Yarr would be riding along with you, seeing as he’s dead. I’m going to surmise you meant someone else. I’m going with Scrag, seeing as we haven’t seen him in awhile, and I feel the glut of NPCs do not require additional men of the Fog. Of course, I specified a handful of horses, so if some other folks are also along too (in case you meant someone else specific) that’s fine. I would like to know who (other than you riker and scrag is with you though, for sake of argument later).
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Ser Roger makes his way through the town, winding through the crowded streets near the market. His grisly standard is held aloft, and most of the nearby peasants stop their activity and appear mesmerized. The Lord’s Justice knew better than most the fascination of the smallfolk with death, especially the children. There is both fear and comfort in their eyes.
As they leave the market, they pass through a throng near the sept. Septon Ravel is standing on the steps, and holds a crystal aloft in blessing as they pass; Ser Roger’s black mail drinks up dazzling color. After a while, the buildings begin to thin and as they round the corner they see an empty cart, being pulled slowly by a single, untended mule. The mule is dark with sweat, but does not appear to be blown.
Riker suggests, “Ser, we could use that to transport the wounded back to Tidehall. Shall I send Scrag to see to it?”
From his current vantage, he can see the Castriati banner is being raised on top of the Falcon Tower, a symbol that the Lord was indeed returned home.
ooc: Scrag, Riker, and the boy have been brought along. (I'll go back for the boy if I must, as I forgot to mention him earlier).
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"Excellent suggestion, Riker," Ser Roger announces, "Scrag, please see that the cart is taken back to bring home the wounded."
Ser Roger looks back to check on the boy. The boy seems to still have sense enough to keep his balance on the horse, even if he speaks nothing but gibberish. If the boy gains back his senses and he fights as well as Riker says, maybe I'll take him on as my squire.
The colors whipping in the wind over Falcon Tower jerks Roger from his thoughts. "It is good to see that banner flying again," Roger says to Riker as they continue to make their way toward the hall.
Upon reaching the gate, Roger announces his victorious return and, noticing Daeron, Ser Rymon and Lady Castriati, directed horses in their direction. Ser Roger quickly dismounted and bowed before his lady and spoke his greetings to all three. "It is true that Lord Castriati has returned? I must see him, as soon as he is willing," Roger stated, directing his voice toward Daeron.
ooc: closing this thread. moving you up to the other thread shortly.
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