RPG #13 - Fire and Blood

Discussion in 'RPG #13 - Fire and Blood' started by Nienor, Jan 16, 2006.

  1. Nienor

    Nienor Administrator Staff Member

    Joined:
    Aug 8, 2003
    Messages:
    9,608
    Likes Received:
    91
    Trophy Points:
    0
    Location:
    Northern Joisey
    Ratings:
    +91 / 0 / -0
    Long ago, centuries before Aerys II was slain and Robert Baratheon took the Iron Throne, the Targaryens came from across the narrow sea to win a kingdom for their own.

    Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys are the dragon’s three heads, come to conquer and rule… come to engulf Westeros in a war of conquest.

    But the Seven Kings are determined to retain their thrones. With thousands of men flocking to their banners, they begin planning for a war. And so the kingdoms of the North, the Rock, the Reach, Mountain and Vale, the Storm King, the Iron Islands and the Riverlands, and Dorne prepare to set themselves against Aegon, oblivious of the existence of Meraxes, Vhagar, and Balerion. For both human and real dragons shall change the fate of Westeros as Aegon’s invasion begins.

    Let Westeros be bathed in fire and blood.




    Created by ~ Lady DragonHeart
     
  2. Liadan

    Liadan Insert Title Here

    Joined:
    Mar 3, 2005
    Messages:
    14,968
    Likes Received:
    124
    Trophy Points:
    0
    Location:
    Arizona
    Ratings:
    +124 / 0 / -0
    Sianlyn brushed back her dark hair from smoldering violet-blue eyes, knowing that everyone in the inn was watching her. With deliberate arrogance, she sat down in the center table which had miraculously been vacated for her.

    She had left her sandsteed in the stables, along with her spear and bow, but she figured that her knives would be enough to get her out of any trouble. And it looked like there would be trouble, no matter what, judging from the other noble, who was, unlike her, drunk.

    And if they try to steal my belongings, there’s going to be even more trouble. Sianlyn grinned, knowing that her sandsteed, which she had named Nymeria, would most definitely fight back, having been trained to bite or kick anyone she did not recognize. She almost pitied the fools who didn’t know that.

    “I want some Dornish wine,” she said, tossing a coin on the table. “The finest that can be found in this hovel.”

    Although the innkeeper stiffened a little at the insult, he did not dare object. All of her costly belongings had probably persuaded him that she was an unaccompanied noble… which she was. Kind of.

    Having connections to two Houses in Dorne isn’t bad for a bastard, she thought idly.

    She sipped the wine that he brought her. It was better than she had expected, and she gave him another coin. He seemed a little happier at that, and with the money clutched in his hand, he left her table.

    Sianlyn didn’t pay any attention to him after that. Instead, she eyed the young drunk stripling, who bore the Oakheart coat of arms, three green oak leaves on gold. Shifting a little so that he could see her emblems – embroidered symbols of House Martell and House Dayne – she glanced at him, then ignored him as if he were a dog that the inkeeper had let inside, but bore the presence with an expression of suffering painted on her face. I hope to the Seven that it’ll provoke him.

    Sure enough, he wandered over – more like staggered – his hand displayed on his sword hilt. The inkeeper took one look, then put some distance between the two of them.

    “Who are you?” he asked. For all that he seemed drunk, his speech was clear enough. “Dornish sl*t.”

    Sianlyn continued to sip her wine, calmly ignoring him.

    “I asked you who you are.”

    Sianlyn rose to her feet, loose and easy in a sandsilk robe. She was taller than he was, and he resented it. Giving her a shove directly in the chest, he growled, “Sit down.”

    “You could be courteous enough to offer your own name first,” she said mildly.

    He grunted. “Mors Flowers.”

    “…Flowers.” The bastard surname was imbued with enough disdain that he flushed. “Sianlyn.”

    “Sianlyn who?”

    “Sianlyn of House Martell and House Dayne.”

    Mors grabbed the front of her robe, supposedly the better to examine the emblem, but Sianlyn knew better. Bringing up her foot, she kicked him in the shins. At that, he swore and drew the sword. The other customers woke from their intoxicated reverie at the sound of rasping steel and beat a hasty retreat, even the innkeeper, leaving the two of them alone.

    But Sianlyn was already behind him, her knife at his throat and her other arm around his waist. “Don’t move,” she purred.

    Mors ignored her and flung her arm away, his face purpling with anger. “You little – ” he started, swinging his sword at her. Sianlyn dropped to the floor and rolled away.

    The next moment, her knife had blossomed in his throat. His hands clawed at the hilt, but then he fell to the floor, dead.

    Sianlyn made her way to him, avoiding the pool of blood as she jerked out her blade. Wiping it on the Oakheart sigil, she returned it to its sheath.

    “I think it’s time to be moving on,” she said to the silence, and ran to the stable in smooth strides. In a few moments, Nymeria was saddled, and Sianlyn, without any regret, rode away from the inn where she had killed Mors Flowers.
     
  3. Crusader

    Crusader Disturber of the Peace

    Joined:
    Aug 10, 2003
    Messages:
    12,265
    Likes Received:
    91
    Trophy Points:
    0
    Location:
    Englands Green and Pleasant Lands
    Ratings:
    +91 / 0 / -0
    Arron couldnt remember how long it had been, the days running in the night through empty hills and forests, half starved, half dying of exhaustion, all time had escaped him during his journey south. The sun rise became nothing more than a blur and all night meant to him was cold. Arron hated the cold.

    That was why he ran, evry day he would wake from cold furs to don his ringmail and swordbelt, and he would climb and patrol a giant slab of ice or ride out in the snow. every day was the same, cold and dreary since the day he arrived at Castle Greyguard, and short trips to molestown did nothing to relieve him, as he had to return to the wall after.

    He had been cold all his life, from the salty stones of Gulltown to the north, it was finally time for him to be warm for once. So he had run. More than half the wall was between him and the sea at eastwatch and they would check boats, the roads were no safer. He had made it his aim to avoid any route they would think, going through the ragged hills and the wolfswood, along the coast where neccesary.

    The neck was the worst, the bog thick as nightsoil and smelled half as bad, he skimmed quietly round the edges in hopes to avoid the lizard lions and frogmen, but every day was a troil and every night spent wet and cold.

    Up ahead a fire shone in the night in some thicket, Arron didnt know where he was besides south of the neck, he had spend so long without human contact, avoiding anything close to a house for fear of capture, not lighting fires at night for the same reason. I've earned a bit of warmth, he thought, now that he was in the south he could afford a comfort or two.

    He snuck up slowly to avoid detection, scouting out who lay at the small camp. When he got close enough he spied three men, two beneith blankets, and one sat beneith an oak with a winskin, probably left to watch. Fire and wine, it was worth the risk he thought.

    Sliding the longsword from the sheith at his side, he crept up to the oak upon which the drunk man sat, and heaved the sword at his neck. The blade rang as it pieces flesh and paneted itself in the wood of the tree, the fat drunk's head flopped on the ground next to the wineskin. He gave the sword a tug butit wouldnt move, meanwhile the other men were stirring.

    He put his boot against the trunk and heaved, the blade came free at last with a shower of splinters. By then one fo the men was awake reaching for his sword and shouting to the other. Arron grabbed the dagger from his side and flung it into the man still abed before he could rise and brought his sword up to meet the last attacker.

    Blades danced and clashed, Arron brought his sword high and swung down, only to be parried by the other man. He lept back before the counterstroke could fall and then died froward with his shoulder while the man was distracted. The weight of the crash brought them both to the ground. with his dagger in another man's belly he reached for his attacker's before he could get it himself. The blade came up and he plunged it deep into the man's face, he felt an eye pop and the grinding and crushing of steel on bone. He gave one last writh before his good eye fogged over.

    Arron rose bloody and tired. He picked up the wineskin from oer by the other corpse, pilt wine mixed with blood bu he didnt care, Sitting as close to the fire as he could he downed the rest of its contents and warmed himself.

    After he looked over the camp, the three men wore bits of old armour and swords, surcoats with sigils he didnt know and between the three of them there were only two horses. Arron never knew any of the great or lesser lords, but these three were poor enough. Hedge Knights most likely, no one would miss them.

    He stripped down the corpses and flung his blacks into the fire and buried his black ringmail under a tree. He donned the best bits of clothing he could find and between them he got together enough bits of armour and took the surcoat least covered in blood. He left the nights Watch ebhind him there and them, smoudering in th fire, and became a hedge knight. People would be watching for Arron, so he shaved his beard and cut short his hair and thought up a new name for himself. Tomorrow he would go forth and work his way south to somewhere warm, maybe dorne, or even across the summer sea or to one of the free cities. He could never be cold again.
     
  4. Liadan

    Liadan Insert Title Here

    Joined:
    Mar 3, 2005
    Messages:
    14,968
    Likes Received:
    124
    Trophy Points:
    0
    Location:
    Arizona
    Ratings:
    +124 / 0 / -0
    “After her! She killed Lord Oakheart’s son!”

    Oh sh*t. Sianlyn glanced back to see four horsemen riding after her, all of them bearing the Oakheart sigil. One of them had a bow, but they were still out of range, so she figured that she had enough time to get her own out. Easing her bow from its case, she dismounted to string it before leaping on Nymeria’s back once more and kicking the sandsteed into a trot. She nocked an arrow on the string, but ducked low as a shaft buzzed over her head. Seeing the archer preparing to try shooting her again, she aimed and loosed. It buried itself in the horse’s chest, and the beast went down squealing, and the archer was thrown from its back.

    Although she would have liked to kill them all, it would have been foolish. Prince Modrin Martell had wanted her to go searching for information, not trouble. He would have forgiven one killing of an Oakheart bastard, for the Oakhearts and Daynes had bad blood, but setting herself up for more trouble was something she didn’t want either. Urging the mare to go faster, she caught a glimpse of one of them stopping to aid the archer, who was moaning with pain. Probably broke a rib.

    No one could outdistance a sandsteed, and with a curse, the other two broke off the chase and cantered back to their fallen comrade. Sianlyn rode on, pondering her next course of action. I should probably hole up for a little bit and wait until the Oakheart men are tired of looking for a Dornish woman. Around the Kingswood and the Blackwater Rush sounds good.

    It took her several days of hard travel to leave the area where she had killed Mors Flowers, and it was with a sigh of relief that Sianlyn rode in to the town of River’s Rest. River’s Rest had a sizable population, and Sianlyn found it easy to blend in with the crowd. Even better, the town had a small section devoted to Dornishmen, and Sianlyn was welcomed among them. She put her leisure to use by probing for information, and was well-ensconced in her new home when the new ones came.
     
  5. AcrobaticHippo

    AcrobaticHippo Determined

    Joined:
    Dec 15, 2003
    Messages:
    4,727
    Likes Received:
    43
    Trophy Points:
    0
    Location:
    In Turtleopia, training Elan's turtles :P
    Ratings:
    +43 / 0 / -0
    Annika raised a goblet of water to her lips and drank deeply, her emerald eyes resting on the platter of eggs and veal that lay before her. She knew that she would have to consume them all if she wanted enough energy to carry her through today, but her thoughts were all on the private meeting that would take place in her chambers later on. She had no desire for delectables today; there were other more important matters to deal with first.

    Her long fingers, which had snaked around the goblet, clenched it so tightly that they turned white, sharply contrasting against her bloodred nails.

    Such as the throne. MY throne.

    Someone knocked softly on the door. "Lady Annika?" She heard a man say.

    Annika placed the goblet back on its tray and drew herself up. "Come in," she told the man.

    The door opened slightly to reveal a man dressed in night-blue robes. He was old, with many wrinkles lining his pale face, and of small build, with a slightly bent back. His soft hair had already thinned and turned white over the years, and his eyes were bright like black beetles. He stared at Annika, thinking he was subtle in taking in all her beauty. What he did not know, though, was that Annika knew very well what he was thinking, and the "smile" on her face was actually a smirk.

    Dirty old fool.

    "I hear you wish to ask a favour of me, my lady," he said.

    "Indeed I do, Maester Belin. Take a seat," Annika purred, indicating a chair across from her. He sat and waited for what would come next.

    Annika leaned forward, her eyes glittering. "I hear you have a talent for making the best herbs and poultices around. Poisons too, in fact, although you wouldn't find it in your heart to use them, would you?"

    "Never, my lady. Some poisons work as antidotes for some ailments, and very effective cures they make too," the maester replied earnestly, his eyes never leaving her face.

    Annika's lips curved in a smirk once again as she leaned in even closer. "I hear you also have a talent for taking young maids in the castle into your bed. Is that true?"

    The look on the maester's face changed from eagerness to surprise as he back away slightly. "I'm afraid I do not know what you're talking about, my lady," he replied a second later, stuttering slightly.

    "Do you take me for a fool, maester? Surely I wouldn't make such accusations without having evidence. A hot meal in my chambers can make a silly wretched kitchen maid spill everything in her heart, my dear man," Annika sneered. "They may be lowborn clumps of dirt, but I can back them up as a highborn Lannister and ruin the rest of your life. I could even add some more dirt, couldn't I? I am from Casterly Rock, my dear man, Casterly Rock. I roll in gold. I could even coax a few ladies from minor houses to cry rape...what would a small maester do against a highborn Lannister?" Her voice rose an octave at the last sentence as she continued looking at the maester, enjoying the terrified looks of guilt on his face.

    "But," she continued, surveying him as she leaned back in her chair, "there is a way out of your...heinous crime."

    She rose gracefully and swept across her room, going towards a corner where a few large silken purses were kept. She picked them up with surprising strength and returned to her seat, her eyes falling on the maester once more.

    "Moneybags, silken moneybags," she told him, watching his eyes widen once again, thsi time in awe and greed. "Even the silk's worth more than your useless self. You can own all this...if you do a little favour for me."

    The maester stared at the moneybags in shock for a few more seconds before recovering. "W-what is it, my lady?" he asked, looking up at her slowly.

    Annika smiled at him smugly before lowering her voice.

    The maester stared at her, horrorstruck, once she had finished. "My lady...you ask me to do this? This cannot be so!" he spluttered. His eyes widened right after, as if terrified that he would be punished greatly for speaking back to a highborn Lannister.

    Annika smiled lazily at him instead. "Raping young girls is perfectly acceptable, isn't it, Maester? Try telling that to the sentencers, and see how far your luck brings you."

    The maester was speechless for what seemed like an eternity before finally nodding slowly, though still clinging on to the shocked expression which had come to him.

    "You get your payment after you do the job...remember, any leaking of this, and I'll have your head. Or worse," Annika smirked, her eyes glinting. She waved him away and watched with delight at the way he hurriedly scurried out of her bedchamber.

    She leaned back in her chair, looking pleased with herself, and her eyes fell on her untouched breakfast. She leaned forward and helped herself to some eggs, ignoring the fact that they were cold. Never mind...the sweetness of the good news not long after will warm and comfort my stomach enough.
     
  6. Ilaelin

    Ilaelin The Mother of Dragons

    Joined:
    Oct 10, 2005
    Messages:
    3,704
    Likes Received:
    159
    Trophy Points:
    63
    Location:
    Hades with the rest of my evil friends...
    Ratings:
    +206 / 2 / -0
    -edit-
     
    Last edited: Dec 16, 2012
  7. Liadan

    Liadan Insert Title Here

    Joined:
    Mar 3, 2005
    Messages:
    14,968
    Likes Received:
    124
    Trophy Points:
    0
    Location:
    Arizona
    Ratings:
    +124 / 0 / -0
    Sianlyn had been bored in the little placid town of River’s Rest, so when a kinsman of hers rode by, she was pleased enough to greet him. Velyn was the eldest son of Lord Avyn Santagar and Anarya Dayne, and though she hadn’t seen him for the past five years, she recognized him easily enough. When they first saw each other, his eyes narrowed before he shouted and swung off his horse to enfold her in a bear hug.

    “Sianlyn!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you for what, five years?”

    The Daynes have always been painstakingly careful to include her in all the family gatherings, but she had always been most comfortable with Velyn and Elsha. “More or less,” she said with an easy smile. “What brings you here, cousin?”

    “I could ask the same of you.”

    “You know that Elsha’s wed to Jeriken of Godsgrace now.”

    “A pity I missed the wedding, but I did send her a gift.”

    She thought about telling him the truth, then decided to tell him a partial truth. Prince Modrin would not like it if she told her cousin that she was here to gather information. “Well, there was no need for me to stay with her, especially because Lord Jeriken was uncomfortable about seating a bastard at his high table, so I left. I could take up a position as anyone’s paramour in Dorne, but I would be bored in three months. Uncle Aldric offered to get me married, but that would bore me in three days.”

    Velyn laughed as he pulled her towards an inn. “True enough, cousin. You weren’t born to be a paramour or a wife. But what brings you here, specifically, to this town? If you want excitement, you could have joined one of the raiding parties on the Reach.”

    “I’m hiding here because I killed an Oakheart bastard.”

    “You have my undying admiration, gratitude, and devotion for that.” Velyn laughed again as they sat down at a table and he ordered wine for the two of them.

    “You didn’t tell me why you’re here,” she reminded him.

    “I’m to sail to Dragonstone to find the truth of some rumors. Care to join me?”

    “How long do you expect to be there?”

    “No more than seven days, and probably less. Three days to sail there, and three to sail back, so a fortnight at most.”

    “Why not, then? I’ll go with you and see what we can find.”

    And let’s just hope that the rumors of the Valyrian lords aren’t true.

    Because dragons don’t exist.
     
    Last edited: May 11, 2006
Search tags for this page

13fire blood handle