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Arystide & Armand.

- Maidens, Mischief and Mayhem -

“I still can’t believe you got her to agree with this…” Armand stated as he helped his brother and cousin carrying the large round table to its spot.
Arystide flashed a wicked grin at the 17 year old.
“Nene can be a harpy, but she could never deny me anything.” He told them with a rather smug confidence.
Armand flashed him a look of concern.
“She’d better not hear you call her that…” He uttered, shifting his grip on the table as the boys manoeuvred it over to one of the other tents.
“Eh, she’ll throw a fit at first, but that’s cause she feels no one takes her seriously, but in the end she knows I am not the idiot she thinks I am.”
Finnegan couldn’t help but snicker and add.
“No, you’re far worse.”
“Exactly.” Arystide accepted proudly. “Therefore, what better way to control the loose cannon than being the one determining where you aim it. We all know this is a big deal for Dottie, so she wants us out of the way so we can’t embarrass the family during the later hours.”
Armand shook his head in concern.
“I can’t help but feel for poor Nene, having to deal with both your antics as well as Sissi and Wen’s. This should be a time they should flaunt their beauty and good looks, attracting the attention of other Houses.”
“That’s because Nene is passed her prime.”
Armand turned his neck a bit too fast groaning at the pain as he instinctually brought his hand up, releasing the table and nearly dropping it.
Finnegan and Arystide corrected quickly.
“Oi! Hands on table! Hands ON Table!” Arystide growled making Armand regrip it quickly. They got it to their designated spot and with a unified groan placed it down.
“What did you mean, Nene is passed her prime.”
“Women, my dear little brother are like Summerwines. They’re sweet when they’re ripe, but the older they get the more sour they become. Eventually they’ll kill your liver as well as your taste for the finer things in life. Nene is an old Summerwine. She lost her sweetness. She only has the harsh sour taste left.”
“How can you say that?”
“Cause it is true.” Arystide threw back. “Most matched get set up early, the kids don’t know it, but the Mothers and Aunts do all the planning and prepping. Finding out which alliance would serve their interests best and whether or not their son or daughter would be a good match.” He grabbed one of the chairs they had gathered earlier and set it at the table, leaning on it.
“Now, the attraction stage comes the moment the little flowers starts to bloom. When they get their comely shapes and fill up their dresses.”
Armand blushed at that particular image whilst Finnegan grinned as he put a hand on his shoulder.
“But when a match isn’t found or set up, the flower withers, loses her bloom and inevitably loses her youth and beauty. It is when they usually prepare themselves mentally for spinsterhood and you get either the jealous type of behaviour turning them into harpy’s or they become as desperate as can be and will settle for any cock they can raise.” Arystide finished enjoying watching his young brother squirm at this particular topic.
He is too sensitive, Arystide believed, and it was high time he and Finnegan would take him under their wing and turn him into a proper man.
“We’ll find you a nice one don’t worry.” He promised with a wink, watching Armand squirm even harder in horror.
Finnegan meanwhile had admired and tapped the lacquered layer of the table.
“Not to put any questions on your particular taste of furniture, but….Why the Seven Hells did you pick this heavy thing anyway? We could have made due with a couple of lighter ones.”
Arystide rolled his eyes at his cousin’s foolish question.
“That way dear Nene can’t easily go back on her word, regardless of what happens.”
“Oh yes she can.” Armand cut in sharply trying to shift his thoughts from his potential first time to he large round monster between them.
It technically wasn’t even one of their usual tables, Arystide being Arystide had seen it during one of his travels and had picked it up.
The overpriced monster had been stored belowdecks of the Arbor Queen for at least a full month, only to be remembered and brought out along with the rest of the Tournament supplies.
“But she won’t. We’ll be out of sight and the great honourable Lord Tarly wouldn’t venture into a den of depravity such as this. He’ll head for his seat of honour, dine and drink for sake of appearance and fuck off afterwards. Meanwhile, we can excuse ourselves and have our own little party here. Pretty wenches…a good casket of Arbor ‘spiced’ Red I happened to have stowed away and I already got Little Davy to set us up with a nice brisket.” Arystide explained being the seasoned tourney-goer here.
Armand looked both impressed and horrified at the same time.
“If Nene finds out, she’ll have your head.”
“Hardly…she knows what I am. She’ll just hope I’ll be stupid enough to get myself hitched up. That way I would be out of her hair. Speaking of which…” His eyes drifted to the people outside. As the pavilion started to gather more visitors the flock of those being women increased as well.
“Giving a soft chuckle and a mischievous wink Arystide looped an arm around Armand’s neck and pulled him along.
“Let’s go little brother. We have game afoot.” He uttered with a mad grin before leaving Finnegan to finish the chairs. “Particularly that pretty little thing in the teal dress there..” He gestured with his head, picking up two goblets of Arbor wine and winking to Armand stating.
“Watch…and learn.” He stated with a smug smile, looping around the two so they would catch him in his path. Making certain he timed it just right, he turned around making sure his accidental bump spilled, making some of the wine go all over his outer vest. Wisely he had chosen a watered down Arbor Gold for the deed.
“Oh…Seven Hells.” He exclaimed in pretended shock, before feigning to notice the women. Quickly attempting to take it off.
“Begging your pardons, Ladies.” He stated with a nod. “But if it gets into my shirt I’ll stink like peaches for the rest of the Tournament.” He joked as he flashed a good deal of chest accompanied by his usual bright smile.
“I hope my clumsiness didn’t cause you any grief or stains in those beautiful dresses…Here allow me to offer you fresh cups…accompanied of course by my sincerest apology.” He stated signalling the bartender and bowing deep enough for them to catch a good glimpse of everything.
The bloody bastard is playing to his strengths. His skin tanned from being outside a great deal would turn his teeth and eyes even brighter as well as compliment the long fiery locks that surpassed his shoulders. His accident would allow the women one of the rare glimpses of muscle and skin and bowing that low would certainly allow them to look further.
If Armand scoffed at the fact that his brother was seemingly getting away with most breaches of propriety and decorum.
He ordered a goblet of Arbor Red pretending to keep himself occupied as he kept a careful watch on his brother’s antics.


The Redwynes.



Honora.


The section of tents that always was bustling with life and excitement was the so called Pavillion.
The Redwynes managed to impress the local crowds and other noble delegations with their lavish spread of the 3 F’s: Food, Feasting and Filling up on whatever drink you could manage to hold down.
With their cluster of grapes flying high from above the Feasting Tent, it was hard to miss and often was used for point of reference as a gathering spot as the Feasting Tent was the largest tent of them all.
One of an impressive size, intent on housing a great number of people, with tables and benches set up both inside and a few outside as well.
It also held a small stage for the travelling bard to perform, provided of course they gained permission by the Redwynes.
The family themselves we set up at slightly raised, with their table always prepared and set up, the dark blue table cloths embroidered with their purple sigil with shiny golden thread.
The chairs that were set up behind the table were decorated accordingly with vines and leaves of the wine ranks. Three extra chairs were placed at the table for their invited special guests, the Tarly’s.
They were spread out, so each would be flanked by the Redwynes. Honora thought it wise to place the potential troublemakers at the ends, they needed this to be a success not have Lord Tarly be instantly insulted by either Arystide or horrified by the Twins. She had set him up with in between Lord Domenic and herself, figuring they would be able to keep the man pleasantly engaged, whilst she had put his son next to his intended and next to Arnaud, so he might, should the awkward silence fall, always be able to discuss the ongoings and opponents of the Tournament. The lady in question she had put next to her aunt Lady Cyra and Armand, with Nadiya closeby to potentially jump in and to keep an eye on the twins as well.
They had send out word beforehand to the town for those who sought to make some extra coin. The Redwynes would pay handsomely for their aid. Strong young men to help build and set the tents up and young women who were willing to serve out drinks…usually this particular job; the selecting of the wenches was done by Arystide and Finnegan as they considered themselves connaisseurs on that particular matter.
Honora let them be and told them to not get distracted and get the required number, no more, no less, lest they wanted to be servants themselves. That instantly set the right type of motivation, though Honora wasn’t sure how long it would be remembered.
Usually getting help was no issue. The Redwynes were well liked by the smallfolk, perhaps it was a trait belong to the Reach, Honora doubted this tournament would give them any troubles.
She and Lady Cyra had been quite busy all day coordinating the set up and overseeing the distribution of the brought wares such as the wine caskets, barrels with ale and crates filled with food.
Tournaments were costly, but they always meant a good profit.
Whether one was High- or Lowborn, everyone got hungry or thirsty at some point.
And who better to provide than the winemakers themselves, not something that happened regularly as the Redwynes did not cross over the waters to the mainland all that often.
Still there would be something for everyone whether they purse was filled or practically empty.
It wasn’t for nothing that the Redwynes were jokingly named the ‘Businessmen’ of the nobles.
Proverbs such as: ‘A Redwyne loves making money, just as much as drinking wine.’ or ‘Where the Lannister shits gold, the Redwyne pisses wine.’
They could hardly feel insulted by them as they enjoyed a bountiful life of plenty. The Arbor might not be as impressive as High Garden, but it was a true horn of Cornucopia and the Redwynes were more than willing to share their good bounty, for a price.

As slowly they started finishing up on setting up the last tents Honora walked around the grounds board and quill in hand ready to check things off her list as she watched the others aid their hired help.
The young lords and Lord Domenic helped out with the actual labour.
Domenic being a man of practicality would not allow the boys to sit idle so had ordered them to help with unloading the barrels and crates of food. And whilst some grumbled more than others it was clear that despite all the protests they made good time.
The twins had been no use at all and thus Honora had decided that she could make the most of them by letting them do exactly what they wanted to do; which was snoop around and check out the other nobles. Knowing those two, she figured they could go out and be her eyes and ears for the moment.
That left her younger sisters, Nadiya and Odette, whom she had left in the capable hands of Septa Sybilla, their chaperone.

Slowly bit by bit the cluster of tents grew and formed their known Pavillion. Games and betting stalls were the last to be finished. Also the always popular ‘Applebobbin’ & ‘Gingerbites’ were favourites for young and old, but Honora was most curious who would be able to get to the large ham this year.
According to their butcher he had worked on the recipe of the grease coating, the pole would be extra slippery this year or so he had promised her.
He and his hands would be working the MeatMen stall again. Working the sweltering cooking fires, seasoning the meat and grilling the food. His wife and other women worked the ‘sides’ stall. Which proved to bring in proper coppers last season, the sides of caramelized onions, baked tomato’s and hot potatoes had been such a crowd favourite that they had sold out before the tourney had been over.
Wherever they went money flowed and hopefully that part of their reputation would serve them well into finding spouses.

As Honora allowed herself to sit down again for a moment to overview their handiwork she could only be pleased with the sight.
It should prove an impressive display for the Tarly’s.
They needed to make a good impression. For Odette’s sake.
She allowed her thoughts to turn to a few weeks prior, when her father had called her into his study.
Whilst it wasn’t unusual for her to be summoned to her father’s study, the atmosphere this time had been ’pressing’.
Ever since her mother had passed she had stepped up and proudly took on the tasks. She had never complained as she had considered it her duty to aid her father and family.
Gorlois had come to trust her even more than he had before. Sharing his thoughts on certain business ventures or his grief over the loss of their mother.
This time she had sensed a great tiredness in her father, one that was slowly sinking in and dragging its claws.
“Nene.” He had spoken half dazed. “We need to look to the future of our House.” He had said cryptically.
She had raised an eyebrow at that.
What was he referring to? Was he concerned over his children or the business side of things…she could never quite tell.
Before she could ask whatever it was, Gorlois handed her his seal, pressing it into her hands.
“You will write to Lord Talbert Tarly, tell him I accept his proposal. Better it be his son than those other Reach lords.” He uttered, giving Honora slightly more of an inkling what this could be about.
“All those years the Tarly family has been praised for their Loyalty, what better gift to offer a daughter? What better than a loyal man?” Gorlois stated as he looked at his eldest.
Ah, there it was, so it was a marriage he was referring to.
“I am certain he will be pleasing when you have such faith in the man.” She spoke diplomatically. “Forgive me papa, I hadn’t expected such news, but I will do everything I can to bring honour to our family.”
Gorlois looked up at her in confusion before he poured himself a drink.
“Ah I am sorry Honora, but it isn’t you whom I am promising.”
His words literally felt like someone drenched her with cold water.
“I.if not I…then who?” She asked now more warily, wondering not for the first time what he was up to.
“My pearl, our Odette.” He answered with an unnerving level of calm that scared even Honora.
“Odette is 15!” She retorted in horror. “She is the youngest of us!” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Of all your children you thought it wise to betrothed her first?! What about the rest of us?!” She thrust back as her blood boiled.
“I needed to have her set up first.”
Honora had rolled her eyes at that. Of course…
“Yes we all know she is your favourite! We’re all weak when it comes to her. But have you ever considered what kind of message you’re sending out to the rest of Westeros? To have your youngest married before the rest? Did we even factor in here? What about securing a match for your own heir or for Nadiya? Or Hell even the twins!”
Gorlois eyed her sharply.
“Envy is unbecoming Honora.” He reminded her sternly.
She gritted teeth retorting. “I am not envious of Odette!”
“But you are upset, upset perhaps because you expected to be the one that would be set up first…” Gorlois calmly reasoned, watching his eldest daughter huff in frustration.
“I couldn’t care less, but what I do care about is our reputation, this promise will send signals all over Westeros, the other Lords must be thinking something is wrong with the rest of us!” She threw her hands up in the air in resignation.
“The Tarly-boy isn’t meant for you.” He spoke with such certainty that Honora didn’t even dare doubt her father’s judgement any further.
“Fine…but I am not the one going to tell her…you can do that yourself! Gods…Odette wouldn’t even know what exactly would be expected of her! When is the meeting of them going to take place?”
“At the upcoming Tournament at Summerhall.”
“Summerhall? That’s quite the trip she’s never been off the island…” Honora had reminded him.
“That is why you all will go with her. So she won’t be completely alone and friendless during their introduction. I asked your Uncle and Aunt to go as well. Domenic will take on the role of protector of our house, with you and your aunt bearing the responsibility for your brothers and sisters.”
Another heavy sigh followed.
“Do you think it is wise to bring the twins? They already don’t listen to a word I tell them and frankly I can see them run off with some lecherous hedge knight or seedy bard.”
Her father laughed at that, but there was little warmth in it anymore.
“Honora, I am sure it is not as bad as all that, you can steer them towards more appropriate waters.” He said with a rather cold upturned smile.
“I make no promises papa, you grossly overestimate my ability to rein those two in. With the whole family going I will need to grow eyes in the back of my head.”
And how true that last statement had been.
Arystide and Finnegan already were a pain to deal with, Nadiya now started to rebel against her as well, but the Twins…
If you asked Honora she would tell you they were the spawn of the Maiden and the Stranger.
For all their flirting and leading men on it was a wonder they both weren’t with child yet. Honestly, they would soil the good name of their house if they would get a to bed all the handsome men of Westeros and beyond.
She was pulled from her thoughts as a servant approached her handing her a cup with watered down wine.
“Milady must be thirsty…please have a care.” The woman said motheringly, receiving a warm smile from Honora.
“Thank you for your concern. Please bring some to the other workers as well. We all can use a refreshment.” Honora requested before her attention was drawn by a couple of riders that trotted in with laughter and merriment.
Honora felt another sigh escape her as she instantly recognised the familiar voices and saw wild free flowing familiar red locks.
Crossing her arms over each other she shook her head at the appearance of the both of them.
“Heavens look at the state of you! Septa Sybilla will have a proper fit.” She said as the twins halted their horses and easily slid down to the ground.
“Oh Nene, you’re such a spoilsport. We have been on our best behaviour, honest!” Rowanne immediately retorted as she patted the side of her brown mare.
“We did cross the field twice, you wouldn’t say so at first glance, but there are a lot of lords present.” Serenei immediately reported. “No sign of the Tarly boy yet, however we have seen their tents.”
“So we can’t tell Odette for sure whether he is handsome or not.” Rowanne smirked.
“So they are here…well that is a promising start I suppose.” Honora mumbled more to herself than to her sisters, before asking.
“Anyone of note?”
“Well, we saw the banners of Ball, Lannister, Stark, Arryn, Lothstone, Templeton, I think also Mormont and Baratheon oh and the Dragon of course. Rumours go as rumours go, but all in all this is going to be quite a tournament if the setup of the lists is any indication.” Serenei drummed up from memory.
Honora frowned she only hoped Arnaud would be careful during all of this. Tournaments made her uneasy, though she trusted her brother could handle himself, there always were characters who’s honour was questionable at best and more than often non-existent as they sought to win.
“All right, get the horses back to their meadow and clean yourselves up. And if the Tarly’s do show up at least try to make a good impression…” She pleaded rather seriously, only to be met with smirks and a mirthful shake of the head.
“Don’t worry Nene, we’ll be on our ‘best’ behaviour…” they promised, before they walked off laughing and pulling the horses along, making sure to be seen and heard every step of the way. They passed by the Feasting Tent casting a glance inside at potential people of interest, before giggling their way along.
“That is what I am afraid off…” moaned Honora with a shake of her head. Seven help her…their family was doomed.


@Apoalo
I have a Hightower as a septa just thought you should know
In Ashen Skies 10 days ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Castille snorted.
"I may be blind boy, but I am hardly deaf...though...that last little trick you performed did peak my interest." He said as he stood up, his loose garments, hiding his lanky legs as he took his walking stick and nodded with his head.
"Follow me, I doubt you'll be going on a watch patrol with those two tonight, as they would be watching their backs more in suspicion than actually pay attention to the streets." He said as he lead him back to the fence.
"I'll try to ease and soothe your mind." Castille spoke as he held the hidden door open for him.
"Undoubtedly you've been taught many things little Crow, but as you should be well aware the stories seldom get told fully in order to avoid loss of face or out of shame and disgrace. Such is the way of those who write history...of rulers who determine what will be permitted to exist and the fanatics don't burn for their own peace of mind." He lead him back into the city, hobbling through alleyways that started to liven up as lanterns were lit and small stalls and shops were set up.
"The last few hours before the curfew, that is when you see the true face of the City. Twilight hours we call them. It is when even mages dare to come out and play. When you see artists perform their craft and dancers move silkily for a few silvers." He lead him up the hill, allowing one to look into small courtyard where drinking establishments and foodstalls slowly attracted the working folk.
When he nearly reached the top of the stairs he moved behind a couple of houses to a clear overview, one of the few higher points of the city, offering a clear view of what lay below.
"This City is quite powerful, the Merciful Mother knew this and so does the current High Priest. However it has allowed itself to be corrupted by lesser men, offering the weaker lambs an escape from the harshness that is reality." He pointed to a set of dark narrow alleys. The users are there. The intoxicated and dreamers. They squander their coin for a sliver of pleasure and hope for a dream that ends too quickly and never could be." He spoke sadly before raising his cane to the Tower with strange precision.
"You can be certain the High Priest enjoys his cut as he allows them to do business in the city. Never touch it. The haze alone is said to be so powerful for first timers that they become instantly addicted and as far as I know none have ever recovered from it."
He turned to Corvo.
"You could be a saviour of more than just your own Kingdom. Provided you're willing to see the bigger picture. Find a way to harness this city and Vaim would have a serious fight on their hands. Oh certainly we don't have as many noble strong knights or as many mages, but what we lack in that we can more than make up in sheer fanaticism. I know you'd rather be back with your own kinsmen, but you're not capable to take on an empire on your own. No matter how brave your people are, alone they were crushed and stomped by the large Imperial boot."

****more to follow




I'll give a vote for the Blackfyre Rebellion aswell...considering that apart from the Targ Bastards there is also nice sidedishes in the form of the Bracken & Blackwood feuds, though if our particular group is going to go alternative universe where will we commence? With a tourney?
All right here is mine:



Haelion Vae du Magna'mearah
https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1yN1LDL4s_SSzRkqaoyE3OxdBfN0stVTdv5UgMbJKIyc/edit?usp=sharing

Basic Information

Name: Haelion Vae du Magna'mearah
Age: 28
Gender Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Race: Genasi (Air)
Class: Cleric, Life
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Backstory

Haelion is a Prince of the Skies, the noble lineage he belongs to stretches far back from the early pages of history, but you'd likely not heard of him unless you're keeping up with the Genasi Royalty.
Yet as with all Air Genasi they have the tendency to wander. To explore. To drift on the currents and getting involved in the schemes of the children of other races.
Haelion himself, was challenged by one the mewling Gods claiming that he would not be able to understand the hardships of those lesser than him. That he had ne’er walked one mile in their shoes.
Disregarding the preposterous notion that he Haelion Vae due Magna’mearah had no sense of compassion, he claimed that if this God found it so horrible, then why not alter fates. After all, Gods were supposed to have the power to do that.
After getting a lecture about the intricate innerworkings of the law of ‘Free Will’ Haelion had waved the issue aside claiming that was a poor excuse of not wanting to get one’s hands dirty.
It was at this moment however when the clever trickster of a god sprung its trap.
After all, if Haelion knew better, then why not offer a demonstration. He would beget some of the God’s powers and cultivate them and whilst he wandered he could show his delicate touch regarding matters of fate, or in this case Life & Death.
Perhaps it had been the Summerwine, perhaps Haelion had been too careless, but in his lapse of judgement he had agreed upon the terms….and found himself transported…transported to a temple.
In this particular temple there was one of the most horrible persons ever to have existed.
A ancient old bat called the Mother Superior.
A hag to be sure, wielding her threats with a smile, loving all manner of creatures except him it seems.
Slavedriver.
That was what she was.
He should have smited her there and then…but he had a nasty suspicion that even Death himself rather stayed far away from the tiniest of grannies.
Thus the Noblest of Princes was pushed into a Healer’s role, forced to start with the poorest of the poor. His pristine, lilywhite hands were put to work. Surrounded by all the filthiest orphans, he scrubbed all of them clean, upon instructions of the Mother Superior. He was then ordered to give out soul cakes, basically hard stale bread that was deemed enough for the poor to live on.
If he ever wanted to break all his teeth all at once, then he would try and eat one of those.
He did like the part where they shook down people for money, although he was told not to threaten the miscreants, he learned that the old bat had a trick or two up her sleeve as well, she might not threaten them, but she certainly could guilt them into giving. The granny had it down to a fine art.
Now after cleaning up the dredges of the city, she send him out in to the world, to heal the hurting and to help the needy…
And so he went. He would grow more powerful and bring forth a better world. Also as a bonus he would ultimately put that lousy god in its place, maybe he would even supplant it.
Haelion Vae du Magna’mearah…The God of Life, The Merciful.


Plus my rolls:


Either going Druid or Cleric....putting a character up later today.
I'm keeping my eye on this.
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