A Small Hunting Lodge Deep in the Woods

[The Stranger]

A small hunting lodge found deep in the Kingswood. It appears abandoned, as though it has not been used in many years.

[Horas]

Ser Crawley the Crawfish Knight rides through the Kingswood, his bow strung and his hand not far from his quiver. He draws his horse up before the lodge and peers around for any sign of human activity.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Lord Oswyn arrived at the lodge, looking around warily at the odd destination for a party, mentally swearing to tan Kellington's hide if he had been mistaken.

He was clad in chain mail with a fine tabard depicting the sigil of House Baratheon covering it. His favored mace hung at his side, next to the golden key that served as his invitation.. It was not the most festive of looks, but only a fool would ride this deep into the Kingswood at night unprotected in his best finery. His escort, five good men, had been left near the clearing.

The sellsword knight that had already arrived gave his paranoia little consolation.

[The Stranger]

There is a door on the lodge. It is shut up tight.

[Horas]

Crawley looks at the man riding up behind him, recognizes him vaguely from the Stepstones, refrains from raising his bow at the lordling. "Go ahead, m'lord," Crawley says with a lopsided, insincere grin, "Far be it fer me to enter before a great high lord."

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Oswyn grunted in response, signaling what he thought of the sellsword's "courtesy." He dismounted and approached the door, taking out the golden key and checking if there was a lock on the door that might fit it.

[Marie]

Lord Hightower rode up after the two men. He believed he had found the right place, but, seeing the two men standing outside, he was not sure.

"Is there a problem?" He asked the two.

[The Stranger]

OOC: the probability you all come up at the same time is low. From now on assume you are alone.

IC: Oswyn's key fits.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Oswyn unlocks the door and enters slowly, hand on the hilt of the flanged mace at his belt.

[The Stranger]

The door swings shut behind him and there is a click of a mechanical lock securing.

The room is pitch black for a moment, before a brief light flickers. A pair of stairs have revealed themselves, leading downward.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

At the sound of the lock clicking into place behind him, Oswyn draws his mace, feeling uneasy as he continued down into the dark.

It occurred to him then how little they truly knew of Lord Saxon Cave.

[Horas]

"Let me know if you hear any high-pitched screaming," Crawley says casually to Gwayne. "I figure that'll be the first sign if ol' Cave is sacrificing our friend the horned stag on some demon altar."

[Marie]

OOC - Stranger told us we're alone so perhaps an edit would be advisable?

[The Stranger]

OOC: Guys, Sorry I've been so absent. I was going to make a big production out of this, but why don't we have everyone join us down stairs. Just assume you went through the same startling experience as Oswyn, and that your room also consists of all your favorite items and preferences.

Oswyn notices a suddenly glimmer of light, and a staircase, leading down, has been revealed. He follows it hesitantly, and when he reaches the end, finds himself in a long, wide hallway, heavily lit with torches. There are doors, five on each side of the hallway. At the end, a dais can be seen, with an ornate wooden chair. There sits Lord Saxon Cave. A dark Dornish beauty with raven hair sits upon his lap, her dress mere wisps of silk. Behind him musicians are playing, and off to his left, is a fool, and small troupe of mummers.

Suddenly all the doors open, and great feast smells can be smelled inside each one. More alluring ladies, and attractive well groomed servants appear from each door.

"Greeting Oswyn! You are the first to arrive," Saxon says heartily. "You'll find your room is the third door on the left. I hope it will be too your liking. Each guest has their own, and may be as social, or not, as they are inclined."

A mere peek and wiff from inside the room overwhelms Oswyn. It is decorated in his favorite colors, and on a small low table sit all of his favorite foods. A young serving wench (meeting Oswyn's preferences whatever those may be) stands politely, hands folded, awaiting requests.

The statement is as clear as it is opulent.

I know everything there is to know about you.

[Horas]

Once Crawley finally makes it down below, he grins at the smell of rich food while his eyes wander after the female entertainment. "M'lord," Crawley says, with a little chuckle, "So this is the life of the high an mighty, eh? I could get used to this sort of thing."