@Bonjour xx @WilsonTurner How far along are you guys? Would be preferable if you guys could catch up.
Partisan Banned
Vuurvos
Dion
- Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Vuurvos
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 2152 (0.49 / day)
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Username history
- Partisan 12 yrs ago
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10 yrs ago
I'm still God.
Bio
If we are marked to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires;
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart. His passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse.
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
Most Recent Posts
Gregar listened to the black knight, evaluating his words with a skeptic look as the man was a black knight after all - a warrior for hire, or outlaw if he desired to be one. But he spoke with a remarkable tone, and even knew a motto in the language of Kings. “Well, it seems we have common grounds then. Your source is here, if I am correct. I never knew your mother, you'll have to forgive me for that. But if this is where you were born then it looks like you might have problems.” Gregar spun the wine in his cup around and then took a sip, looking at the black knight and judging him at the same time.
The man was not truly a master at arms, more so just a very dirty fighter. That was no insult, it was just a style. Gregar had seen him in combat and could conclude that this man, while skilled, had no godly boon that others did not have. He was mortal, as anyone, and certainly seemed to be more unlucky than lucky. Never the less.. the man was interesting. “I have little to offer to you, there is no land I can give you for the Whitelands are not so fertile. I have little wealth as I am a simple duke in the North, not a Southerner. But I can assure you our loyalty and values are stronger than that of anyone else, and that is what I can offer you.” It would be unclear what Gregar meant exactly with this, but he was getting to a point.
“You have no doubt heard of the army that marches here? Undoubtedly, you were part of the very same army after all. They are coming here, 'your source' as you worded it, and they're not coming to liberate it. They will burn it if we give them the chance. So I need every man and woman that can wield a weapon to be here, on the walls, in the keep, defending it.” The hall remained rather quiet, everyone maintaining their conversations at a hushed tone while Gregar spoke to the knight. Many of them did so out of respect, others out of interest for what was being said. “So I can offer you just that. Loyalty and values. If you accept, then you will no longer need to toil in that armor of yours, blackened not by paint but by other people's views of you. Instead you will be one of the men you sung about in your troupe - a knight in service, fighting for the honor of his lord.”
Gregar smiled at the man, as an offer of knighthood was extended rarely, and even more rarely to a black knight. Never the less it was not a free offer, as the man would have to agree to it first, and then swear an oath. Finally, he would be expected to fight for Gregar. “Perhaps God has not forsaken you. Maybe your heart didn't choose the North for you, maybe God did. God and his children work subtly, knight of the black. There is certainly glory in war, you just need to find it.”
Joakim grumbled as Gregar offered the black knight a place amongst his knights - a group filled mostly with noblemen and noble sons, all of which Joakim had known for years and, in some cases, even trained with for years. And then this man walks in, and gets offered a place almost instantly. Just because he can juggle apples about. He stuffed more pork into his mouth, chewing and looking at Tomas as he spoke. “He's made of tales, card tricks and lies, it seems. Brought up by a troupe.. pah.” Joakim normally didn't have anything against his sort, but it was obvious the man annoyed him.
“Excuse me. I want to take a look on the walls. It seems everyone is getting more and more drunk, and nobody is paying attention anymore.” He shot Amber a quick look, as he realized she would probably attract much more attention than they could use right now. Gavin must already be turning the wheels of the spy networks he had, but Joakim understood little of that. He just assumed that he'd try and run interference between all the tidbits of information that got sent out. No doubt would he persuade some people that Amber was, in fact, not here. But it didn't take a genius to understand that Gregar would've taken Amber with him to the north, as they escaped together. “I wouldn't want anyone to assassinate the pretender duchess.” He stood up from the bench, nodded to Tomas and them clapped his hands against his pants, urging Bravery to follow him. He stepped away but changed his mind it seemed, turning around and stepping back to the table. “My apologies, Amber. But you are a pretender from this moment. People will be after you, if not the duke himself then it will be bounty hunters.” He smiled, but it wasn't a genuine smile. For a small moment in time he felt like Gregar made a wrong choice to bring her here - she would be more trouble than good. Tomas, on the other hand, seemed to be more capable than Amber.
He left the hall, walking past the black knight without even granting him a look. As he passed the man he even grabbed the hilt of his blade, making sure that the man got no ideas. It was all a show, ofcourse, to let everyone, and especially the black knight himself, know that the man would not be tolerated by Joakim. Those looking to gain favor with Joakim would no doubt shun the man too, although now that Joakim had lost his position as lord regent, these people were small in number.
Agile as always, Joakim walked up the stone stairs that led to the wall. His dog followed him quickly, walking up the stairs with remarkable ease for a dog. A man was posted here, as the guard was still on triple duty. Not far from him, barely 10 meters, the next guard stood watching over the forests ahead of him. The white snow was a blessing and a curse, a blessing because anyone would easily be seen in the white, giving a nice contrast to the grey armor most people wore - but it got awfully cold and cold soldiers fight worse than those near a warm fire. Joakim greeted the guard, who returned the favor with a quick nod. Leaning on the battlements, he looked out over the horizon. The sun had risen since the feast had started and the blizzard had calmed down, though it was still snowing. Below him he heard the sounds of encampment, no doubt the warlords' men, who had been forced to stay outside as a safety measure. In the distance, wolves howled as they left their holes. Joakim merely watched for any disturbances, petting his dog as he did.
Arryn and Rosemary walked past Brier, who hurried down the corridor with clenched fists. And although the lady seemed.. broken, she remained beautiful. Arryn turned her head to watch the lady as she continued down the hall, moving towards the feast. Slowly the sounds of the feast started echoing into the hallway and before she knew it she was there - watching as a black knight was having words with Gregar. Paying no mind, as it wasn't her place to do so, she continued walking along the sides of the hall until she found a table. Seated there were a man and a woman, whom she didn't know. Had she known that this was the (former) duchess of the Forklands and her brother, she would've seen to another table. But she didn't know, so she sat down along with Rosemary. “Good morning, Arryn Thorne, handmaiden of lady Catryn, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Arryn spoke to Tomas and Amber, with a hushed and soft voice.
Lady Catryn turned around as her door opened, still in bed. She faced her visitor, her face weary and tired. “I thought I told you to leave!” she said thinking that it was Arryn and Rosemary that had returned. But it wasn't, and she noticed too late. “Oh, it's.. you, Brier. I'm.. sorry. How are you? How is Kevin and your young one?” she asked, though it was more for social requirements that she asked than that she asked out of interest. It seemed as if she stopped caring, about anything and anyone. For that reason she hadn't even heard of Kevins death, nor Brian's.
The man was not truly a master at arms, more so just a very dirty fighter. That was no insult, it was just a style. Gregar had seen him in combat and could conclude that this man, while skilled, had no godly boon that others did not have. He was mortal, as anyone, and certainly seemed to be more unlucky than lucky. Never the less.. the man was interesting. “I have little to offer to you, there is no land I can give you for the Whitelands are not so fertile. I have little wealth as I am a simple duke in the North, not a Southerner. But I can assure you our loyalty and values are stronger than that of anyone else, and that is what I can offer you.” It would be unclear what Gregar meant exactly with this, but he was getting to a point.
“You have no doubt heard of the army that marches here? Undoubtedly, you were part of the very same army after all. They are coming here, 'your source' as you worded it, and they're not coming to liberate it. They will burn it if we give them the chance. So I need every man and woman that can wield a weapon to be here, on the walls, in the keep, defending it.” The hall remained rather quiet, everyone maintaining their conversations at a hushed tone while Gregar spoke to the knight. Many of them did so out of respect, others out of interest for what was being said. “So I can offer you just that. Loyalty and values. If you accept, then you will no longer need to toil in that armor of yours, blackened not by paint but by other people's views of you. Instead you will be one of the men you sung about in your troupe - a knight in service, fighting for the honor of his lord.”
Gregar smiled at the man, as an offer of knighthood was extended rarely, and even more rarely to a black knight. Never the less it was not a free offer, as the man would have to agree to it first, and then swear an oath. Finally, he would be expected to fight for Gregar. “Perhaps God has not forsaken you. Maybe your heart didn't choose the North for you, maybe God did. God and his children work subtly, knight of the black. There is certainly glory in war, you just need to find it.”
Joakim grumbled as Gregar offered the black knight a place amongst his knights - a group filled mostly with noblemen and noble sons, all of which Joakim had known for years and, in some cases, even trained with for years. And then this man walks in, and gets offered a place almost instantly. Just because he can juggle apples about. He stuffed more pork into his mouth, chewing and looking at Tomas as he spoke. “He's made of tales, card tricks and lies, it seems. Brought up by a troupe.. pah.” Joakim normally didn't have anything against his sort, but it was obvious the man annoyed him.
“Excuse me. I want to take a look on the walls. It seems everyone is getting more and more drunk, and nobody is paying attention anymore.” He shot Amber a quick look, as he realized she would probably attract much more attention than they could use right now. Gavin must already be turning the wheels of the spy networks he had, but Joakim understood little of that. He just assumed that he'd try and run interference between all the tidbits of information that got sent out. No doubt would he persuade some people that Amber was, in fact, not here. But it didn't take a genius to understand that Gregar would've taken Amber with him to the north, as they escaped together. “I wouldn't want anyone to assassinate the pretender duchess.” He stood up from the bench, nodded to Tomas and them clapped his hands against his pants, urging Bravery to follow him. He stepped away but changed his mind it seemed, turning around and stepping back to the table. “My apologies, Amber. But you are a pretender from this moment. People will be after you, if not the duke himself then it will be bounty hunters.” He smiled, but it wasn't a genuine smile. For a small moment in time he felt like Gregar made a wrong choice to bring her here - she would be more trouble than good. Tomas, on the other hand, seemed to be more capable than Amber.
He left the hall, walking past the black knight without even granting him a look. As he passed the man he even grabbed the hilt of his blade, making sure that the man got no ideas. It was all a show, ofcourse, to let everyone, and especially the black knight himself, know that the man would not be tolerated by Joakim. Those looking to gain favor with Joakim would no doubt shun the man too, although now that Joakim had lost his position as lord regent, these people were small in number.
Agile as always, Joakim walked up the stone stairs that led to the wall. His dog followed him quickly, walking up the stairs with remarkable ease for a dog. A man was posted here, as the guard was still on triple duty. Not far from him, barely 10 meters, the next guard stood watching over the forests ahead of him. The white snow was a blessing and a curse, a blessing because anyone would easily be seen in the white, giving a nice contrast to the grey armor most people wore - but it got awfully cold and cold soldiers fight worse than those near a warm fire. Joakim greeted the guard, who returned the favor with a quick nod. Leaning on the battlements, he looked out over the horizon. The sun had risen since the feast had started and the blizzard had calmed down, though it was still snowing. Below him he heard the sounds of encampment, no doubt the warlords' men, who had been forced to stay outside as a safety measure. In the distance, wolves howled as they left their holes. Joakim merely watched for any disturbances, petting his dog as he did.
Arryn and Rosemary walked past Brier, who hurried down the corridor with clenched fists. And although the lady seemed.. broken, she remained beautiful. Arryn turned her head to watch the lady as she continued down the hall, moving towards the feast. Slowly the sounds of the feast started echoing into the hallway and before she knew it she was there - watching as a black knight was having words with Gregar. Paying no mind, as it wasn't her place to do so, she continued walking along the sides of the hall until she found a table. Seated there were a man and a woman, whom she didn't know. Had she known that this was the (former) duchess of the Forklands and her brother, she would've seen to another table. But she didn't know, so she sat down along with Rosemary. “Good morning, Arryn Thorne, handmaiden of lady Catryn, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Arryn spoke to Tomas and Amber, with a hushed and soft voice.
Lady Catryn turned around as her door opened, still in bed. She faced her visitor, her face weary and tired. “I thought I told you to leave!” she said thinking that it was Arryn and Rosemary that had returned. But it wasn't, and she noticed too late. “Oh, it's.. you, Brier. I'm.. sorry. How are you? How is Kevin and your young one?” she asked, though it was more for social requirements that she asked than that she asked out of interest. It seemed as if she stopped caring, about anything and anyone. For that reason she hadn't even heard of Kevins death, nor Brian's.
No idea what to say to that.
Fight me.
Never even seen that show.
In
Academy 218: Still looking for new people to join - now is the primetime.
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
's all good. You said yourself to post at your own leisure.
Hi there. I'm still here. Give me today to catch up on reading everyone's new posts and I should have a post up by this evening :) Thanks for being understanding while I've been recovering.
Ah if you're still resting up then feel free to stay away a bit. I'd rather not have you strain yourself, especially since I've been in hospitals too and I know even a simple surgery like I had can drain energy for days.
(also their beds suck, haha)
Joakim nodded at Brier and let her excuse herself - she answered his question indirectly. If Blackwood was lost then that meant she'd be staying here for an indefinite time. Atleast she was safe. As Brier was leaving someone entered the hall and sat near Joakim. He introduced himself as Tomas, a bastard of the lord of Rossric. The duchess' half brother? “Joakim Mirke Weade, brother of Gregar Weade. Pleased to.. make your acquaintance.” Joakim wasn't sure of the man, and his way of speech made him seem a bit like those trying to gain favor with Joakim. “I'm sorry to hear of your sisters loss of title. I'm sure Gregar will see to it that she's restored in honor. For now.. feel free to sta-” His brothers voice interrupted him and Joakim turned to the black knight, who was now reaching for his sword.
Not missing a beat, Joakim shoved the bench away as he got up, getting in between Gregar and the black knight, who identified himself as Ash, son of Lily the whore. Not a noble birth, possibly lower than even a bastard of a nobleman. It mattered little to Joakim, as even a peasant with a knife can slay a king, given the chance. Blood changed nothing. “One step, Whoreson, and I'll cut you down before you can set another step.” His words were powerful, but he drew his sword shortly after to add power to the words, wielding it with two hands and getting ready to fight the man. The fact that the man was armored, and Joakim only wore a light leather jerkin, mattered not to him. Some of the lords got up too, placing hands on their blades. It seemed the knights' offer to fight for Gregar withheld them from slaying him right that instant.
Gregar looked at Joakim and the knight, a stone expression on his face, a sharp contrast between what he normally looked like. “Please, Ash, son of Lily the whore, forgive my brother. He hasn't seen you on the battlefield as I have..” What the man said was true, and now that he undid his helmet Gregar could see clearly. This was the man who had slain plenty of knights, targetting them as if they were the king himself. He had destabilized entire formations by taking down commanders, but they had lost that battle regardless. Gregar had even witnessed the man cut down Kevin Morrigh, lord of Blackwood and husband to Brier, his sister. But, to not run the risk of an uproar, or even worse, a tantrum and frantic murder of a knight by Brier herself, he kept this to himself. “You did kill many knights, some of those men of my realm. Honorable men who laid down their lives for their duke and king. I even crossed blades with you, and defeated you. Took you captive, bound you to my horse. Somehow you escaped, and I am yet not sure how.”
At the very least the man was skillful, more so in giving a show than in battle, but that didn't mean he was a bad fighter. Quite the contrary, the man was an able fighter if he took down men like Kevin Morrigh, a skilled fighter if anything, and men of similar caliber. “Joakim, stand down please. If anyone is to cross blades with him, it would be me.” Joakim looked over his shoulder to see if Gregar was serious, then complied. He would stare the black knight in the eye for a moment longer, an aggressive flicker in his eyes as he sheathed his weapon and stood aside. Gregar stood up from the throne and walked closer, to stand at the center of the hall. “But you were a mercenary, doing a job. I'm sure none of my men held a grudge against you. War is war. I can't speak for weeping widows and parents, but I cut down many men myself in that war, and I am sure their families are crying as well at this moment.”
Gregars hand went up to his chin, holding it as though he were thinking. Then he spoke out against the black knight. “I'm afraid I cannot harm you, if I wished. I'll allow you to fight for your homeland, if you wish. 'tis not my bussiness what you do, whoreson. But I cannot speak for the widows and parents. Sad people do things they might regret.. revenge is one of them.” Gregar found this a good enough explanation and he returned to his throne. Before the feast could continue, he'd ask a question more however. “I just wonder, why would a smart man like yourself travel to the lands where his opponents house? You could've gone to the Falkhalls, the Ironhills or the Forklands. Yet you went here.. the Whitelands, a rough country where the lord is someone you crossed blades with.” The question didn't demand a direct answer, as Gregar was thinking more out loud than anything.
Joakim returned to his table where Tomas would still be seated, most likely. He'd sit down with some adrenaline still left in him, or battle spirit as it was called in the North. He'd have liked to cross blades with this man, to cut him down like the whoreson he was. “Tomas, it was right? Have you ever had the misfortune of meeting a black knight?” He'd grab some pork from a plate, his entire demeanor changed from a nice boy to a vengeful lad. “I've fought one of them at a tournament in the Big City. The king hosted a tournament, and this black knight competed against me. He was good, really good. He lanced down his opponents without trouble, and controlled his horse skillfully. So I made up my mind - I would fight him, no matter what happened. I pushed myself through the ranks, until I met him in a round not far from the final round. He was a good age, thirty or so if I remember correctly, and at the time I was barely 15. He looked me in the eyes before battle and said I would die.”
Slowly Joakim would eat the pork, looking Tomas in the eyes. He'd make sure Tomas and Amber were paying proper attention. “I believed him, I knew he would kill me. I still rode that day, for my fathers' honor. But a 15 year old boy, fighting a 30 year old knight, clad in black? No chance.” Slowly a grin crept onto the face of the young lord. It was pretty clear that Joakim didn't die, else he wouldn't sit here. “Our lances crossed and I shielded myself from his. He had chosen to ride with no shield, underestimating my capabilities severely. I knocked him off his horse, but he lived yet. So I dismounted and drew my blade, as he drew his mace. He struck first, quickly and strong, but I blocked his strike and cut his throat clean through the slit between armor and helm.” He looked at the black knight again, reminiscing about that moment the other knight had died. “They're good fighters, black knights. There's a reason they are feared. And being feared makes you arrogant, cocky. It ultimately kills them all.. especially in the North. There's a reason we don't see many black knights here.”
Not missing a beat, Joakim shoved the bench away as he got up, getting in between Gregar and the black knight, who identified himself as Ash, son of Lily the whore. Not a noble birth, possibly lower than even a bastard of a nobleman. It mattered little to Joakim, as even a peasant with a knife can slay a king, given the chance. Blood changed nothing. “One step, Whoreson, and I'll cut you down before you can set another step.” His words were powerful, but he drew his sword shortly after to add power to the words, wielding it with two hands and getting ready to fight the man. The fact that the man was armored, and Joakim only wore a light leather jerkin, mattered not to him. Some of the lords got up too, placing hands on their blades. It seemed the knights' offer to fight for Gregar withheld them from slaying him right that instant.
Gregar looked at Joakim and the knight, a stone expression on his face, a sharp contrast between what he normally looked like. “Please, Ash, son of Lily the whore, forgive my brother. He hasn't seen you on the battlefield as I have..” What the man said was true, and now that he undid his helmet Gregar could see clearly. This was the man who had slain plenty of knights, targetting them as if they were the king himself. He had destabilized entire formations by taking down commanders, but they had lost that battle regardless. Gregar had even witnessed the man cut down Kevin Morrigh, lord of Blackwood and husband to Brier, his sister. But, to not run the risk of an uproar, or even worse, a tantrum and frantic murder of a knight by Brier herself, he kept this to himself. “You did kill many knights, some of those men of my realm. Honorable men who laid down their lives for their duke and king. I even crossed blades with you, and defeated you. Took you captive, bound you to my horse. Somehow you escaped, and I am yet not sure how.”
At the very least the man was skillful, more so in giving a show than in battle, but that didn't mean he was a bad fighter. Quite the contrary, the man was an able fighter if he took down men like Kevin Morrigh, a skilled fighter if anything, and men of similar caliber. “Joakim, stand down please. If anyone is to cross blades with him, it would be me.” Joakim looked over his shoulder to see if Gregar was serious, then complied. He would stare the black knight in the eye for a moment longer, an aggressive flicker in his eyes as he sheathed his weapon and stood aside. Gregar stood up from the throne and walked closer, to stand at the center of the hall. “But you were a mercenary, doing a job. I'm sure none of my men held a grudge against you. War is war. I can't speak for weeping widows and parents, but I cut down many men myself in that war, and I am sure their families are crying as well at this moment.”
Gregars hand went up to his chin, holding it as though he were thinking. Then he spoke out against the black knight. “I'm afraid I cannot harm you, if I wished. I'll allow you to fight for your homeland, if you wish. 'tis not my bussiness what you do, whoreson. But I cannot speak for the widows and parents. Sad people do things they might regret.. revenge is one of them.” Gregar found this a good enough explanation and he returned to his throne. Before the feast could continue, he'd ask a question more however. “I just wonder, why would a smart man like yourself travel to the lands where his opponents house? You could've gone to the Falkhalls, the Ironhills or the Forklands. Yet you went here.. the Whitelands, a rough country where the lord is someone you crossed blades with.” The question didn't demand a direct answer, as Gregar was thinking more out loud than anything.
Joakim returned to his table where Tomas would still be seated, most likely. He'd sit down with some adrenaline still left in him, or battle spirit as it was called in the North. He'd have liked to cross blades with this man, to cut him down like the whoreson he was. “Tomas, it was right? Have you ever had the misfortune of meeting a black knight?” He'd grab some pork from a plate, his entire demeanor changed from a nice boy to a vengeful lad. “I've fought one of them at a tournament in the Big City. The king hosted a tournament, and this black knight competed against me. He was good, really good. He lanced down his opponents without trouble, and controlled his horse skillfully. So I made up my mind - I would fight him, no matter what happened. I pushed myself through the ranks, until I met him in a round not far from the final round. He was a good age, thirty or so if I remember correctly, and at the time I was barely 15. He looked me in the eyes before battle and said I would die.”
Slowly Joakim would eat the pork, looking Tomas in the eyes. He'd make sure Tomas and Amber were paying proper attention. “I believed him, I knew he would kill me. I still rode that day, for my fathers' honor. But a 15 year old boy, fighting a 30 year old knight, clad in black? No chance.” Slowly a grin crept onto the face of the young lord. It was pretty clear that Joakim didn't die, else he wouldn't sit here. “Our lances crossed and I shielded myself from his. He had chosen to ride with no shield, underestimating my capabilities severely. I knocked him off his horse, but he lived yet. So I dismounted and drew my blade, as he drew his mace. He struck first, quickly and strong, but I blocked his strike and cut his throat clean through the slit between armor and helm.” He looked at the black knight again, reminiscing about that moment the other knight had died. “They're good fighters, black knights. There's a reason they are feared. And being feared makes you arrogant, cocky. It ultimately kills them all.. especially in the North. There's a reason we don't see many black knights here.”
Um... no?
It was.. pretty obvious that was sarcasm. Hehe.
@Bonjour xx Are you still around? I'd hate to move on too far without you, or to write you away without a chance of reintegrating. If you want I could take over your character, or atleast get her settled in the castle.
Joakim sat down in the simple wooden throne, taking his sword and leaning it against the throne. He leaned back and enjoyed the warmth of the fire before another servant approached him - again. Gavin had really ought to handle these things alone, rather than send a message every time he did something. He had barely gotten a nights rest with all the troubles and such going on, and by now many lords were freshly awoken from their nights rest so there was no chance to get some shut eye. Some sat in the hall conversing with others, sitting on the simple wooden benches. Wealth wasn't a thing prominent in the North. Others might already be preparing to leave, mostly the men from the North that had a long ride ahead of them. They would be returning as soon as they could, and hopefully with an army of bannermen.
Joakim wanted to wave the servant away, wishing some time to himself to reconsider the position they were in, and to look after his mother for a moment. She seemed to be caving in more and more, and hadn't stayed for the ceremonies yesterday. Her servants, Arryn Thorne and Rosemary Yewstring, had been taking care of her so far but Joakim had the idea it would only take time before his mother caved completely and he would be forced to keep her locked in her room with an embroidery set. It was a fate many widows had seen before, and he felt sorry that it had to be his mother too.
Before he could wave the servant away he was already closeby and speaking to Joakim. He notified him of approaching people, who appeared to be lord Gregar Weade, as well as an unknown woman and lady Amber Rossric of the Forklands. Although Joakim knew her only by seeing her at the tourneys that he took part in, he knew she was duchess and commanded a decent amount of respect. More so, she was a good friend of Gregar. Joakim nodded and attempted to hide his satisfaction, but failed at that miserably when he walked towards the door to greet them. Closing the distance, the door opened and Gregar stepped through with that characteristical grin of his. Joakims walk turned into a run as he clashed with Gregar in a firm hug. “Brother!” he let out, nearly ramming Gregar to the ground as they connected. All Gregar did was put his hand on Joakims head and smile. He looked around the room, to see all the noblemen that had now stood up. Some smiled at him, others bowed their heads and a single lord even dropped on one knee. It was certain that Gregar had a far better standing amongst the nobles than Joakim.
After a long hug, Joakim released him and then noticed Brier behind him too. He was far too happy to see her to even think of why she was here. It was uncommon for Brier to make the long journey to the Whitelands, especially because she had a busy live in the Ironhills. Her skills went largely unknown to Joakim, who knew merely that she had some idea what plants were edible and which were not, but besides that he knew little of her. They never got to spend time together before, because by the time he was mature enough to realise what was what in the world of politics and traits, she was already married off. All the memories he had of her were childhood ones, where she would watch him and teach him. He smiled at her and approached her after, leaving Gregar to tend to the noblemen. As he approached her too, he would give her a hug. “Good to see you Brier, are you staying for long?” His dog, Bravery, would sit next to them and pant heavily. He'd twist his head slightly at Brier in a comedic way. Granted, the dog was brave.. but not very smart.
Gregar turned to the nobles and gave them all his attention. “Good of you to be here still.” His eyes gazed over the visages of the nobles, as he walked to his throne and touched it's cold wood. He'd then turn around and face the lord who was on one knee. “Rise, please, ser Redarde, there are more pressing matters than formalities.” The lord rose slowly, still bowing his head. Other nobles lined up with him, to make ready for what Gregar was about to say. The lords that had already left would have to give their oaths by contract, these men could do it in person. “Do you all swear allegiance to me, Gregar Weade, the Oakheart of the North, true heir to the title of duke of the Whitelands, and rightful owner of the Wintershouse? Do you swear to uphold my name, my honor and my faith in front of those who would oppose us? Do you swear your banners to me, to aid me when I call on you?” The lords drew their swords and set the tips down into the stone, before kneeling and bowing their heads. In unison they replied, 'I do'.
Gregar looked around with a satisfied look. “Good. Because we have a war to fight. It will be weeks before Harrighfields army gets to the Whitelands, but our northern armies must travel even longer. We will be outnumbered for the first weeks, months even. But we have a good position, namely that we are free to bargain with others, where as lord Perris Harrighfield has suffered a diplomatic blow when he struck against the king! We still have allies in the realm of the King, although it may seem like it is not so.” The lords nodded, some said a quick word such as 'He's right' or 'I can send a letter to my niece in the Falkhalls'. It seemed Gregars arrival was timely, and he had lifted the spirits and given them hope, or atleast commanded such respect that none of them would speak against him. “And after the war is over, we have another matter to attend to. Lady Amber Rossric has been de-throned by pretenders and men of the cloak and dagger. Our families are tied together ever since the birth of Borhilon, and they hopefully will continue to be tied after all of us lie in the ground, feasting with Gods' children. As such we have a duty to help her gain back what is hers. There may be yet nobles in the Forklands that support her cause. We must search them out and ask them to aid us, so we may aid them in return by returning their duchess.” The lords nodded, some looked as though they weren't prepared to fight another womans' war, but if the duke commanded it so it was to be done.
“Now that we've done all that.. servants! BRING US WINE!” The crowd cheered and even the servants looked happy, because when there was a feast, they were usually invited to join. Some men left to go fetch their friends and comrades, who would by now be awake after a long night of drinking, and visiting women of satin covers. As the servants would go to fetch wine and food, no doubt upsetting the cooks even more than they already were, Joakim approached the throne again and leaned towards his ear, where he would tell them of the foreign warlord that had taken up residence on invitations of Joakim. Gregar would nod and make sure to invite him later on. Joakim retreated to sit with Brier and Amber at a table of.. higher nobility, where people would swap seats every now and then to sit close to these influential people, for small talk and hopefully for them to get favors from them. As Gregar sat there, he noticed a peculiar person roaming the backside of the hall, a knight dressed in a suit of black. An uncommon sight in the Whitelands, but a sight more common in the South. Whenever there was a war, it seemed the knights of Black crawled from under their rocks to participate. He stood up and pointed at the knight. “Knight of the Black! Come closer and undo your helmet!” An eerie quiet would overcome the hall as many would turn to face the black knight. “.. Tell us of your name and your birthplace, knight. Black knights are a sight uncommon here, so we must take our chances to talk to them.. you lot are interesting.”
Gidja was just switched out with the castle guard who guarded the gate, another more relaxed position were it not for the blizzard that was picking up pace. Many peasants and soldiers had retreated inside, but she had no such chance to do so. She was about to lean against the wall when a man approached, coming from the snow and approaching her, almost in a straight line. “Hail stranger.” she said as he approached and started talking to her. He even called her fair lady. She rolled her eyes at him and replied with a quick tongue. “Flattering me won't get you inside. I see you have a weapon, and while that is not forbidden, I should warn you that if you try anything funny - we have men inside from all the lords of the realm, and they are veterans of many wars. You look like you've never seen a trickle of blood run from your blade, so be careful who you offend..” She would nod towards the gate urging him to hurry inside. “And don't bother the ladies of pleasure lest you have coin. Many of them are close friends of mine, and I'd hate to skewer you on my spear. Now go, you might be able to get some food at Gregar Weades' hall.”
Arryn rushed to the windowsill to grab a pillow for lady Catryn, and noticed the wind and snow was picking up. She leaned over and grabbed the wooden boards that could cover the window, before pulling them in and closing off the window. The room suddenly turned very dark, and she let her eyes adjust to that for a second before rushing back to lady Catryn, who was laying in bed in silence. Catryns quiet, soft but singing voice broke the silence. “Lady Catryn.. can you raise your head so I can place down the pillow, my lady?” Lady Catryn complied, either out of sheer sadness, or because she couldn't be bothered with this.. child. Arryn promptly placed the pillow down before rushing to the other side of the room again, where she would take a candle and take it outside. Starting a fire was always a hassle, so she generally just used the burning torch on the outside of the room, hanging from a wall.
As she headed back inside she noticed that the other handmaiden, Rosemary, was coming back from an errant. As such she left the door open for her and went inside. She placed the candle near lady Catryn on a table, and sat down close to the table waiting for lady Catryn to ask for something. As Rosemary entered she seemed.. happy. It was strange in such a turbulent time to be happy, so she continued looking at Rosemary waiting for her to tell what was so good. 'Lady Catryn, your son and daughter have returned. Gregar and Brier are both here, as is Amber Rossric.' This was news that would normally make a mother happy, but she didn't reply, only stare at the wall in silence. She had cried all her tears yet, and so she couldn't cry anymore. The two handmaidens stayed in silence for a while before lady Catryn ushered her first words in days. 'Leave me.' she said, softly and quiet, whispering almost. Her voice had changed, and while it was beautiful before, her voice now sounded old and devoid of any emotions.
The two left the room and slowly walked together to the halls. Before Arryn could say anything, Rosemary was already talking like a madman. 'Oh, Arryn, Gregar is so handsome.. He got scarred in battle, but he's still pretty. It just makes him look more like a man than before! Maybe he'll ask me to dance..' Arryn shook her head. She liked Gregar, but more like a friend. Besides, Arryn was much too young to even be thinking of stuff like this. Rosemary on the other hand was already 18, and would be sent away for marriage soon. Being lowborn, she'd probably be married off to some 3rd born son, someone like Joakim. That was not neccesarily bad, it was definetely a step up from being a handmaiden, but.. it wasn't like she'd be married to a king, or a lord. It was stupid to think of Gregar, she'd never get him. Arryn couldn't help but wonder who she'd be married to.. she'd much rather stay in the Wintershouse. But she didn't tell Rosemary that, preferring to keep quiet. She just smiled and went along with Rosemary's rambling.
Joakim wanted to wave the servant away, wishing some time to himself to reconsider the position they were in, and to look after his mother for a moment. She seemed to be caving in more and more, and hadn't stayed for the ceremonies yesterday. Her servants, Arryn Thorne and Rosemary Yewstring, had been taking care of her so far but Joakim had the idea it would only take time before his mother caved completely and he would be forced to keep her locked in her room with an embroidery set. It was a fate many widows had seen before, and he felt sorry that it had to be his mother too.
Before he could wave the servant away he was already closeby and speaking to Joakim. He notified him of approaching people, who appeared to be lord Gregar Weade, as well as an unknown woman and lady Amber Rossric of the Forklands. Although Joakim knew her only by seeing her at the tourneys that he took part in, he knew she was duchess and commanded a decent amount of respect. More so, she was a good friend of Gregar. Joakim nodded and attempted to hide his satisfaction, but failed at that miserably when he walked towards the door to greet them. Closing the distance, the door opened and Gregar stepped through with that characteristical grin of his. Joakims walk turned into a run as he clashed with Gregar in a firm hug. “Brother!” he let out, nearly ramming Gregar to the ground as they connected. All Gregar did was put his hand on Joakims head and smile. He looked around the room, to see all the noblemen that had now stood up. Some smiled at him, others bowed their heads and a single lord even dropped on one knee. It was certain that Gregar had a far better standing amongst the nobles than Joakim.
After a long hug, Joakim released him and then noticed Brier behind him too. He was far too happy to see her to even think of why she was here. It was uncommon for Brier to make the long journey to the Whitelands, especially because she had a busy live in the Ironhills. Her skills went largely unknown to Joakim, who knew merely that she had some idea what plants were edible and which were not, but besides that he knew little of her. They never got to spend time together before, because by the time he was mature enough to realise what was what in the world of politics and traits, she was already married off. All the memories he had of her were childhood ones, where she would watch him and teach him. He smiled at her and approached her after, leaving Gregar to tend to the noblemen. As he approached her too, he would give her a hug. “Good to see you Brier, are you staying for long?” His dog, Bravery, would sit next to them and pant heavily. He'd twist his head slightly at Brier in a comedic way. Granted, the dog was brave.. but not very smart.
Gregar turned to the nobles and gave them all his attention. “Good of you to be here still.” His eyes gazed over the visages of the nobles, as he walked to his throne and touched it's cold wood. He'd then turn around and face the lord who was on one knee. “Rise, please, ser Redarde, there are more pressing matters than formalities.” The lord rose slowly, still bowing his head. Other nobles lined up with him, to make ready for what Gregar was about to say. The lords that had already left would have to give their oaths by contract, these men could do it in person. “Do you all swear allegiance to me, Gregar Weade, the Oakheart of the North, true heir to the title of duke of the Whitelands, and rightful owner of the Wintershouse? Do you swear to uphold my name, my honor and my faith in front of those who would oppose us? Do you swear your banners to me, to aid me when I call on you?” The lords drew their swords and set the tips down into the stone, before kneeling and bowing their heads. In unison they replied, 'I do'.
Gregar looked around with a satisfied look. “Good. Because we have a war to fight. It will be weeks before Harrighfields army gets to the Whitelands, but our northern armies must travel even longer. We will be outnumbered for the first weeks, months even. But we have a good position, namely that we are free to bargain with others, where as lord Perris Harrighfield has suffered a diplomatic blow when he struck against the king! We still have allies in the realm of the King, although it may seem like it is not so.” The lords nodded, some said a quick word such as 'He's right' or 'I can send a letter to my niece in the Falkhalls'. It seemed Gregars arrival was timely, and he had lifted the spirits and given them hope, or atleast commanded such respect that none of them would speak against him. “And after the war is over, we have another matter to attend to. Lady Amber Rossric has been de-throned by pretenders and men of the cloak and dagger. Our families are tied together ever since the birth of Borhilon, and they hopefully will continue to be tied after all of us lie in the ground, feasting with Gods' children. As such we have a duty to help her gain back what is hers. There may be yet nobles in the Forklands that support her cause. We must search them out and ask them to aid us, so we may aid them in return by returning their duchess.” The lords nodded, some looked as though they weren't prepared to fight another womans' war, but if the duke commanded it so it was to be done.
“Now that we've done all that.. servants! BRING US WINE!” The crowd cheered and even the servants looked happy, because when there was a feast, they were usually invited to join. Some men left to go fetch their friends and comrades, who would by now be awake after a long night of drinking, and visiting women of satin covers. As the servants would go to fetch wine and food, no doubt upsetting the cooks even more than they already were, Joakim approached the throne again and leaned towards his ear, where he would tell them of the foreign warlord that had taken up residence on invitations of Joakim. Gregar would nod and make sure to invite him later on. Joakim retreated to sit with Brier and Amber at a table of.. higher nobility, where people would swap seats every now and then to sit close to these influential people, for small talk and hopefully for them to get favors from them. As Gregar sat there, he noticed a peculiar person roaming the backside of the hall, a knight dressed in a suit of black. An uncommon sight in the Whitelands, but a sight more common in the South. Whenever there was a war, it seemed the knights of Black crawled from under their rocks to participate. He stood up and pointed at the knight. “Knight of the Black! Come closer and undo your helmet!” An eerie quiet would overcome the hall as many would turn to face the black knight. “.. Tell us of your name and your birthplace, knight. Black knights are a sight uncommon here, so we must take our chances to talk to them.. you lot are interesting.”
Gidja was just switched out with the castle guard who guarded the gate, another more relaxed position were it not for the blizzard that was picking up pace. Many peasants and soldiers had retreated inside, but she had no such chance to do so. She was about to lean against the wall when a man approached, coming from the snow and approaching her, almost in a straight line. “Hail stranger.” she said as he approached and started talking to her. He even called her fair lady. She rolled her eyes at him and replied with a quick tongue. “Flattering me won't get you inside. I see you have a weapon, and while that is not forbidden, I should warn you that if you try anything funny - we have men inside from all the lords of the realm, and they are veterans of many wars. You look like you've never seen a trickle of blood run from your blade, so be careful who you offend..” She would nod towards the gate urging him to hurry inside. “And don't bother the ladies of pleasure lest you have coin. Many of them are close friends of mine, and I'd hate to skewer you on my spear. Now go, you might be able to get some food at Gregar Weades' hall.”
Arryn rushed to the windowsill to grab a pillow for lady Catryn, and noticed the wind and snow was picking up. She leaned over and grabbed the wooden boards that could cover the window, before pulling them in and closing off the window. The room suddenly turned very dark, and she let her eyes adjust to that for a second before rushing back to lady Catryn, who was laying in bed in silence. Catryns quiet, soft but singing voice broke the silence. “Lady Catryn.. can you raise your head so I can place down the pillow, my lady?” Lady Catryn complied, either out of sheer sadness, or because she couldn't be bothered with this.. child. Arryn promptly placed the pillow down before rushing to the other side of the room again, where she would take a candle and take it outside. Starting a fire was always a hassle, so she generally just used the burning torch on the outside of the room, hanging from a wall.
As she headed back inside she noticed that the other handmaiden, Rosemary, was coming back from an errant. As such she left the door open for her and went inside. She placed the candle near lady Catryn on a table, and sat down close to the table waiting for lady Catryn to ask for something. As Rosemary entered she seemed.. happy. It was strange in such a turbulent time to be happy, so she continued looking at Rosemary waiting for her to tell what was so good. 'Lady Catryn, your son and daughter have returned. Gregar and Brier are both here, as is Amber Rossric.' This was news that would normally make a mother happy, but she didn't reply, only stare at the wall in silence. She had cried all her tears yet, and so she couldn't cry anymore. The two handmaidens stayed in silence for a while before lady Catryn ushered her first words in days. 'Leave me.' she said, softly and quiet, whispering almost. Her voice had changed, and while it was beautiful before, her voice now sounded old and devoid of any emotions.
The two left the room and slowly walked together to the halls. Before Arryn could say anything, Rosemary was already talking like a madman. 'Oh, Arryn, Gregar is so handsome.. He got scarred in battle, but he's still pretty. It just makes him look more like a man than before! Maybe he'll ask me to dance..' Arryn shook her head. She liked Gregar, but more like a friend. Besides, Arryn was much too young to even be thinking of stuff like this. Rosemary on the other hand was already 18, and would be sent away for marriage soon. Being lowborn, she'd probably be married off to some 3rd born son, someone like Joakim. That was not neccesarily bad, it was definetely a step up from being a handmaiden, but.. it wasn't like she'd be married to a king, or a lord. It was stupid to think of Gregar, she'd never get him. Arryn couldn't help but wonder who she'd be married to.. she'd much rather stay in the Wintershouse. But she didn't tell Rosemary that, preferring to keep quiet. She just smiled and went along with Rosemary's rambling.
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