Abefroeman — Roleplayer Guild

 The Village of Three Corners, Dominion of House Slynt, and the peoples there-under. 

 The Outskirts of Three Corners, the farmlands of Will Steeltrout 

“I’ll tell you what, your holiness… The Seven don’t look kindly on men who cheat their neighbors, nor their friends, and certainly not the farmers who help the faith. They also don’t like weak men who cower before someone wearing robes and armor with a seven-pointed star. The deal stands like it was agree upon with your predecessor. Forty bushels of corn, twenty bushels of wheat, twenty bales of hay, ten barrels of beans… you have the damned list in front of you. You know the deal. Septon Ronal, these are fair prices as any you will get, especially with that heretical bitch, that apostate Trout, up in Riverrun stirring up trouble. You agreed to lend help for planting and harvest, I agreed to charge you a fair price for all the goods loaded in these here wagons. Plus, you have safe haven here, should the need arise. Now lets cut the idle chatter. You need better arms and armor for the Warrior’s Sons, such items are not easy to come by. Septon Ronal, you’ll find these wagons much to your liking, but don’t dare ever try to cheat me again. I support the Faith, and the Faith supports the people. Remember that.” Will finished speaking, his tone deep and gravely. He stroked his salt and pepper colored beard, before extending out his hand to shake the septon’s in acceptance of the deal. 

Septon Ronal sighed, pursing his lips, before drawing in a sharp, short breath. “Brother William, our staunchest supporter and supplier of goods, I will acquiesce to your terms today, as a sign of our mutual respect for those who see the Seven as the true divines over these lands. All that I ask is perhaps a lower amount could be charged for future transactions, or perhaps some more bartering, labor and perhaps goods for exchanging, rather than Golden Dragons or Silver Stags, let alone Copper Stars. You have the largest farm in these parts, no doubt more help with harvests would undoubtedly benefit the both of us, my brother. Of course, we’d still pay for the ‘misplaced’ arms and armor that seem to sprout from your fields, but hopefully with a slightly more advantageous discount for the defenders of the Faith.” Septon Ronal smiled, his balding head beginning to sweat in the midday heat. 

As the farmer and the septon dickered over prices, a few poor fellows and two Warrior’s Sons stood idly by, watching the perimeter for any spying eyes, if some nosey hunter, or perhaps a heathen of the Heretic of Riverrun were about, they’d be ready to depart for the safety of their sept with their charge, Septon Ronal. Will Steeltrout laughed boisterously, slapping the septon on his right shoulder soundly. The two shook hands, smiling at one another as both agreed to a new set of terms. “Fair enough Septon… them merchants, they call it repeat customers, and I won’t turn down good helping hands to tend to me land. Now bugger off, before some devil worshipping heathen sees us all and takes a lark to tell that cunt Tully. Yes yes… language as always Septon. Now I’ve got land to farm, and you’ve got wagons with cargo to move. Blessed by the Seven and their Divine Light.” Will finished, smiling to himself moreso, as he walked away. 

Septon Ronal rolled his eyes, smoothing his robes out, before beckoning his militant followers to hitch up their horses to the wagons, and to get going. Will was right, no one wanted to get caught with their business, nor did they hold a fondness for the new religions that had taken root like a weed in a rose garden here in Westeros.

Will watched them all leave, waving to them with a broad smile on his face, before he too set back to his work, trading talk with a few of his field-hands, giving some silver to another to buy some supplies, seed, some pig iron, nails, and so on, for the farm, while giving the rest to a pinch faced man that served as the little farm’s coin counter and stock keeper. He spat a glob of dark spittle out onto the ground, nodding, before hurrying off to a large barn that served as a storage place of many interesting things.

 Arthur Blackrose, Gatehouse to the Keep of Three Corners. 

The ten or so men-at-arms sat gathered around a table, gambling some loose change over a game of dice. All were smiling and enjoying themselves, because whoever won the most, as custom, bought the first round of drinks, so no one really lost, just got to be the lucky duck of the night amongst his friends. Arthur himself had been the lucky duck three nights in a row a week ago. This week, he had one once, so it wasn’t an overall bad week. He smiled and grinned like a fool as all the rest, trading jabs and jokes with his friends and buddies, enjoying their time in the shade and cool, rather than the light and heat of the outside. Of course, such things don’t always last, when one of the household knights for House Slynt came in, bringing an end to the game. 

Ser Morgrin spoke in a bored, dull tone. “Lord Moros wants us to conduct a patrol of his lands. Don’t bother trying to talk your way out of this, we are all tasked in going. Apparently, word has gotten out that the Tully’s are keen on sending their daughter out and about to inspect their lands. Lord Moros doesn’t want any hitches to come of this, and the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can get back to your game. He is calling for all the men save a handful to conduct this patrol, so don’t think your friends in the other two tower houses are getting a pass. You got twenty minutes to fallout into the drill yard. I’d suggest brining something to stay out for the night, knowing our bloody luck.” The knight adjusted his rucksack upon his back, and nodded to the men, before leaving from the door he came in.

Arthur snatched up the dice, and rolled one last time. “Come on, lucky fives… lets go, double fives…” The dice fell atop the table, rolling and bouncing and spinning, before coming to a stop on nine, a three and a six. “Bloody Seven tits…” Arthur cursed, before tossing down a Copper Star. “Well, Smiths, looks like you won this time. Good job.” Arthur spoke warmly, as a blonde haired man, perhaps no more than twenty, collected all the coins on the table. The youth smiled, and spoke out, “Drinks on me once we get back, maybe we’ll find some nice lasses out in the fields. Those farmers just aren’t the men like we are.” Smiths spoke with a wicked grin. The group all laughed aloud as they gathered their assorted gear and whatnot, before they set out to rally up on the drill yard.

Arthur took some melted wax to quickly twirl his full mustache, in part to look more dashing, and in part, because he knew they’d be marching past the battlements where Rae Kestrel tended to Lord Moros’ falcons, and to him, she was quite the looker. He felt a slap across his back, and was rushed out by grinning friends. “Come on you old foolish Reachman, we’ve work to do, no time for you to chase skirts of the lady folk here at home.” 

 The Slynt Wood’s, A hunter and his quarry. 

Renly stepped light as he moved through the underbrush. He’d already taken down two deer, along with a fat turkey and a whole brace of squirrels. Good meat he thought, and a great day of hunting. Lord Slynt and his brothers would be most happy, even if it was a bit of poaching. The land he hunted on technically belonged to some lord in the Crownlands, or was it the Westerlands, or perhaps it was the Reach… either way, he changed it up where he was hunting for game, making sure to bring in fresh meat for the Slynt’s, and they in turn kept a blind eye to his actions, and even payed him for his haul. Of course, should anyone ask, he was a licensed woodsman and gamekeeper for House Slynt, and he was maintaining the animal population to keep the woods pristine. 

He was about done with his sweep of the woods, save for checking some bait traps he had tossed into the shallows of the river. Fresh fish and crawdads were always welcome too, and they fetched a nice little price with both the Slynt’s and the local tavern/brothel. Renly smiled to himself, looking forward to a warm bed and a naked body to join his own tonight. If Seven forbid someone was out in these woods with him, well, Renly certainly appeared to not be paying any attention other than to his bait traps in the river shallows.

 Lady Calla Silvermane, a luncheon with family. 

Calla quietly ate her lunch with her father, Lyman Lannister, while he chatted to her uncle and grandfather. Her two aunts smiled at her, while they sipped their tea and ate some tarts. Calla smiled back at her aunts, before looking back to her father, who seemed to be a bit displeased at what was being told to him by his father. She could only guess as to what was being discussed, and rather than eavesdrop, she turned back to eating a well cooked and seasoned meal of chicken and corn, along with some freshly baked bread with plenty of butter. Still, if there was one thing to enjoy about these monthly family get-together’s, was the food. Her eyes wandered the room in which they were eating, settling upon a family portrait of her father, Lyman, her mother, Tyanna, and a young Calla, without the scars that now adorned her face. She looked away, to a family sigil adorned shield hung on the wall, the roaring lion of House Lannister beautiful as it always was.

Well, it wasn’t truly hers, as her father had never officially legitimized her, but at the end of the day, she was of the proud lineage of House Lannister. It was something in her father’s own inflection that stirred Calla from her daydreaming. She looked to her father and grandfather, both of who stared at her intently, whilst her uncle and aunts politely excused themselves. Calla’s grandfather, Ser Tytos Lannister, spoke first. 

“Your father and I have come to a decision regarding your… birth outside of wedlock, as your mother and my son were never married, Calla. Lyman has spoken on your behalf greatly, and it was his choices that leave us here today. As the head of our household branch of the Lannisters, I shall accept your father’s request to legitimize you. Calla Silvermane, if you so choose, here and today, you shall henceforth be recognized by the Westerlands, House Lannister, and the Crown as a Lannister. Just remember what such a prestigious name carries, and how you will have to conduct yourself from now on. You are no longer a bastard, and a noble born lady. You shall act as such. Do you understand what I have said to you, granddaughter?” Tytos spoke in a stern, ponderous tone, as though he himself didn’t really want to be extending the offer of full legitimization to Calla. That having to accept a bastard, a bastard from an Essosi woman no less, was a stain upon his family honor to say the least.

Calla looked to her father, Lyman, who was but a shadow compared to his father. Where his father was all bravado and seasoned soldier, her father was a more skinny and bookish person, but perhaps stronger, in that he had kicked his addiction to milk of the poppy among other things. Still, Lyman looked to his daughter, love in his eyes, mixed with defeat and anger, and mouthed, “It’s your choice… I will always be proud of you.” He then looked away, back to his father, and what Tytos’s reaction would be to Calla’s response. 

 The Falcon , the Viper, and the Wolf, Keep of Three Corners 

Leyla Icefang and Rae Kestrel sat perched atop the battlements, watching the proud men of House Slynt march off in formation to conduct a series of preventative patrols in the area. To keep the people safe and sound, Lord Moros has said, though anyone with a brain between their ears knew it was more for show to the powers that be in the Riverlands, and to make anyone or anything that could cause trouble for the Slynt’s to be scarce for a while. Like the Sparrows that had been seen about of late, though these were unarmed, so, who could say they were really Sparrows. Rae turned to Leyla, after having blown a kiss to the dashing Arthur Blackrose, and spoke softly to her friend and fellow keep dweller.

“Well, seeing as most of the garrison is gone, perhaps we can enjoy some spicy sweet pie that Miss Sunviper bakes?” Rae asked questioningly. Her eyes looked pensively at Leyla, though flickers of mischief danced in the corners.

“Some spicy sweet pie, you say? Well, I suppose I can manage to join you two harlots for a bite to eat, besides, Lord Moros himself has left with his men, and he didn’t need his dogs for some odd reason.” Leyla rolled her eyes, “Probably didn’t want them tearing apart the people that pay protecti… I mean taxes to him. The Sparrows and the Faith, good men, mind  you now, seem to be well funded, or Lord Moros needs a new bathhouse.” Leyla finished, smiling gleefully at Rae. “Well, lets go find our friend and pester her to help bake with us.”

Below in the drill yard, Aliandra Sunviper shared a passionate kiss with Ser Danos Slynt, the two tenderly parting one another’s arms as Ser Danos moved to mount his steed. He smiled at Aliandra, blowing her a kiss, taking her hand once more to kiss it, and then calling out as he slowly rode out with the rest of the patrol force. “My Dornish delight, I will return to you as quickly as I can. May the sun keep you warm without my embrace.”

“My noble knight, golden spear with the blood of traitors, I shall eagerly await your return, and promise you this… a warm bed and lover await you. Ride safe.” Aliandra called out to her departing lover, her voice like warm honey poured over a polished shard of amber. She smiled, waving goodbye, until Danos was out of sight. As she turned, she rolled her eyes… seeing her two friends of the Slynt household retinue. 

“My, my, what have I here? A freezing puppy and a little lofty chick. Let me guess, you wish for the divine food of my mother’s home, to tease and please your tongue and stomach? Come on you two fools, let us hurry to the kitchen, I am sure that Cookie won’t mind us in the least.” 

Together, the three women quickly made their way to the depths of the Keep of Three Corners, to the kitchen for food, drink, and good times.

 The Golden Tooth, a celebratory dinner... 

Dinner was coming along nicely, each dish being cooked to Lady Myrielle's exacting specification. She hummed softly as she drifted between stations, tasting this dish and that, complementing the cooks and their helpers. She smiled brightly as she tasted a particularly delectable dish of grilled lamb, before moving on to decide what drinks would be served to their guests. Her movements were graceful and seductive at the same time, as Myrielle seemed to glide through the pleasantly warm kitchens. To the kitchen staff, their new lady was a welcome and enjoyable change from the Lannister's of until recent.

Lady Cerenna too was present in the kitchen, helping her sister in law with the final food prep and tasting, as well as engaging the staff in polite conversation about anything that they needed to improve their jobs within the kitchen. The two women laughed and traded kind words among each other and the staff. The air had a pleasant vibe to it, as well as the intermingling scents of delicious food. Unbeknownst to either of the House Lefford ladies, a special ingredient had been added to the pork and vegetable soup that was to be served tonight. The young man quickly disposed of the three large earthen ware containers, before returning to his assigned duties of bringing the scraps to the livestock.

Now, it was time eat, to drink, and to enjoy pleasant conversation between guest and host. The food was brought forth, along with drink and a single lutist, the middle aged man sporting a fine leather doublet with a red metallic pin over his heart. What was more a surprise was to the delight of all, a large jug of vintage Arbor Red was found deep in the wine cellar, and twas Myrielle herself who found it. She poured the first cup to her husband, and then another to the honored guest, Ser Vikary. With joy in their eyes, and hope in their hearts, everyone began to eat the served dinner.

As the host and guests dined inside, a lovely lady made her rounds about the castle and it's fortifications. She smiled and chatted, all the while ladling out hot fresh soup to the guards on duty. Each guard happily took the warm meal, glad to have something to warm them up on this deceptively chilly night. No doubt the soup would be served soon inside, but more importantly was to ensure the loyal guards to both House Lannister and Lefford were well fed. The young lady finally finished her rounds, wishing the last group of guards a wonderful night, before she disposed of the bucket and ladle, and made her way to the livestock pens.

Dinner was delicious, with good wine to help wash it all down. The music was soft and pleasing to all in attendance, the middle aged man surprisingly skilled, even to Lord Lorimer himself. He had finished his second helping of soup, the taste almost seeming to be invitingly addicting. No doubt the cook was rather skilled, and he would need to bee rewarded. Lorimer looked at his lovely wife, smiling at her before stifling a rather large yawn. To his surprise, it seemed the yawn was infectious, for soon all were yawning and rubbing their eyes. He chuckled a little, turning to speak with Ser Vikary, when the music changed, from the warm happy tune to a slow and sad one. One he had heard many a time in stories of old. Yet, such a realization was too little too late. As Lorimer tried to fight off the creeping spectre of exhaustion and sleep, the dramatic melody of the Rains of Castmere lulled out from the lute.

The lutist put his instrument down, smiling inwardly to himself. "Milk of the Poppy, sleep well my patron and your guests. The Red Lion desires to speak with you all." He turned to the waiting staff members who were in cahoots with the Reyne Lord, speaking gently, as though not to wake a child asleep at night. "Bind them all. No killing. Hostages are off no use to our Lord if they are dead. Besides, this Lefford fellow and his family are good people. Bring them all, the guards too, to the great hall. Our Lord shall meet them there one they have awoken. Run along, I must continue to serenade our lovely guests to the Red Lion." With that said and done, the musician picked his lute back up, and continued to play, while his associates hurried to bind their captives and begin moving them to the great hall.

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