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Thread: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

  1. #11
    OPA Belta Saturno's Avatar
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    Re: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

    THE HEIR


    You could see the relief in the wrinkled face of the old servant. -Oh, that's wise of you, Alwyn. Finally someone actually listened to this sad sack of bones. -He sighed deeply. -Well, I don't believe your brother will come back from the capital so soon, my young lord. But I also believe there is no harm in trying. Maybe he will listen to you, it all depends of what you will write to him. Now with your permission my lord, I will tend to other matters and send some servant to lit your fire. My lord can summon me anytime, or send a boy for me when finished the letter. I will have a rider to take it for your brother with haste. -The small whitehaired man made a reverence and took his leave, letting you with your thoughts.

    You looked around, making yourself comfortable in your father's seat. It was not the throne of the castle, no, that was reserved for the Lord of Greenwalls and was localized in the great hall. The seat of the Gargon Lords was a mighty throne made of cold grey stone, carved with a thousand drawings of fish and seaweeds, with arms in the form of waves and a rising whale's tail as it's back. Your father told you that the first Gargon, Galrys, was a valyrian advisor of Aegon the Conqueror himself, and as a gift from the first Targaryen King of the Iron Throne he gained the castle of an old house destroyed in the Conquest. Your ancestor chose to keep the castle coat of arms from himself, and it is said that Aegon frequently flied to Greenwalls over Balerion to see his old friend. You wondered how magnificent would be to see the black wings of the huge dragon over the windows of your solar.

    Someone knocked the door, pulling you from your thoughts. -Pardon, m'lord. Should I lit the hearth? -Gretch asked after you let her enter. She was a servant of the castle, mid aged and with a sad, tired look on her cheeks. While she rushed to lit the fire, you noticed that was raining outside, with winds hitting the wooden windows with increasing strength. You wondered how the fishers were at sea. It was not long ago that you were salling with Master Errol in the Mighty Gargon, the huge old dromond of your family, the biggest of your warships. Now all of them were destroyed, Whale's Wrath, Golden Flipper, Brave Argos and Arold's Mercy, all lost in the Blackwater. It saddened you considerably. As the room filled with the warm red light of the fires, you looked to the files and papers over your desk.

    In the middle of book accounts, trade agreements, annotations and messages, was a small parchment with the handwriting of your brother.

    "Dear Alwyn,

    It is with the heart filled of joy that I write this letter, for we won. It was a long night of battle, with our uncle Ralph guarding our Grace King Jeoffrey with other valiant knights in the walls of the port and myself in the Mud Gate, side to side with the greatest warriors of our time. The fight was heavy and plenty, and our house suffered greatly. Saddens me to say that our ships were burned during the night, and many of our men died fighting. But I knew the Warrior and the Father were at our side. My faith proved true, for Tywin Lannister rode over Stannis in the end of the terrible night, scattering his host. We won, brother! This is naught but the first victory over the traitors, hear my words. But for now King's Landing needs food as much as it needs swords, so I require you to order Symon to put a fourth of our granary and our stocks and to guard it. The rest is to be sent to the Redkeep. The mouth of the Blackwater is filled with wreckage from the battle and the decks are in ruins as are the shipyards, so the only option is the land. Captain Willem shall choose our thirty best men to escort the caravans, with a trusted name to lead them, perhaps Morson or Padrick.

    Do send my regards and my love for our brothers and sisters, and tell our mother it won't be long for our father's bones to be brought back home.
    Seven bless you,
    From your brother,
    Lord Alber Gargon."

    While you were reading your brother last letter, Gretch asked permission to leave, and then you were alone. The room was warmer now, and quiet, if not for the rain outside and the cracking of the wood in the hearth. You looked to the feather and the ink at your side. Should you use this quiet moment to write your brother as Symon wished?

    [OFF: All right, now you must decide: you will write the letter now or will you wait? You can use your brother's message as a base to how a letter would look like.]


    THE KNIGHT


    With cold rain hitting your armor and your face, you pressed Sugar with your heels and your knees, pushing the mare out of the muddy trail before a hidden hole could break her leg. You rode for some time following the distant green silhouette of Garth, sometimes losing him behind a small hill or a big rock, only to find him again later, punishing his horse. Garth "guided" you over a stream, a passage of rocks and a field of crops. Captain Willem and young Meryn were not far behind you, the first opening his helm from time to time to see where you and the boy were.


    You finally caught Garth behind a huge fig tree over a small road made by the farmers in the vicinity, looking at you with a white face. The tree was enormous, protecting you and your splinted mail from much of the rain when you went under it. Not far from there, maybe two hundred feet, was the small wooden shack of Jasper, the farmer, with some ducks nearby. A thunder roared in the sky as Ser Willem removed his helmet. -Damn you, boy! You should never ran like that again, do you hear me? I trained you better than this! -He shouted with cheeks red from the chase. But Garth didn't respond. His eyes were wide, looking to the farmer's wooden house.


    -L-Larry! -Garth pointed with a shaking finger to the ducks, more precisely to a pile of cloth in the mud close to them and in the way to the house. -It's Larry! He was g-guarding the p-path! -Cried the young guard. Ser Willem drew his longsword, Meryn looked at you with this blue eyes. It took you some time to see that clothes in the rain were in truth a man, face down in the ground, his deep green cloak hiding his leather armor. -Seven curses... -Muttered Ser Willem in a low voice and vivid eyes.


    THE BASTARD


    You could smell Tom's breath as you lied to his face, and you could see his little eyes tightening as his mind processed this new information. For you it was easy to read his face, and momentarily his anger turned to sincere concern for his wife's well being. But then Norwell, that rat, spoke up. -Tis is a stinking lie, Tom! I saw them with my own eyes! The fool was giggling 'n playing with his many fingers all over your wife Tom! The bastard is probably holding you as the fool escapes! -The skinny man gazed to you with a malicious smile made of crooked teeth, and Tom suddenly was filled with rage again. -Out of my way! OUT OF MY WAY! -He pushed Meldred so hard he almost threw your surprised half-brother over a table, rushing to the stairs.

    -Get them boys! -Shouted Norwell, and in a second the workers started flipping some tables to flank you and Meldred. Tanda yelled in fear and Norwell advanced trying to grab you, instead meeting Meldred's cold blade. -Oh no, you wont. -Said your brother, his sword tip touching the skinny neck of the rat. You stepped back, looking to the other two workers, who were now holding one knife each and trying to surround you and your brother. You knew Meldred could put them down easily, but you were made of softer skin. Now this was REALLY going to get messy if Eddard don't come with a surprise upstairs.


    THE FOOL

    -Honey... I'm so dizzy... stop... -Dalla moaned and complained while you dressed her, or at least she tried, as she could barely speak, always thinking you were her beloved husband. Helping her to get back to the straw bed, you opened and looked her pupils, felt her heartbeating and you concluded she was just intoxicated. Heavily. The woman probably never have drank so much wine in her life, and how she is paying the price for the night of love you gave her. Leaving the woman for a moment, you started searching the room. You quickly gathered the cups and flasks of wine, throwing them outside through the window, to the rain and the mud of the tavern's backyard. Close to the window you found your purse and the small wooden box filled with maesters potions, bottles and medicines, and thanked the gods nothing was shattered during your little party with Tom's wife.

    Suddenly you heard more shouts from downstairs, followed by heavy steps from someone in the corridor. Fuck, he is already here. You listened to Tom searching the other room, right next to yours, and you quickly reached Dalla, pushing your fingers down her throat. The woman gasped, starting to vomit right beforeBig Tom kicked the door flat, entering the room in a explosion of rage.

    -DALLA! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH MY WIFE!?
    Last edited by Saturno; 08-01-2015 at 10:47 PM.

  2. #12
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    Re: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

    ***The Heir***

    Before the old servant can leave Alwyn halts him and gives him a stern look. "I am not the lord, my brother is Lord Gargon." then Alwyn lets the old man go.

    Alwyn bends to the task at hand. He picks parchment and a quill and starts to write.

    Lord Alber Gargon
    My dear brother

    We are rejoice with the news of King Joffrey's victory over the pretender Stannis Baratheon, such a victory has not been celebrated since Daemon Blackfyre was undone on the Redgrass Field. All our prayers go with our righteous king and our lord.

    The news of the distress in the capital is a grevious one and we weep for them yet we have little to give beyond our own needs for the winter. A fourt from the granery would leave us starving when the land is under the snow. If you would find it possible you would be dearly welcomed return, if only for a while, and see what little food we have. Otherwise I wish you the best of luck and that the Seven will be with you in your brave deeds on the field of battle for King Joffrey.

    Seven bless you
    Your brother
    Alwyn Gargon

  3. #13
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    Re: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

    Austace - The Knight
    This smells like a trap.

    Austace jumped off the saddle and grabbed his warhammer, turning immediately to Merryn.

    -Stay here lad, I'll take a closer look. - turning to Ser Willem - Will, cover me.

    Austace walked solid steps in the mud, feeling the rain drops run through his itching forehead. He looked up to the tree and kept his senses warned as he aproached Larry's body.
    He at first looked for tips in the tree and surroundigs, something that could tell the tale that happened there.

    Arrows on the mud, footprints, anything!

    Austace general Awareness roll:
    3D6 = [2, 2, 1] = 5
    http://www.coyotecode.net/roll/lookup.php?rollid=94468

    Finally aproaching the corpse, he turned it over, checking pockets and looking for any information he could get.
    A different man would have tried to first check if the boy was alive or what led to his death, but Austace already had too much of it for giving any special care for the lad.

    Just another corpse, not so different from the ones we burried today.

    Austace second Awareness roll over the body
    3D6 = [5, 2, 6] = 13
    http://www.coyotecode.net/roll/lookup.php?rollid=94469
    Last edited by Tyrondir; 07-27-2015 at 04:37 AM.

  4. #14
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    Re: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

    The Fool

    “In the Seven’s name, can you not show some respect. We have a sick woman in here." Evidence of her illness lay on the floor in front of her.

    He pretended not to see Tom, instead concentrating on the men who accompanied him.

    “And where have you been?” he gestured in the direction of Tom’s companions, figuring at least one of them had been here last night, and would quickly incriminate himself, allowing him to focus the correct one. “I sent you to find this poor lady’s husband and bring him here post haste.”

    Then he pretended to now realise that Tom was stood there.

    “Oh,” he clapped his hands, “excellent, you have finally arrived. Your poor lady is not well. I believe that somebody drugged her drink last night and I have been ministering to her to ensure that her life was not in danger." Eddard kept talking, not giving Tom a chance to think before he could completely change his perception

    “Come in, come in,” Eddard waved Tom in, “she has been asking for you. She has had to sweat out whatever it was slipped duplicitously into her drink last night and she is still having a bad reaction."


    ooc
    bluff bluff the big man: 4d6k4 17

  5. #15
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    Re: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

    The Bastard

    Allyn rolled his eyes, petty violence displeased him, especially this early in the morning. Looking at Norwell, he said matter-of-factually, his voice cold as mountain stream:

    "Norwell, you silly rat. I'll have you know Lord Gargon issued strict orders last morrow. If anyone is to be caught making trouble on his lands, including this reputable institution, will find himself missing a hand. So I'd put down those knives of yours boys, and leave, and than I might be in mood good enough not to mention this little incident to my brother." he spoke and slowly reached for his stilleto, just in case.

    Deception (Bluff): 6D6 .HIGH(4) = [2, 6, 3, 5, 2, 4] = 18


    "What is it with you inciting poor Tom like this anyway?" he asks, hoping to sense real motivation behind Norwell's actions.

    Awareness (Empathy): 5D6 .HIGH(3) = [3, 1, 3, 1, 4] = 10

  6. #16
    OPA Belta Saturno's Avatar
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    Re: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

    THE HEIR

    With only the company of the clanking wood from the windows and the occasional thunder roaring in the rain outside, you wrote your letter carefully, finishing it by pressing the hot wax with the ring of your family. You glared at the metallic object for a moment. It was silver, with a bronze rugged whale sculpted on it. Your father used this ring for every day of his rule, but took it off before marching for war. Could he be aware of his fate? The image of him and his host passing through the castle gates is still fresh in your memories, you noticed as you asked for a servant to send the letter for Master Symon. You stayed a while in silence, listening to the rain outside, when the door opened revealing the round face of Almaric, the guard. -My lord, my father... huh, Master Mortymer is here to see you.


    With your leave, Mortymer entered the room and made a reverence. -Greetings, my lord. The weather is bleak outside, but I believe I have something that will shine our day. -In his youth Mortymer was a big and burly man, but the years of good life have made him soft, with a round belly and pronounced bottoms. In contrast to the moss green that Symon used in his robes, Mortymer wore a fabulous vest of woolen gold thread over a fine purple cloak, and a green bonnet covering his brown receding hair. He was caught by the rain, to judge his expensive clothes sprinkled with water. -For long I've wondered how could your family find a way out of it's actual situation, difficult as it is. -He noticed by your expression over the account books he needed not to linger into this subject. -My lord knows how many days we lost in this very room facing the hard truth that the lands income is not enough to cover Lord Alber's investiments, but I also spent nights awake wondering about the answer for our problems, and I believe I have found it. What this castle need is a loan. -He said, exactly as Symon told you he would say. -But not a common loan. Not one from the Crown, that would be counter-productive, considering the recent efforts of Lord Alber to befriend the King. The Faith is also not an option, as for almost a century our lands have failed to honor the Seven with a proper temple since the burning of the Sea Sept. The Iron Bank of Braavos is far too severe, and the Lannisters are too aligned to the King's court. -Mortymer stopped to get a step closer to you. -But there is someone else out there, young Alwyn. Someone who is in deep debt with your House, a debt that seems unnoticed by everyone else. Out there is someone who would not simply loan the needed gold and supplies to our House, but in fact would pay us for what he owes. Or at least, be persuaded as such.

    The fat man smiled, prideful of his plan.


    THE KNIGHT


    With caution, you abandoned the cover of the huge tree and went to the rain to meet the man in the mud. Ser Willem was right behind you, his arming sword wet and ready. Littlefish stayed under the tree with Garth as you ordered, but you knew the boy hated it. He wanted to go with you, but he also was obedient. Staring Jasper's wooden shack while approaching the man, you noticed the door was open, with rain pouring inside. And when you reached the man, you noticed an arrow pitched in his back. Black and yellow the feathers were. Baratheon's colors.

    -It's him. It's Harry. -Willem said after a quick glance when you turned the man up. He was covered in blood, and it became clear it was not the arrow that killed him. His throat had been cut open, and his blood was one with the mud. -By the gods. -Willem said with a low voice, avoiding to look into the dead eyes of the boy he trained. You noticed Larry was without his knife, his spear and his shortsword. The ground was a mess, and the rain was cleaning any track you could follow. By what you and Willem can guess by the thick mud, at least a dozen men passed over Larry in different moments.

    -SER AUSTACE! -Littlefish shouted from under the tree, and when you looked at him he was pointing to the wooden shack. A thin man was at the door, signaling you and the captain to approach, a man Willem recognized as Jasper.

    -They k-killed him! -Jasper said when you reached his house. He was in his late thirties, and he was shaking. His wife was right behind him, holding his arm and completely mute. -B-Buckets and the other guards were h-here holding the b-bandits, b-but then more of them appeared in the crops. F-five of them. T-They captured Larry a-and threatened to kill him if... if Buckets and the others didn't released them friends... but they killed him anyway!! -While Willem tried to calm down the man, you glanced at the small shack. There were two dead men in the ground. Dirty men, covered in rough patched cloaks. Probably the ones Garth told you didn't surrendered when caught. By what you can see, it was clear they died during a fight. -W-when them robbers escaped, Buckets waited a while and then went to follow them with the other guards. -Buckets was how Robbet was called, you don't know exactly why, but you remember it has something to do with a story involving a bucket of horse shit. He was an older man from the garrison, and he was accompanying the younger lads as an order of Ser Willem. The old knight considered important that every patrol had at least one tested man.

    When asked by Willem, Jasper pointed outside, to the woods on the other side of the hills. -Them bandits were on foot, they disappeared in the hills, but I think they are heading to the Shivering Woods. -The Shivering Woods were part of the Kingswood, named after the infamous Smiling Knight that terrorized these lands many years ago, as it was impossible for one to enter his domains without shivering in fear for one's life.

    -Those are Blount lands. Could it be that those rats are hiding under the very nose of Lord Beros Blount? -The old knight asked you. You thought that yes, it could be very possible. Lord Beros was a man more known for his banquets than for his courage. The late Lord Gargon considered Beros Blount to be lazy, vulgar and stupid, someone whose greatest achievement was being the brother of one member of the Kingsguard.

    -If they're on foot we can chase them, Austace. -Willem said, water dripping from his mustache. -There are at least seven of them. If we find Buckets and the others, we'll be equally matched. We must hurry. -Yes, you thought. But they have arrows. For you the rain would be a blessing for the long distance, making the aiming almost impossible, but fighting in a closer space, like in the woods, it would not be of much protection.


    THE FOOL


    Big Tom's face turned white as milk when he saw you holding his wife as she vomited without control in the floor. -Mother's mercy! -The big man cried, helping you to hold her. -I...I... I was working... N-Norwell told me she was having d-drinks with you! -When you mentioned that someone drugged her, he looked at you with huge eyes. -WHAT? Someone did this on purpose? But why? WHY? -His thick hands started to close. -C-Can you save her? -The huge man grabbed you by the shoulders, and you felt like a children being shaken by an adult. -PLEASE EDDARD, PLEASE SAVE HER! DON'T LET MY WIFE DIE I LOVE THIS WOMAN EDDARD!

    It took you a lot of effort to not vomit yourself when the giant started shaking you, but you convinced him to calm down. -Oh my sweet, sweet Dalla. -Tom approached his little wife, touching her with all the care in the world, as if she was some kind of tiny flower. -Who did this to you? Tell me. Tell me who did this and I'll kill him. I swear by the Seven above, Dalla. No one hurts my wife.


    THE BASTARD

    Upon hearing all that talk about those orders from Lord Gargon, the salt workers suddenly changed glares, and you could see their courage waving. To mess with the bastard's inn was one thing, but to mess with the guard was another. Norwell stepped back, fearful from Meldred's sword. But he was not quitting yet. -Horseshit. This man is tricking you, lads. Lord Alber does not give a shit for his bastard cousins. Why should he? -He smiled with those crooked yellow teeth. -Are you hearing this? -He pointed upstairs, to where Big Tom was kicking doors and shouting like a maniac. -Old Tom is going to teach your stinking friend about what happens to smirking wife-fuckers like him. He deserves a beating, that fucking cunt, always thinking he is better than us, always thinking he can rob us and spit in us. But NOW he's going to have what he deserves.

    So that's what this is all about, you thought. Norwell was one of Eddard's constant victims at the table, so what happened? He grew tired of being cheated in dices, cards and bones and resolved to snitch the bard's activities as a payback. You stared his all confident mug suddenly turn white as milk when the roaring voice of Tom burst up there. -PLEASE EDDARD, PLEASE SAVE HER! DON'T LET MY WIFE DIE I LOVE THIS WOMAN EDDARD!



    THE SOLDIER


    The dead man was staring you. Or he would be, if he had eyes. Those were long gone now, probably the work of gulls. But you could not stop looking at him. His face was destroyed, charred bones with chunks of burnt meat. What an horrible death. The Battle of the Whispering Wood was a massacre, with the northmen cutting through you just like knives cutting butter, but even that hell could not be as terrifying as the burning rain of green fire. Still, you could not forget the men in the woods. The men slowly dying under the trees. Cut, bleeding, broken. Some of them were praying for help, some for death. All received the last though. And you could still hear they crying. Even now you could still hear them.

    -M'lord!

    The rough voice pulled you from your thoughts. Master Errol was in front of you. He, completely soaked in the rain. You, dry and close to the smith's fire. -I said it's done, m'lord. -He pointed to the cart with the corpses. -Only three this morning. With luck tomorrow we'll find fewer, and if the Mother is good, this crap will end in a few days. M'lord. -Errol was a hard and undisciplined man that you're sure have murdered and raped his share during his youth. Now he is old, but still tough as nails. With your leave, the Master of the Port shouted the workers to pull the cart and got back to his business. You turned your back to the rain, entering the workplace of your friend.


    Polliver was seated, failing to cut a chunk of yellow cheese with his knife. Polliver was a big man, completely bald, strong and burly, with thick arms carved from heavy work at the anvil. But he was a mess since the Whispering Wood, where he was fighting at your side, and where he lost half his arm saving your life from an arrow. The wound festered, and the Lannister healer had to cut almost everything out. The fat piece of cheese was something you brought him from the castle. And of course you hated how you could do little to repay what he did for you. He was a good friend of you since you both lived in Bronzegate, and when you came to Greenwalls, it was only natural for him to come with you.

    -If I was Lord Alber I would hang this one in the first day. -He said about Errol, giving up the cheese and grabbing a chunk of bread before biting it. -Hey! You! Boy! What the fuck you think you're doing? -He shouted to one of his assistants, who was ready to put some red horseshoes on water. -What? Did you finished? Do you call that a finished work? I can see from here that it is still bent! You can't cool it like that you piece of shit! Do you want to break the horse's hoof? It can't be bent! Start hammering again! Don't you dare stop until this horseshoe is as straight as the cock you're going to kiss tonight!


    Polliver sat down again, with his face completely red. He was always an angry cunt, but you know this last year has been though on you two. -Balian, thank you for the cheese. -He was normal again, talking smoothly. He was just like that. -But you know what I need. What I want. -He looked at you. You know what he would ask. -Otto. My son. I want him with me. Please, Balian. Help me. He is a stubborn fuck, just like me, but I don't want him on the garrison. This fucking war is far from ending. I need him here, taking care of my business, safe. Not out there dying in the mud because one lordly decided to send him marching to death. But he don't listen to me. Maybe he'll listen to you. Or hell, if he don't listen to you too then talk to your sister, talk to Willem, talk to anyone who can kick him out of the guard. That is what I need, Balian.
    Last edited by Saturno; 08-04-2015 at 07:39 PM.

  7. #17
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    Re: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

    The Bastard

    Hearing Tom pleading for Eddard's help filled Allyn with relief. Now these bloody saltworkers lost their own big bad leader, and stood there helpless and alone against his own wits and Meldred's fine sharp blade. Table has turned, and it was a good day.

    "It appears your friend sudenly befriended my good Eddard. Like I said you have two choices, lose a hand or move away from here. My brother, the Lord, is a busy man, and I just might take the justice into my own hands in order not to distract him from noble obligations he must fulfill daily." Allyn said and swiftly drew a stilleto, swiftly for a cripple at least.

    "This here is a sharp blade, I bet you never saw anything as sharp as it." Allyn gripped his walking cane and limped toward Norwell.

    "Hold him Mel, he has one palm too much" the bastard grinned, "It is about time to change that inconvenience".

    Allyn hoped they would disperse and run, but with Tom begging for Eddard's help, the three of them were helpless, and even if they did not run, it would be entertaining if they tried to fight them. Almost as much as if they shat their breeches and ran away.

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    Re: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

    The Fool

    Eddard smiled inwardly; it seemed as if he was going to keep his head attached to his neck after all.

    "Don't worry Tom, Dalla will be fine. This isn't life threatening, but she will be feeling delicate for the next day or so," he consoled Tom, "I have not yet had chance to look into what miscreant might have attempted this, but rest assured, I will find out."

    He patted Tom on the back, as he handed him a mixture; "Now, Dalla should sip this gently over the next few minutes to help her recuperate. I will let our gracious host know that Dalla is out of the woods and you are not planning to destroy his fine establishment. We will then be able

    Eddard sauntered downstairs, closing the door behind him, breathing a sigh of relief, to find the standoff before him.



    ooc
    Eddard is mixing something to alleviate Dalla's sickness and hangover

    Hangover remediation: 3d6k3 13

  9. #19
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    Re: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

    The Soldier

    Balian looked at his friend and patted him on the soldier. "I will do my best, you know that. I will go and speak with Otto." Balian looks down and picks up the knife. Grabbing the hunk of cheese Balian begins to cut it into smaller chunks. "As for the cheese, it is the least that I could do. I owe you a debt that can never be repaid. If not for you I would have bled out and died in the Whispering Woods. After I was struck down and left for dead, it was you that found me. It was you that stood over me and took that arrow that was meant for me. I owe you my life."

    Standing up Balian moves over to the doorway and grabs his long axe that had been resting against the wall. Turning back and looking at Polliver, Balian nods his head and steps back outside into the rain. Moving up the muddy street Balian begins to look for Otto.

  10. #20
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    Re: (IC) - The Price of Power - Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dead

    The knight

    Damn stag bastards!

    Austace passed his fingers in his wet hair, trying to make sense of the situation.

    - This lad had an arrow on his back before they release the hostages? - asked him cynically, while pointing his finger in the direction of Larry's corpse.

    Why in the Seven Hells, these boys thought the bandits would release the lad then? They pillaged Larry's weapons, but was that arrow there just out of brutality?

    Austace tried to think, but seeing that people around him waited for an answer, decided that was time for action, not for thinking.
    He heard the name of Beros Blount and made his opnion on the matter.

    I don't like the idea of making justice in foreign lands, but if House Blount lacks the muscle or the heart to deal with these vermin, it's up to me.

    - Let's go!- said Austace moving to his horse. - Once we find them, take care for the archers.

    Father, help me bring justice and Warrior lend me your strength when the time comes. This is just going to get messier.

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