The Trial of Seven

[The Smith]

The King and his force makes camp and prepares a place to hold the trial.

[The Flint]

The Army of the Far Reach assumes a position a short distance away, its peace flag flying high. Guards are posted, as the men make camp.

[Sam]

Samuel sits among the Reach Army's camp, idly fingering the pommel of Treason, which hung from his swordbelt. He brooded restlessly, wondering what he had done to make Lord Hightower order him not to fight in the Trial, and hoping that his father would survive unscathed.

[The Flint]

Lord Hightower was carried on a palanquin, covered by thick white silk. Around him stood Cyrus, Osney, Charles and Lord Tarly. They spoke in hushed tones.

A page rushes over and takes Ser Samuel by the hand. Another is taking Lords Loren and Dorian as well and leads them back to where Lord Hightower lays.

[Sam]

"My lord," Samuel murmured, though his voice cracked when he said the words, bowing his head. He knelt next to Lord Hightower's palanquin, praying silently.

[The Flint]

"You three..." he coughed heavily trying to focus on Samuel Loren and Dorian, "I would have a service from you, if you can bear it."

[Sam]

"Anything, my lord," Samuel replied instantly, in the same soft voice. It seemed as though he feared to speak any louder. The knight looked like he wanted to say more, but he did not, and stayed kneeling motionless at his liegelord's side.

[The Flint]

"Should the day..." Hightower coughed, "... not favor us... Oversee our surrender. But save those who are like to come to harm. My children... Lord Varner's children. Don't let them suffer for what we did. Master.." heavy coughing, and blood, which Hightower dabbed at with his sleeve. "Flea, will help you, if you must. Lord Dorian, your are my children's regent. Teach them well. Loren, if called upon, you must, lead the army... against. Cedric. If we fail to avenge one good man, we should not fail to avenge the other." He coughed heavily, and sighed... "Samuel. Protector..." He laid back quietly.

[Horas]

The King's Champions take to the field designated for the trial.

[The Flint]

Lord Cyrus Varner rode forward on a white destrier. He wore black steel plate over silver mail beneath a Tabard quartered, the colors Black and White, and Green and Bronze, respectively. mail protected his neck, his face, beneath a visor painted white and black. He held free from its scabbard, the Valyrian long sword of his house, awarded long ago. His ancestor had recieved it for slaying a man who would have killed a King. Funny how things turn out.

Ser Osney, the Knight of Spotswood, was in gold leafed platemail beneath a quilted blue surcoat. His helm was shaped like a leopard's snarling face. In his hand, a long two handed sword, of milky white steel.

Ser Charles was dressed simply. A white surcoat beneath steel plate. On his surcoat and on his shield, the seven pointed star of the Andals. They had landed at Oldtown, the first time, that great city had bent the knee. Perhaps today it was a better omen.

[Sam]

Lord Robert Tarly stands with the other rebel Champions, buckling on his heavy plate armor and making sure all the straps are secure. A green surcoat acts as padding for the armor, while the boiled leather that covered his joints between the armored plates had been dyed red. He hefts his heavy oaken shield, painted green with the red striding huntsman of his House standing against it in sharp relief, and pulls Fury from its sheathe. He shoots a small confident grin at his son, though he notes the pained expression on Ser Samuel's face, recognizing it as the desire to be part of the fight himself.

When the Trial begins, Lord Tarly circles the Myrish warrior, jerking back in surprise when the man's unusual style of fighting knocks his shield from his arm into the mud. He shifts his left hand around Fury's grip, holding the sword with both hands, although painfully aware of the gash that Tides' axe had left on his forearm.

[The Flint]

Osney grinned slyly, as he circled King Rodrick. He was an interesting man... That King Rodrick, Osney thought to himself. But interesting men seem to die more often than the regular kind.

[Sam]

Nov 18, 2008 23:19:37 GMT -5 The Flint said:

"Should the day..." Hightower coughed, "... not favor us... Oversee our surrender. But save those who are like to come to harm. My children... Lord Varner's children. Don't let them suffer for what we did. Master.." heavy coughing, and blood, which Hightower dabbed at with his sleeve. "Flea, will help you, if you must. Lord Dorian, your are my children's regent. Teach them well. Loren, if called upon, you must, lead the army... against. Cedric. If we fail to avenge one good man, we should not fail to avenge the other." He coughed heavily, and sighed... "Samuel. Protector..." He laid back quietly.

"My lord, I do not understand," Samuel almost whispered. He shuddered involuntarily at the sight of Lord Hightower coughing up blood, as rage coursed through him directed at Ser Arthur Graves, the man who had struck these blows, who was now held prisoner by Lord Tyrell. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father take a blow to his shield arm, and then a second blow from the spinning axe, and he looked up sharply at the fight, barely registering the other combatants. Lord Hightower's cough dragged Samuel's gaze back to the dying lord.

[The Flint]

"Protect our people. Horn Hill, must always be strong. Your father was a great leader of men, you could be better still. Serve my son as you have served me." Hightower spit up blood, and phlegm. "I'm sorry... I didn't let you fight.... Samuel... but I must have.. .faithful. men, to protect, my family, and my pe..people."

[Horas]

King Rodrick's laughter rings across the field. His armor is well worn, showing signs of constant use, but magnificent all the same. A great antlered helm tops his head and he moves like a hungry wolf closing in on his prey.

Ser Axel Ambrose is resplendent in plate and Kingsguard white. He salutes Lord Varner before the signal, then attacks, his sword flashing.