The Scarlet Manor

[Horas]

"My brother died as well, though not in the trial. You have my condolences, Damin." Eddard shifts slightly, his eyes moving back towards the king. "It was all just great fun for him though, wasn't it? Let's hope our king is inclined to be merciful."

[Ollie]

Once inside, guests find the Manor's decorum exquisite and charming. Cheery lanterns are lit inside and flicker behind crimson and yellow paper, matching the warm, exotic scarlet and black carpets. Oil paintings, ebony carvings, and porcelain vases filled with red desert roses line the walls, and though they are rather abstract in their artistry, each carries a vaguely erotic image.

Serving women wander throughout the main hall carrying trays of richly spiced hors d'oeuvres and high fluted glasses of sparkling wine, dressed in tight red leather corsets and tight, white lacy skirts that hug the hip and leave nothing to be imagined. Practically a platoon of peacock-ish sellswords and similar ilk mingle with the folks as they enter, each gold earing and silver bracelet gleaming bright for the occasion.

Desmond Uller himself stands in the very heart of the room, white teeth flashing here at a jest, and there at a serving girl. His clothes are immaculately fitted: a black silk waistcoat worn over a white ruffled shirt with folded sleeves, fine black breeches, and a broad red silk sash tied around his waist at a jaunty angle, embroidered with yellow cloth of gold. A red desert rose tied with a yellow silk ribbon sits pinned to his breast, brilliant and in bloom.

As the King enters, Desmond's brow arches noticeably, and a pleased smile draws itself upon his face. The host grabs two high glass flutes of bubbling wine from a passing server, not without placing a playful peck on her rosy cheek, and makes to head for the Rodrick when someone catches his eye, someone immediately deemed more important.

"Your radiance seems refreshing, milady," Desmond spoke from behind the dornishwoman, subtly admiring her deep sapphire gown, and the figure beneath it, before she had fully turned. "As welcome as an oasis while crossing the sands."

[Erik]

A matched pair enters the party, Tyberion Lannister in crimson silk highlighted with gold, and his sister Allyria wearing the reverse. Several knights and Western lords accompany them, including an immense knight, not particularly well dressed, showing the crossbows of Drox and another, this one limping very slightly, wearing the leopard of Myatt.

The Western party breaks apart quickly, each going to find drinks and company on their own.

[Horas]

Tyberion Lannister is approached by a man in the livery of House Frey. The Frey gives him a lopsided grin. "You've kept Riverrun nice and warm for us I hope, eh? Maybe left us some gold in the chamberpots?"

[The Flint]

Into the Scarlet Manor walks Ser Archibald Cressey. Ser Archibald had won some minor tourneys when he was younger but his main distinction as a knight seems to have been to have lived to the age of 70 without being killed. He wears a slashed doublet of Blue and cloth of silver, with a red sash of silk around his frail waist.

On his arm is the radiant Lady Leanna Cressey, a nineteen year old girl, and Cressey's third wife, although she has not yet born him any children. It is being wildly whispered that Cressey is impotent. She wears a blue dress with a very low cut back, and a bodice which outlines an hourglass figure and ample bosom. She smiles pleasantly at all who approach, while Ser Archibald coughs green phlegm into a red handkerchief.

[Erik]

"Left you?" Tyberion replies to the Frey, his eyebrow raised, "The only person being left anything in Riverrun is that man over yonder," He points out the older, limping knight whom he entered with, "Ser Rhyin Myatt, soon Lord Rhyin of Riverrun."

[Lord Gaspard Yronwood]

Lefford gives a short laugh at Tyberion's side. "Indeed, Master Frey, I suggest you get to know Lord Myatt... he's oh so new to the lording business and he could perhaps use a few pointers in screwing over Riverlanders."

[The Smith]

Rodrick smiles at the party, and leaning over to Tides asked loudly, "Which one of these peacocks is Uller?" Tides shrugs. A different armed soldier points at the host. Rodrick pushes his way through the crowd, never veering from the straight line.

Approaching the man, his eyes target several attractive woman. The hunt would be good tonight. "Uller is it? Nice party. I have told my men that any veteran of the recent war can come, you best make sure you have enough ale." Seeing his host fixated on a woman, he asked, "Who is she?"

[Ollie]

Desmond flashes a wolfish smile at Rodrick. "Her, Your Grace?" he asked, inclining his head towards the dornishwoman. "I've yet to have the pleasure of the Lady's name, so I could hardly tell you who she is. What she is, however, is enchanting, though that fact is obvious enough to all."

[The Smith]

Rodrick snorted, "Also obvious to all, that you have pulled up your panties in an attempt to fuck this woman. I have found that words get words will action gets some action."

[Ollie]

"I'd wear panties if you want, if it means I can fuck you," Uller said smiling, entirely without pause. Looking between the several men accompanying the King, he points out Tides. "He can watch."

[The Smith]

The King laughs once, then slams his fist into Uller's stomach, and as Desmond steps back bent in half, catching his breath. The King shrugs out of his jacket, handing it to a guardsman.

[Ollie]

Desmond stumbles backward and crashes to the floor, sucking in air through clenched teeth. "That was particularly rude, Your Grace. Though I am willing to forgive the slight. You are my King, after all," he said, picking himself up and retrieving his fallen glass. "You certainly hit like a King, I am sure."

[Erik]

Tyberion's eyes swing toward the commotion when the king strikes Uller.

This is what I'm bowing to? This is what beat us? What cruel fucking bastards the Gods are.

[The Smith]

"Take your beating like a man then. I am sure I won't kill you." The King stepped forward and landed a cruel haymaker to the side of Uller's face. "Almost sure." He chuckled.