[center][h1][color=ed1c24]The Crow[/color][/h1] [/center]

Tyron Lannister sat at a wooden table, his room darkened by night. He sat at the table looking through his paperwork, skimming forcefully through every letter, the crinkling of paper the only sound he heard other then the soft crackling of the fire.

The noise of waving wings informed Tyron of a raven's arrival, and sure enough, at his window there was a raven, a message tied to it's leg. Tyron stretched, leaning back into his chair, before pushing it backwards, with force enough to knock it over with a crash. Tyron walked, his head before his legs, exhausted, to the window. The black raven sat there, it's chest out and shoulders back, as if reminding Tyron to do the same, which Tyron did, a satisfying crack sounding out, and then Tyron's relieved sigh, this getting old business was really... getting old.

The raven twisted it's head over it's leg, and in a millisecond, it's head was back where it started. Tyron sighed, he used to be that fast. He slowly grabbed and took the message from the crow's mouth, the paper feeling soft in his hands. He gave the crow a soft pat on the head, before turning away and stomping into the middle of the room. He removed the Crakehall seal, and opened the envelope, to reveal a furled up letter.

Unfurling the message, Tyron swallowed, he felt like this was going to be bad. Holding it open with both hands, Tyron read what it had to say, it was Crakehall of course, long-winded and arrogant, saying he was king of the Seven, Tyron spit, threaten a member of the Night's watch? Pointless, he wasn't king, he'd never be. Upon reading that Crakehall wasn't coming, he felt his stomach drop to his shoes, but the next few sentences helped a bit, an envoy, for 50 well trained Crakehalls along with possible assassins or other professional criminals, helpful, but not enough to stop an other, it'd do for now he guessed.

Tyron re-furled the letter, shoving it into a pocket, before stomping over to his table, feeling more awake than ever. He grabbed his chair's nearest leg, pulling it back up into position, then flopping down into it, so hard it nearly collapsed under his weight. He grabbed an empty piece of paper, throwing many others onto the ground in the process, grabbed a feather, dipped it in ink, and began writing.

[hider="King" Crakehall][i]To [b]LORD[/b] Crakehall[/i]

[i]I have to thank you for the men, and the opportunity to pick at your dungeons, my envoy will arrive in a few days, but I do wish you finish this mummer's farce and join me on the wall, brother, for we have a lot to catch up on.

As Always, "Brynn" [/i] [/hider]

That'd do it, short and to the point, something Crakehall didn't understand. Just as Tyron finished putting the envelope in an envelope, there came the sound of hail at his window. Hail? That's odd, Tyron looked at the window skeptically, before standing up slowly, taking a crouched posture. He grabbed longclaw from under the table, drawing it and dropping the sheath. He walked up to the window, opening it slowly, to see a single man, standing in the middle of the watch's camp, no one seemed to be around except for him. The man looked at Tyron, and Tyron recognized his smug smile and large nose, Daron Mormont, a former ranger who deserted, though he was never caught. 


"Daron." Tyron yelled down, not angrily or anything, just to get his attention.
"Hello lord Tyron, it is great to see your babe's face, always about to cry, aren't you?" His high-pitched voice made Tyron angry to listen to it.
"Save it Mormont, what are you here for?"
"Why is anyone here? To eat, sleep, and fuck, too bad you lost the chance at the third." 
"I lost it by circumstance, you lost it by being an ugly brotherfucker."
"Oh, comparing me to the mad queen are we now?"
"No, I'm comparing you to Daenys Targaryen."
"Ey! Daenys is a handsome man!"
"Aye, but he'd rather take himself to bed than you." 
Back and forth they went like this, until eventually Daron rolled his eyes and said what he came here for.
"Listen Tanner..." Tanner had become a worse insult then Bastard to a bastard, as it meant that your father was a dirty peasant.
"I'm here to tell you what Daenys asked me to, apparently he thinks you'd make a good Lord Paramount, personally I don't get what he sees, maybe he sees some of himself in you, maybe he wants to fuck!" Daron laughed, his shrill cackling laugh that sounded like he was breathing through a straw.
"He wants you to join us, ride against the rest of 'em, and maybe you'll lose your virginity." Daron laughed, he could laugh all night, but what he didn't know is that Tyron [i]wasn't[/i] a virgin.
"Anyways, you can fight against snarks and bumpkins, or fight in a war that matters."

Tyron held his hand to his chin, pretending to formulate an answer, though he knew what he was going to say.
"A war that matters? A war to claim who has the biggest balls most likely. You have your petty fights over who's the greatest king in the castle, tell your lord this; I refuse, and I will not join no matter how many envoys you send, you fight your own army into the ground, I'll handle saving your worthless arse." 

Daron looked unamused, he held up his nose and furrowed his brow. 
"You'll pay for this." Tyron smiled.
"Remember our vows brother? Since you have not, let me summarize, no wife, no kids, no interfering in southern affairs, and they shall not interfere in ours. You seem to have forgotten the last one." Moran Yronwood, who had been standing behind a tent the whole time, cleared his throat, he towered over Daron. Daron looked one last time at Tyron, pleading with his eyes. Tyron simply smiled.
"Kill him."

And so he did.