[color=39b54a][h1][center]The Summer Islander[/center][/h1][/color] "Ser Ra!" Zharras pulled back on his reins, his horse slowing to a stop. He pulled it around, silently dreading what was behind him. Zharras had only just returned to Nightsong, Lord Caron was a friend of his, back from when the Honeyholt Brotherhood still operated in the Reach. He grimaced, the Brotherhood, apparently they'd come upon some Tyrells soon after Zharras left, slaughtered to the last man, all of them. The Tyrells were never nice, and Zharras wasn't a fan of the direction that the Brotherhood was going, but he couldn't help but feel betrayed, by both of them actually, the Tyrells for such a brutal killing, and the Brotherhood for not surviving. He sighed, that was in the past now, may the Father judge their souls. Enough of that for now, he had to see who had stood behind him. His horse twisted into a natural position, looking directly at the men who had yelled. As he suspected, Tyrells, he knew by their green overcoats, it must be hot in there, armor with silk on overtop, that's one of the reasons Zharras preferred smallclothes. Why were they in the Stormlands? This was not their territory. "I'm no ser, I'm only a mercenary doin' his work." "Well, how about that." The men chuckled to themselves, the one in the front had the smug face of youth, lowered brow and insipid grin, he wished to stab that face, maybe get 'im a few scars to remember 'im by. "Yes, how about that..." He sat up in the saddle, allowing his left hand loose and at his short sword. The youthful soldier sauntered over, his smug expression not changing. "You have the highest bounty I've ever seen for a sellsword, something that could buy a man like me a nice drink, a whore, maybe a bed not infested by fleas." Zharras moved his hand up slowly to his bowstring, gripping it between his fingers, frowning angrily. "Maybe a bed without fleas, but not a bed without worms." The youth laughed, slamming his pike into the dirt a few times, and looking at Zharras with the look someone would give a child after they said their first curse. "You threatening me? You're some kinda animal, odd that you'd threaten Tyrell men." Zharras moved his hand quickly to grab the tip of his bow, and the youth twitched, his smug smile being replaced by an open mouthed yawn, a dumb look, from a fool. "You had better not take that out, man-whore, I'll gut your horse and spread your manhood all across the ground." Zharras grinned. "That's a lot of manhood to waste, sure you wouldn't fancy a fuck first?" The youth growled, throwing up a hand, four men emerging from the brush beside him. Zharras frowned intensely. "Well, you're sure not a smart 'un." The youth opened his mouth to protest, only for an arrow to spear his throat, he gripped at it in shock, before falling like a tree. The rest looked at this, before raising their weapons, yelling a war cry, and rushing forth. Zharras quickly grasped another arrow, drew it back, and released, the sound of string against air being music to his ears. One man fell with a groan, the arrow sticking out of his chest, and blood rushing out of his mouth. Zharras moved to grab another arrow, only to fall back, as his horse reared up with a spear through it's heart. He slammed into the ground, the breath leaving his lungs and wafting away on the breeze. He gulped for air, only for nothing to come, despite this, he pushed his right shoulder up, rolling it over his other, and pushing himself to his feet, drawing an arrow as he did. He stood, arrow in hand, to see his horse fall, a Tyrell standing atop it with spear stuck in the beast's intestines, which were spilling out onto the yellow grass. Zharras corrected the bow, drawing the arrow back, and firing it into the man's head. He stood for a second, looking up at his newly made unicorn horn, before falling back, his feet dangling over the horse's body. Zharras saw the last two men running at him, weapons at their sides, no time to grab another arrow, so he switched the bow in his hands, sliding his short sword out of it's sheath, the leather scraping against the blade quietly. He took a stance, the blade in his right hand, his bow in his left as some kind of makeshift shield. The first lad came at him fast, spearing at him with his sword, unfortunate for him that he didn't block well, Zharras brought the blade down onto the lad's neck, slicing near halfway through, and knocking him to the ground. The other was much smarter, striking from afar with a spear. He beat away the lad's every stab with his bow, beating at the spear head with the feathered tips, it was unwieldy considering the weight of the bow, but it worked well enough. Eventually the Tyrell got too comfortable, and Zharras knocked the spear away with his bow, rushing in and stabbing with his short sword. It met barely any resistance, plunging deep into the Tyrell's chest. He looked down at the young man, teeth bared in triumph, the lad stood for a second, before sliding off of the blade and collapsing. Zharras allowed his blade to dangle, and then he began to laugh. If this was the Tyrell army, then there was going to be problems for them when they fought anyone trained better than a babe, he wasn't even very good in a melee, and even so, he easily beat them, without a single injury. A cough rang out from the soldier he cut in the throat earlier, still alive? Apparently. Zharras sauntered over, crouching down beside the man, his knees popping from age. The man was half sitting, resting on his right arm, and holding his throat and sword with the other. "You're alive? I thought I was stronger than that." The soldier attempted to laugh, but the noise that came out was hard to hear. "Yep... I-" A hacking cough. "It... really hurts... please..." Zharras felt pity, the boy was asking to die, but he wasn't letting a good chance up and pass him by. "Where is Daenys Targaryen?" "With Garland... going to... King's Landing...." King's Landing? Zharras couldn't help but feel like a big battle was coming up, Crakehalls and Tyrells heading to the same place, what was Zharras to do? Oh wait, what he always did, keep his promise, he'd rescue Daenys, and then, he'd get more coin than any Lannister who ever lived. He stood, testing his swing a few times, before turning his right side towards the lad, lifting his sword up high. "Last words?" "If you... believe Daenys is the true... king... then you... you're deader than I am." Zharras frowned, before bringing the blade down, it crashed through the soldier's skull, shaving off around half his head, the chunk of bone and flesh going flying. The body followed suit, the force of Zharras' blow sending his head into the ground with a thump. He then realized he had no horse. [i]Maegor's teats.[/i] [hr] [h1][center][color=f7941d]Lyman[/color][/center][/h1] "How much farther?" Aerys queried annoyingly. Lyman chuckled. "As long as it takes for Dayne's ego to push us." Dayne laughed, he was the one kingsguard who seemed to actually like Lyman. "Hey! You're one who brushes his hair, aye it makes you look fine, but I doubt Jaime Lannister cared about his hair." Lyman didn't laugh, but he blew out his nose in a form of laughter. "You really need to ask for lessons, you're smellier than Flea Bottom ya' are!" Lyman returned to steering the ship, as Harys flung chunks over the side, "Ser Frogface" they'd taken to calling him, because his face was always turning some kind of green as he threw his Ramsays over the side. Florent however, was sulking below deck, Lyman knew he didn't like him, but hey, if you're funny, you're going to have detractors. Footly just looked out over the sea, not saying a word. Lyman couldn't help but frown, something he hated to do, upon seeing the man, at least Dayne warmed, and Florent just avoided him, but Footly seemed to stay near just to spite Lyman. "How long can Drogon stay flying like that?" Footly asked, in his forever bored tone. Aerys Looked up at the sky, at the giant black shadow cast over them. Lyman didn't like dragons, Manticores were scary, Dragons made you shit your breeches. "However long it takes to reach the next island." Lyman wanted to look at the sun to judge the time, but the dragon glaring at him kinda made that hard. Though it was kind of funny, the giant beast's tiny little head tilted downwards while the rest of his body flew. "That may be hard to judge, mostly due to the clouds, weather, sun glare, oh and the GIANT DRAGON." Lady Baratheon walked up, she'd been on this boat for days, so she had her sea legs. "Ser Lyman..." He looked over his shoulder, smiling at the woman. She was very beautiful, even after the injuries to her face. "Yes m'lady?" She pecked him on the cheek, a chaste little kiss, but one that left Lyman speechless and red nonetheless. "Thank you." Lyman's mouth hung open for a bit, before shaking his head, smiling awkwardly. "Uh-Yes! You're welcome... m'lordy...uh...lady, sorry." She giggled at him, before turning and sitting next to her son. Lyman looked at them, smiling oddly. He moved to look back at the sea, only to catch Footly glaring at him, terrifyingly, a look that made Lyman's man-hairs stand on end. He could hear Royce guffawing between heaves, and Dayne was probably beaming ear-to-ear. Lyman sighed, it wasn't that he didn't enjoy it, it was just odd, he'd been kissed by whores before, but not someone who actually seemed to like him, even if it was as chaste as that one. "Well, King's Landing, here we come." "I'll *Heave* Drink to that." Royce heaved "Comon Lyman, I don't smell that bad." Dayne joked "Yes ser Lyman! I can't wait to meet Lord Velaryon!" Aerys yelled "Quiet child, you need rest." Lady Baratheon hushed *Silence* Footly glared "QUIET UP THERE!" Florent screamed.