Lightning Fast

This Dance We Call War [A Game of Thrones Based RP]

I keep mixing up Roger and Frederick. :|

For reference: Roger's the more quiet, stoic one, and Frederick's the diplomat.

This Dance We Call War [A Game of Thrones Based RP]

"... The... the lord of the land is inviting us to eat at his table?" Wilhelm swallowed a bite of stew-soaked bread and turned to Roger. Damn it. This was it. Someone had recognized him, and Lord Hamheart was going to claim his bounty. They couldn't run away or try and fight these guards; they a foot taller than them, and much better armed. They had no choice but to go with them.

"Ehm... yes, just... let me... uhm..." Wilhelm reached into his pocket, pulled out some silver and laid it on the table to pay for their meal. He took one last massive bite of stew, while Roger took the remainder of the bread. Roger and he said nothing, but Frederick was chatting it up with the guards as if he had known them for years. All of them had went to war, but Frederick's initiative and leadership had earned him a spot among a lords' personal guard. He was the kind of soldier to pick up his officer's officer's helmet after he was cut down by a knight, kill the knight, then lead his squad back to safety. He had actually done that. If Frederick was the royal bastard, there would certainly be more than just one song about him.

"Thank you for the coats," Wilhelm said on their way to the keep, "I... uh... I've never dined with nobility before."

"We gonna try to bail...?" Roger whispered to Wilhelm, "Don't suppose we could just politely decline?"

"Very funny, Roger..." WIlhelm prepared a spell under his new coat, which would create a flash of light large enough to blind everyone in the room temporarily. "I'm whipping up a flash spell. I'll give the usual signal when I'm ready."

This Dance We Call War [A Game of Thrones Based RP]

... Wait, you mean my post?

This Dance We Call War [A Game of Thrones Based RP]

FinDragon said
Eeeexcept for those who have more important matters at hand. Like drinking and eating. And singing.

Damn straight! B)

This Dance We Call War [A Game of Thrones Based RP]

Wilhelm and co. walked their horses inside the gate. For now, they would be safe from harm at the hands of the various bands of murderers who were constantly pursuing him. These past few weeks had been hell on earth for the trio, and Wilhelm was glad to finally have respite from the constant violence that surrounded them. The village of The group had some money on them, mostly taken from men who'd underestimated them and met their ends at Wilhelm's pollaxe or Roger's longsword. The House of Lazarel was renowned for its food, and they were more than eager to see if their cooking skill was as widespread among their peasantry. They settled on a nice, homely-looking inn run by a stout old woman and her husband. A bit of silver secured them three bowls of hardy, rich mammoth stew with chunks of meat in it, as well as a loaf of bread to split between the three of them. Ale was free; it was a special occasion, though Wilhelm hadn't a clue what it was. Regardless, it was one of the most delicious meals he had ever tasted.

As they were eating, Wilhelm overheard a group of smallfolk speaking further down their table. "A toast to the new Captain of the Guard, Urt Lazarel! May he never have need to do his job!" A bout of laughter followed, with precious little actual toasting. Wilhelm smiled. I'll stay here for as long as I can, he thought, I'll change my name, maybe, and wait here until the war's done and over with. It was then he noticed a bard tuning a lute in a corner.

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen!" The bard was glad in mammoth fur, and wore gloves of fine leather. Perhaps he had won them in a bet or poker game. "This particular tale has been spreading throughout the land like wildfire, and has finally found its way to the tip if the Iron Mountains! I give you, the Ballad of Royal Bastards."

Wilhelm nearly choked on his stew. He had heard the song far too many times before in rebel-friendly lands, and more often than not, the head of the bard who had sang it was displayed on a pike outside the charred remains of the tavern the following morning.

First was Sir Ridley,
A knight brave and strong,
A noble born mother, and a lover of song,
He dared raise a question to the Tyrant but instead
of giving and answer the king chopped off his head!
Oh, oh, he chopped off his head!

Wilhelm found it far too uplifting for a song about murder and death. He sunk down in his seat as the bard slowed his playing slightly. It was still a joyful tune, but it now had an ominous element to it.

Then came fair Matilda,
A maid sweet and kind,
She wore a white dress and wore flowers in her hair,
Locked herself in her tower, to grieve for her kin,
But the tyrant did find her, stuck a sword through her chin!
Oh, oh, stuck a sword through her chin!

The last line of the verse was sung in unison with some of the restaurant's patrons, in a way that made chills run down Wilhelm's spine. Again the bard began to play slower. Now the song was starting to sound just utterly tragic, and this particular verse was: even moreso than the rest.

Third was little Lily,
Naught more than a babe,
Too young to know she would soon be in her grave,
Her mother did struggle, Her mother did fight,
But a child was nonetheless murdered that night.
Oh, poor Lily, murdered in the night.

Wilhelm let his elbows rest on the table. Now was the final verse...

Last is staunch Wilhelm,
A peasant like you,
With no coin to his name and nothing to lose,
But that one fateful day when the king's men came by... As many bards often did at this point in the song, he took a dramatic pause...

He gripped his sickle in two hands and he said...
In the name of brave Ridley, you chopped off his head,
In the name of fair Matilda, who you murdered in bed,
In the name of little Lily, whose poor mother cried,
I am Wilhelm the Bastard, and I choose you to die!
Oh, oh, I choose you to die!

The entire tavern screamed the last line in unison as the bard moved onto the last verse of the ballad...

Goodbye, to Sir Ridley, Lady Matilda too,
Goodbye to young Lily, whom we hardly knew,
But hold onto hope, for there's one still alive,
He's Wilhelm, the man who's too stubborn to die!

The entire tavern erupted into applause and laughter. Wilhelm was flattered by the praise, though the story was only half-true. First and foremost, the king had sent only three assassins after him, as they did not anticipate that he would have any sort of combat experience. Second, Wilhelm's cousins aided him in his fight and subsequent retreats. Thirdly, he had used his pollaxe to deliver the killing blows to two of the three guards, whereas Roger had killed the third one. Perhaps the most important difference was that Wilhelm had quite a bit of gold -- at least for a peasant -- from collecting the spoils of war during the conquests of the Tyrant King. What really worried the bastard was that things were expected of him. The people wanted a hero to praise, who would rally and army to rise up and slay the tyrant king, whereas Wilhelm wanted no part in it. Peasants seemed to support him well enough, due to his background, but most noble houses saw him as either a nuisance or a bargaining chip. Best to stay out of it entirely.

Wilhelm, Roger and Frederick sat there finishing their meals, taking in the sights and sounds around them. Though the Flowers Brothers were enjoying themselves, Wilhelm was beginning to feel uneasy again.

This Dance We Call War [A Game of Thrones Based RP]

FinDragon, just to clarify, and I being made to wait outside the gate before entering, or is the runner just to signal the castle that someone new has arrived?

This Dance We Call War [A Game of Thrones Based RP]

Whoops! My bad! ^_^
In my defense, it was late at night.

This Dance We Call War [A Game of Thrones Based RP]

“C’mon, Bertha, faster!” Wilhelm screamed, spurring his mount. Arrows flew towards Wilhelm and his two cousins, missing their mark by mere inches. He gripped his pollaxe tightly while whispering an incantation to create a small force field to cover his backside. The curse of royal blood had its perks. "Hyah!"

“There’s a forest ahead!” Frederick screamed, “We’ll lose ‘em in there!” Wilhelm’s cousins Frederick and Roger were more like brothers than anything. They had been raised in the same house, been sent to war under the same captain, and watched their family murdered before them by the king’s men. They knew his secret, but could bare him no ill will, for they had all suffered equally from the wrath of the king’s men. They had four sellswords with them when they had walked into town, but two were slaughtered, and the other two turned on them when they learned of the massive bounty placed on Wilhelm’s head. At least they would not have to pay them.

“Aye!” Roger and Wilhelm screamed in unison, splitting up. They were able to lose their pursuers in the woods, then double back and return to a town that they had passed previously. They would need to leave the kingdom, of course; running like this would only lead to an eventual and gruesome end. They had been through this several times before, though, and were able to meet up at the milling town of Westwood. Roger had received a minor scratch from a low-hanging branch, but there were no serious injuries, and Roger already had many scars covering his visage. Of course, he’d received most of these defending his younger cousin and brother.

“Nobody’s died yet,” Frederick stated as they walked their horses to the stable outside the nearest tavern, “So that’s good news.” Ever the optimistic one, he was. These were not the king’s men who were chasing him. They were common mercenaries, looking to make a buck off of his bounty. They did not have the same urgency in their task, and could pursue other targets if they so wished.

As he sat down at a table in the corner, Wilhelm listened intently to the rumours that the peasants were whispering. Supposedly, in this very forest, a group of prominent leaders of the rebellion were going to be holding a meeting to discuss their strategy. He could not go with the king’s men pursuing him, and he did not want to: this could have easily been a trap of sorts. Perhaps the rebels wished to exchange his head for their independence, or use him as a hostage during negotiations, or force him into marriage so that some noble house could claim the throne as their own.

The group rode on towards the Iron Mountain Range to hide among the grand fortresses of House Kardov and Lazarel. They had adopted a policy of neutrality, and Wilhelm hoped that they would not tolerate a manhunt. He was unsure if the guards would recognize him. If they did, they were unlikely to permit entry to a wanted criminal. Detainment was a possibility, and execution another, but their party was running out of options…

This Dance We Call War [A Game of Thrones Based RP]

Ignore this post I am a dumb dummy and I posted my IC post in the OOC thread.

This Dance We Call War [A Game of Thrones Based RP]

Name: Wilhelm the Bastard
Age: 19
House: None
Position: Farmhand turned outlaw; bastard son of the King, and weak claimant to the throne of Astaoviel
Race: Human

Weapons/Gear: A surprisingly pristine pollaxe, some very shabby-looking armour, and a wide-brimmed helmet.

Skills/Magic: The royal line has some sorcerer's blood flowing through their veins, but due to his lack of training, Wilhelm can only muster the most basic of spells. Most of these are force-oriented, used to create shields out of mid-air or push back his enemies, but his favourite spell is one which allows him to hover for short periods of time.

Wilhelm is decently gifted with his pollaxe, perhaps as much as your average man-at-arms, but no more. Wilhelm’s true combat prowess comes from his acrobatic fighting style and use of magic to supplement his above-average natural ability. His style is raw, but he himself is powerful.

Appearance: Wilhelm is an even six feet tall and decently muscular with black hair and brown eyes. Even in more domestic environments, he can usually be seen wearing some sort of shabby armour. In truth, his “armor” is more like an old, thick leather coat with small, salvaged scraps of metal around his chest and shoulders for any real protection. This, combined with his wrought-iron kettle hat, gives him the image of the stereotypical peasant militiaman, forced to fight to protect his home. The weapon he carries, however, sharply contrasts his shabby appearance. It is a beautiful-looking pollaxe, certainly out of the price range of most farmers, and made out of fine steel.

Background: Wilhelm is a young man who should have never existed. A tyrant king on his way to war, a peasant woman raped, and a bribe to cover it all up. Even spread amongst her family, Lillian Flowers could live relatively comfortably for the rest of her days and watch the bastard grow up to be a strong young man. She chose to keep his origins a secret, though she suffered some post-traumatic stress as a result of the king’s assault. But what could she, a peasant woman, do about the behaviour of a king?

For nineteen years, Wilhelm lived in modesty. Peace under the rule of the tyrant king was rare as he fought his wars of bloody conquest, so he was conscripted to the army with his two cousins. This was where he learned spear fighting, as well as basic horseback riding. Miraculously, he and his cousins survived long enough to return home with new weapons and armour taken from fallen foes, and several stories of war to tell. This is where Wilhelm got his scrappy armour and helmet, but his pollaxe was a present for having saved his officer’s life.

When the civil war started, the Tyrant King saw it fit to exterminate all potential threats to his claim on the throne. He started with his bastard children, systematically hunting them down and slaughtering him. Wilhelm was one of the last to be targeted. Even when his family lay dead, he was able to escape, using the last of the bribe money to purchase a sturdy grey mare and ride off into the night. He only discovered his origins after it was too late.

Now, Wilhelm is constantly pursued by his father’s hitmen, going from town to town and taking refuge wherever he is welcome. Other nobles have began to pursue him as well, either promising his protection, his elimination, or his capture. There are even a few houses who want to use Wilhelm to push their own claims to the throne...

Opinion On War: “I don’t want the throne or get chased after by my father n’ his merry bands o’ murderers! I jus’ want to be left alone!”