Tent of the Traitor's Son

[The Smith]

Edwyn thought a long time, "Perhaps if you killed your father with your own blade. That might do it."

[The Flint]

Talyn nodded, "I wholeheartedly agree, and than of course, if I do, I'm a kinslayer. So you see the predicament. But yes, if I find him when we retake King's Landing, I'll kill him."

[The Smith]

"Orphanages... you could build lots of orphanages... and alms houses. They will balance the weight on you." Edwyn replied.

[The Flint]

Talyn grinned, "Seems likes an awful lot of effort milord. Dying is so much easier. But I will take into account what you say. Perhaps the money from selling our swords could buy some bread for the poor."

[The Smith]

"You see." Edwyn nods, "That is really all I have to say." He tries to leave but misses the flap and almost takes the tent down.

[The Flint]

"Seven Protect Lord Banefort," Talyn said, thankful that the man had gone without pressing on the desire to join, or somehow killing him with his clumsiness.

[Borcas Redwyne]

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Borcas walked to the tent of Talyn, gazing for a few minutes the man, before speaking.

"You are the son of the traitor?" he said with a harsh voice.

[The Flint]

"You just figure that out now?" Talyn replied, irritable at the way the man stared at him. He gestured at the banner fluttering by his tent, with the picture of hanged man, disemboweled, and the words "Traitors' Sons Company" embroidered below it.

[Borcas Redwyne]

"Well, so far I concetrated my mind on killing demons, not asking questions. I am under the impression that most hold you a grudge about it, right?"

[The Flint]

Talyn shrugged, "I suppose some do, and rightfully so."

[Borcas Redwyne]

Borcas spat.

"Rightfully? Nah, thay're just a band of kneelers, if that's their view. In the Sea, where I was raised, a man was judged by his own deeds, not that of his ancestors. The son of a Khal does not become a Khal if he is not strong enough, and the son of a slave could rise to be one if his deeds allow him."

[The Flint]

"Well, I'm sure knowing how they do it in the Sea will change everyone's mind than." Talyn said, "What brings you to me this evening..." he left the end hang so that the man could provide a name.

[Borcas Redwyne]

"Borcas Redwyne. What brought me here? Nothing, save for my desire to see the man who is the target of such scorn."

[The Flint]

"Well now you've seen him." Talyn said, crossing his arms over his chest to restrain his irritation, "So now you can go."

[Ollie]

A plain looking man slunk into the encampment innocuously, peering around at the assembled men with a private air of appraisal. One might have mistaken such a common looking man to be among their numbers as a soldier (albeit a rather unimpressive one) had it not been for the dramatically slashed coat he wore, midnight black, embroidered with silvery grey, with sleeves daggered in crimson silk. A similar looking crimson silk sash was tied about his waist and black tassels dangled down his left thigh.

After a long moment of quiet contemplation, the man calling himself Lord Marbrand made his way to Thatcher's tent and let himself inside, smiling minutely and standing by until noticed.