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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Sept 8, 2013 22:51:09 GMT -5
The streets of Westeros' capital city, decorated merrily for the royal wedding.
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Sept 8, 2013 22:53:35 GMT -5
It was well passed the hour of the owl when Ser Oswyn stumbled out of a tavern, fresh from the evening's festivities. His crowd of hanger-ons had long since departed, leaving the heir to Storms End alone to revel in his good fortune. He stumbled down the street, determined to reach his bed in the Baratheon Manse. Occasionally he was forced to lean against the wall of a nearby shop to catch his bearings, the lad not as accustomed to heavy drinking as his sire surely was.
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Post by The Smith on Sept 8, 2013 22:59:15 GMT -5
As he walked by a dark alley a man stepped from the shadows swinging a club directly at his face. It connected cleanly, and the very drunk nobleman fell to the ground face first. He had been seeing double, but now it was more like quadruple. Two more large shadows moved out of the alley, and toward the knight. They were all carrying sticks.
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Sept 8, 2013 23:11:26 GMT -5
The knight was blinded by pain, both nauseous and confused by the warm blood running down his face from a gash above his brow and likely concussion. He touched a pair of fingers tentatively to his forehead, groaning as they came away sticky. The whole world seemed to be spinning as he weakly rolled over onto his back, one of his hands searching in vain for the hilt of the dagger at his belt.
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Post by The Smith on Sept 8, 2013 23:17:21 GMT -5
His hands grabbed at the dagger and just as his fingers started to grip it a chunk of wood came crashing down on his fingers. A boot connected with his stomach. And then a fist to his stomach. Oswyn curled up slowly, dazed and drunk. The blows rained down. He could make out a man deep in the shadows watching his assailants work. After several seconds, or what could have been years to the young knight's confused mind. Then man ripped his purse from his belt and ran into the night.
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Sept 8, 2013 23:29:49 GMT -5
Oswyn gripped his hand to his chest and screamed in pain as the club crashed down on his fingers, feeling two of them break. The scream turned into a guttural howl as the boot slammed into his stomach. With the accompanying fist to his stomach, the knight wretched onto the cobblestones, the smell of bile and ale staining the night air. He prayed to every god he had heard of, above and below, that the blows would cease. He was just grateful for his life when the assailants finally departed, his stolen purse just an afterthought.
After what felt like an age of wallowing in pain and vomit upon the rough hewn stones of the street, the knight attempted to stand, spitting a hefty red gob and half blind by the blood pouring into his eyes. After finally managing to stand and walking some distance, he found a gold cloak to help him back to the Baratheon Manse.
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Post by Marie on Sept 9, 2013 16:39:29 GMT -5
//////////
Annara Hightower, accompanied by a maid and two guards, walked through the streets during the day. Her maid carried a parcel of silk Annara had bought for a new gown, and one of the guards had some parcels too.
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Sept 9, 2013 16:44:19 GMT -5
"Excuse me!" calls a young female voice from behind Annara's party. "Excuse me!" she calls again, more insistent. The owner of the voice is a young dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties, dressed all in green. She holds something above her head, seemingly waving it at the party.
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Post by Marie on Sept 9, 2013 16:49:12 GMT -5
Annara turned and looked at the young woman in surprise. She was not accustomed to being hailed by other women she didn't know, except, occasionally, peasants or beggars But she could tell that this woman was neither of those.
"Hello?"
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Sept 9, 2013 16:54:27 GMT -5
"You dropped this," the slightly-out-of-breath lone woman says, approaching the group. She holds up a slip of patterned fabric to show Lady Annara and then hands it to one of the guards.
"Can I ask a favour?"
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Post by Marie on Sept 9, 2013 17:00:40 GMT -5
The guard took the fabric, eyeing the woman with open admiration, while Annara smiled kindly at the other woman, who seemed to be close to her own age.
"Please do," she said. "I cannot decide if I will agree to it until I have heard it."
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Sept 9, 2013 17:07:10 GMT -5
The woman smiled gratefully.
"Thank you," she said, pressing her palms together in front of her chin. "I seem to have lost my chaperone and I'm out here all alone. Could I accompany you for a while? I'm staying at a tavern on Shadowblack Lane near the Red Keep and I don't really want to walk home alone."
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Post by Marie on Sept 9, 2013 17:13:14 GMT -5
"Of course. You will be safe with me," Annara said, smiling at the young woman. "Is your chaperone a maid, or a guard?"
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Sept 9, 2013 17:17:23 GMT -5
The woman laughed, sensing the question behind Annara's words. "Don't worry, he's a guard. He should be able to look after himself."
"I am Catelyn Mertyns by the way. Eldest natural daughter of Lord Baratheon, though I live in the Mistwood. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"
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Post by Marie on Sept 9, 2013 17:41:43 GMT -5
The woman laughed, sensing the question behind Annara's words. "Don't worry, he's a guard. He should be able to look after himself." "I am Catelyn Mertyns by the way. Eldest natural daughter of Lord Baratheon, though I live in the Mistwood. To whom do I owe the pleasure?" "Annara, Lady Hightower." Her tone was cooler than it had been, since the other woman had said she was a natural daughter. But at least her father is Lord Baratheon. "Mistwood, hmm. What a pretty name. You are wed to one of the Mertyns then. Your father is a most dutiful man, it seems." She smiled slightly this time. |
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Hope you all are well and happy.
Feb 9, 2021 15:35:26 GMT -5
Hope you all are well and happy.
Feb 9, 2021 15:35:26 GMT -5