Post by The Stranger on Apr 29, 2008 2:36:19 GMT -5
The hardest part of the plot had been to cooking. Twelve trays filled with syrup fried frog legs, sweet poached pepperfish, honey basted partridge accented with mint, clove stuffed mutton, sweetbreads and cakes, all served alongside countless carafes of mulled cinnamon wine and iced mead. Every dish was sweeter than the last. Every dish all the more lethal.
Aside from that tedious work of poisoning his own feast with sweetsleep, the execution of Pylos Frey had been simple, Olander Reed reflected to himself in the comfort of Winterfell’s halls.
The letter Olander had penned had been effortless enough; the promise of raising the Neck with the followers of the Red God against Lord Stark had been too much for the Apostate to resist, it seemed. The words had come as easy as they had come falsely. A Crannogman made his oaths before the Old Gods, and thusly kept them, yet there were no pacts made in the missive, simply promises of justice done. Just whose justice, however, went unsaid.
When Pylos had responded, Olander had been quick to lure him to the Moat Cailin. Surely a ruin as such would be suitable neutral ground, where neither Red God nor those of Old would have the upper hand. It mattered not who controlled the Moat, however. She lay in the Neck, and the Neck belonged to the crannogmen.
Three hundred crannogmen had set up camp in the middle of the Moat Cailin. A great longtent had been erected in the center where a keep had once stood; inside stood the fatal feast. Each of the three ruined towers housed five hundred bowmen each. In the very worst of cases, arrows would fall like winter rain on the Apostate and his men. The rest of the one thousand and two hundred other men had dispersed into the boggy terrain surrounding the Neck. It was their land, land they could skulk and hide in until called forward.
They would be called by the shrill blow of a reed whistle, Olander had instructed. Only upon his call would they appear, commanded to give no quarter, to slay the Red men at any cost. Only if Olander himself was directly attacked would on of his commanders take up the whistle, sending its echoes throughout the swamp for all to hear.
//////////
Pylos arrived with little more than ten men in his entourage, but each man carried with them destruction untold. Olander knew what the flasks they carried represented; all the more reason to put the men to sleep, rather than put them to the sword. The crannog lordling was careful to keep their banter lengthy, offering Pylos and his men all the more opportunity to eat their demise. He even went so far as to leave the south most platter of every dish unpoisoned, so that he and his own men might eat from them, to better ease the Apostate into indulgence.
"Which injustice infuriates the heir to Greywater Watch? I don't need to read the flames to know it concerns Roose Stark..." Pylos said, and sipped from his goblet of red wine. A sip was more than enough.
"Tell me, Pylos. What have your fires told you? I wonder if the burning embers tell you any of the injustice I speak of?" the crannogman began evenly, his eyes flickering once. "It is true, the grievance concerns Lord Stark. Roose is outraged to put it simply, that one of his bannerlords, the Lord Manderly, has died. Burned alive, if the stories are true," Olander continued.
"I suppose I already know the answer to my question: the fires have told you nothing, have they? No, for if they did, you never would have agreed to this meeting." Olander rose to his feet. "What I seek is Roose Stark's justice, for the murder of Lord Manderly. And soon, my lord will have it," he said, as evenly as before, eyes gazing at the glass of wine Pylos has in hand.
Around him the men who followed Pylos began to droop and sway, struggling to remain on their feet and upright, and failing. The reed whistle was piercing under his lips, and immediately spears and arrows were trained on the men of the Red God.
"Stab them three times," Olander commanded, turning to leave the tent. "Once for Lord Manderly's shade, once for Lord Stark's justice, and once for the inconvenience of wasting my store of sweetsleep." With that, he exited.
Later, the Heir to Greywater Watch has heard the Apostate had attempted some mummer’s trick to light the glass vial around his throat. Fire had sprung from the Red Priest’s fingers, if the tale could be believed, but Olander paid it no heed. Pylos Frey had died like the rest of his men other man, a wet red hole in his belly, in his throat, and in his heart.
The food disposed of, as well as the corpses, and Pylos’s head colorfully spiked atop the Children’s Tower, Olander dismissed his crannogmen. He rode north to Winterfell, to his liege lord, to Roose Stark, his justice done.
==========
Olander Reed increases to Master Ambushing
Olander Reed Increases to Novice Intrigue
Aside from that tedious work of poisoning his own feast with sweetsleep, the execution of Pylos Frey had been simple, Olander Reed reflected to himself in the comfort of Winterfell’s halls.
The letter Olander had penned had been effortless enough; the promise of raising the Neck with the followers of the Red God against Lord Stark had been too much for the Apostate to resist, it seemed. The words had come as easy as they had come falsely. A Crannogman made his oaths before the Old Gods, and thusly kept them, yet there were no pacts made in the missive, simply promises of justice done. Just whose justice, however, went unsaid.
When Pylos had responded, Olander had been quick to lure him to the Moat Cailin. Surely a ruin as such would be suitable neutral ground, where neither Red God nor those of Old would have the upper hand. It mattered not who controlled the Moat, however. She lay in the Neck, and the Neck belonged to the crannogmen.
Three hundred crannogmen had set up camp in the middle of the Moat Cailin. A great longtent had been erected in the center where a keep had once stood; inside stood the fatal feast. Each of the three ruined towers housed five hundred bowmen each. In the very worst of cases, arrows would fall like winter rain on the Apostate and his men. The rest of the one thousand and two hundred other men had dispersed into the boggy terrain surrounding the Neck. It was their land, land they could skulk and hide in until called forward.
They would be called by the shrill blow of a reed whistle, Olander had instructed. Only upon his call would they appear, commanded to give no quarter, to slay the Red men at any cost. Only if Olander himself was directly attacked would on of his commanders take up the whistle, sending its echoes throughout the swamp for all to hear.
//////////
Pylos arrived with little more than ten men in his entourage, but each man carried with them destruction untold. Olander knew what the flasks they carried represented; all the more reason to put the men to sleep, rather than put them to the sword. The crannog lordling was careful to keep their banter lengthy, offering Pylos and his men all the more opportunity to eat their demise. He even went so far as to leave the south most platter of every dish unpoisoned, so that he and his own men might eat from them, to better ease the Apostate into indulgence.
"Which injustice infuriates the heir to Greywater Watch? I don't need to read the flames to know it concerns Roose Stark..." Pylos said, and sipped from his goblet of red wine. A sip was more than enough.
"Tell me, Pylos. What have your fires told you? I wonder if the burning embers tell you any of the injustice I speak of?" the crannogman began evenly, his eyes flickering once. "It is true, the grievance concerns Lord Stark. Roose is outraged to put it simply, that one of his bannerlords, the Lord Manderly, has died. Burned alive, if the stories are true," Olander continued.
"I suppose I already know the answer to my question: the fires have told you nothing, have they? No, for if they did, you never would have agreed to this meeting." Olander rose to his feet. "What I seek is Roose Stark's justice, for the murder of Lord Manderly. And soon, my lord will have it," he said, as evenly as before, eyes gazing at the glass of wine Pylos has in hand.
Around him the men who followed Pylos began to droop and sway, struggling to remain on their feet and upright, and failing. The reed whistle was piercing under his lips, and immediately spears and arrows were trained on the men of the Red God.
"Stab them three times," Olander commanded, turning to leave the tent. "Once for Lord Manderly's shade, once for Lord Stark's justice, and once for the inconvenience of wasting my store of sweetsleep." With that, he exited.
Later, the Heir to Greywater Watch has heard the Apostate had attempted some mummer’s trick to light the glass vial around his throat. Fire had sprung from the Red Priest’s fingers, if the tale could be believed, but Olander paid it no heed. Pylos Frey had died like the rest of his men other man, a wet red hole in his belly, in his throat, and in his heart.
The food disposed of, as well as the corpses, and Pylos’s head colorfully spiked atop the Children’s Tower, Olander dismissed his crannogmen. He rode north to Winterfell, to his liege lord, to Roose Stark, his justice done.
==========
Olander Reed increases to Master Ambushing
Olander Reed Increases to Novice Intrigue