|
Post by House Lefford on Oct 1, 2008 13:56:13 GMT -5
Lord Edmure arrives after getting caught in a blizzard on the way to Winterfell
|
|
|
Post by The Flint on Oct 10, 2008 15:16:26 GMT -5
////////////////////// Four men covered in heavy winter clothing and tiny icicles approach the great walls of Winterfell.
|
|
|
Post by Ollie on Oct 10, 2008 15:20:39 GMT -5
A guard popped his mailed head outside a window and hailed the band when the came within earshot. "Your business?" he asked over the incessant, icy wind.
|
|
|
Post by The Flint on Oct 10, 2008 15:23:33 GMT -5
"Right now I'm fully employed trying not to freeze to death!" a muffled voice cries back, "I seek words with the Lord Regent."
|
|
|
Post by Ollie on Oct 10, 2008 15:29:32 GMT -5
The guard grunted a wordless reply, and soon the old oak gates were creaking open. A pair of men in the grey and white livery of House Stark with the weirwood badge of the Lord Regent over their hearts quickly led the men into the great hall, where they found Lord Reed seated beside the head of the table, studying a set of scrolls and charts.
|
|
|
Post by The Flint on Oct 10, 2008 15:33:39 GMT -5
A trail of white flakes like miniature blizzards fall to the ground behind the four men, before dissipating in warmth generated by the hall's fire.
"Olander Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch and Moat Cailin, Regent of Winterfell and the North. You cut an imposing figure." the smallest of the four men says. He shrugs off his hood to reveal a boyish face, of a young man in his mid twenties. His eyes are dark, lean and hungry, like the type that future playwrights will warn of.
|
|
|
Post by Ollie on Oct 10, 2008 15:48:44 GMT -5
The Lord Regent looked up from his studies to meet his guest's gaze with his own low-lidded, sharp eyes. With the exception of those probing, mossy-green orbs, the notion of the tiny man seeming anywhere near imposing would have been a hard thought to reach.
"Flattery finds itself more useful when it has a name to attach itself to," he mused with a slim smirk, rising from his chair. "Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"
|
|
|
Post by The Flint on Oct 10, 2008 15:50:41 GMT -5
"A friend of your sister, Myrrah's. Back when she was serving as a parlor maid in the Red Keep." The young man says, softly, waiting for this statement to have the affect he intends.
|
|
|
Post by Ollie on Oct 10, 2008 16:01:39 GMT -5
The meaning was not lost on Olander.
"If it's your hood and shackles you're searching for, I'm afraid we've discarded them," he said dryly. "Though I would thank you for returning her unsoiled and in one piece."
|
|
|
Post by The Flint on Oct 10, 2008 16:06:20 GMT -5
The young man smiled, "Faux irritation doesn't suit you Lord Olander. You know full well that given the mission you sent the girl on, her treatment was fairly delicate. Very fortunate for her that Reed is not a Dornish name, as it was Southern killers, not Northern spies we were expecting. " The boy waves his left hand slightly as if to indicate that this is all irrelevant.
"I brought up the previous unfortunate business not to insult you or to dwell in the past, so much as to establish with you that I am a serious man who knows, or has the capacity to discover, serious things."
|
|
|
Post by Ollie on Oct 10, 2008 16:15:30 GMT -5
"I understand your meaning," he stated. "And the thanks you've been given were not false. You do have my gratitude for seeing Myrrah returned unharmed."
"Can I offer you and your men warm food, and warm drink, Master Benefactor?" he asked after a moment.
|
|
|
Post by The Flint on Oct 10, 2008 16:27:57 GMT -5
The young man shook his head softly. "We are alright for now, but I thank you for your hospitality milord. I came to see you today because certain events lead me to believe that other serious men, are present here in the North. The unfortunate business with Lord Stark, for instance, bears all the hallmarks of their work. I was wondering if perhaps, closer to the scene, your people had heard whispers that mine had not."
|
|
|
Post by Ollie on Oct 10, 2008 16:37:17 GMT -5
"Their work? Who might they be? I have heard tell of several groups operating under the surface in the North, but unless the they you speak of are the Frey's, you are mistaken."
|
|
|
Post by The Flint on Oct 10, 2008 16:40:30 GMT -5
"Lord Walder Frey, Master of Coin for a time, was an ally and protege of Lord Horas Blackwood, was he not? And Lord Horas' preference for mass poisonings was... renowned. But I was thinking of the Cult of the Dead God. Broad massacres of limited purpose is often their method. Perhaps you're familiar with them?"
|
|
|
Post by Ollie on Oct 10, 2008 17:14:24 GMT -5
"Cult of the Dead God?" Olander echoed, weighing the name on his tongue. "I have never heard the name before," he confirmed.
|
|