Post by The Smith on Nov 30, 2009 14:08:50 GMT -5
The Stewards gave the signal to fight, and the two ‘armies’ charged at each other. The King’s Grand Melee was designed as an homage to Robert’s Rebellion, more than two hundred years prior, and all the participating lords had small armies of ten knights.
Soon after the start, Lord Conwell Lannister’s westermen turned on their allies and joined the side representing King Aerys II’s forces, which was interestingly the opposite of what the Lannisters had actually done during Robert’s Rebellion. Out of the corner of his eye, Steffon saw his half-brothers Maekar and Daeron cross swords as their forces clashed.
Steffon’s own knights clashed with those following the Mystery Knight who had won the King’s Joust the day before. Most of the mystery knight’s men wore no recognizable knightly sigils, marking them as free riders, or as hedge knights whose origins were unknown to the Lord of Storm’s End.
The fight seemed relatively even at first, until the Knight of Sun lashed out with his blunted spear catching Ser Tybolt Wylde across the gorget, knocking him down where another of the mystery knight’s men kicked away his sword and forced him to yield.
All around them the mock battle raged, and Steffon bellowed orders at his men, who complied deftly and drove the free riders and hedge knights backward. Steffon knocked one of them out cold with a well-placed blow to the side of the man’s head, while Ser Rickard Kellington drove another to the ground and accepted his surrender at spearpoint.
It looked for a moment as thought the Knight of Sun’s men were about to break and run, until their leader himself stepped to the front of the battle. He knocked aside Ser Rickard’s spear with his own, and then knocked the man out of the fight. Ser Barnaby Swann stepped up brandishing his flanged mace, although he too was knocked down by the mystery knight’s spear, which moved at the speed of a Dornish viper.
Two more stormknights were knocked out of the fight by the Dornish free riders in quick succession, and the remaining four men began to flee the field despite Steffon’s bellows for them to remain and fight. He soon found himself surrounded by the Knight of Sun’s men, and he lowered his sword to signify his surrender, though inwardly he was seething at his defeat.
The melee continued on for nearly half an hour until the Targaryen forces eventually won the day, vanquishing the challengers representing Robert’s armies. Steffon had already had his squires remove his armor and made his way into the stands to sit with his brother the King until the tourney’s end.
Ser Rodrick Baratheon left the Archon’s palace in Lys and observed the city from the hill that the palace sat atop of. The city was only two leagues from the southern shore of the island, and Rodrick could see the sun sparkling on the surface of the Narrow Sea in the distance. He had not learned much from the Archon’s representative and he began to make his way down into the city to the tavern where he had been staying.
His warhammer was slung on his back though he still felt the dull ache of the wounds he’d taken from the giant boar in the Kingswood. Has he walked the streets of Lys, he eyed the populace around him. Courtesans and whores alike flaunted their wares along with merchants and fishermen; pirates roamed the streets in packs, along with the sellsails that the Archon had hired to augment his own navy.
The harbor was bustling with warships of all sizes and shapes, from small Lyseni war galleys with their striped hulls and square sails, to longships that could only be of ironborn design. He had even seen a Westerosi dromond, with three decks of oars and four gigantic sails supported by masts the size of tree trunks.
When he got to the tavern, he sat down at the bar and ordered a drink, quaffing it quickly and taking another. It was not the most reputable of places, but it allowed him a place to stay that was near the harbor, as well as let him mingle with some of the lower orders of the Lyseni populace. He’d always been friendly and ingenuous, and despite his obvious lordly appearance he was relatively quick to make friends as he sat drinking with those others seated at the bar.
He could tell more bawdy jests than anyone he’d ever met in the stormlands or at court, although two other men seated near him were matching him jape for jape. As they drank and laughed, conversation slowly turned to the brewing war. There were a few westerosi sellswords present, though most of the men hailed from one or another of the Free Cities.
“The Bravosi are not being so lordly now that their Sealord is dying,” said a Lyseni pirate whose name Rodrick could not hope to pronounce. “Much plunder we will be taking from their galleys and harbors.”
“Just so,” put in an exiled Braavo named Taargio Nahol. “There is much wealth to be found in the coffers of the Sealord, and the Iron Bank as well.” As he’d gotten further in his cups, the Braavo had told the story of his exile from Braavos; he’d been found abed with the wife of the Sealord’s First Sword. The First Sword had challenged him although he slipped into a canal and drowned a minute into the fight.
The Sealord had him exiled from Braavos and he’d been selling his sword in the Myr and Lys ever since. He’d refused to join a sellsword company, nor had he entered the pay of the Archon of Lys which set him apart from most of the other men who fought for pay in the inn.
“I’m heading to Braavos soon,” Rodrick said to him at one point. “I must needs to find someone there before the war begins and a guide would make such a task far easier. I will pay you better than what the Archon is paying these,” he said, gesturing to the drunken pirates and mercenaries around them. “
The Braavo stared at him for a long minute, before nodding slowly. “Very well, Westeros. Taargio can be your guide in Braavos; the old Sealord is dead and these new guards will know him not. It will be pleasing for Taargio to slip back home, to spit on Delnial’s grave before these Archons come to attack. You will be needing to be learning Braavosi, for the tongue of your Westeros leaves an ill taste on my mouth.”
Rodrick nodded, smiling, and bought another round. Taargio began to teach him various phrases and words that would be important on the journey to Braavos as well as once they arrived. He had no problem remembering the unfamiliar words, and he was pleased to know that he’d hired the first of the men he’d soon need.
Lord Steffon Baratheon improves toward Master Long Blades
Lord Steffon Baratheon improves to Expert Land Battle
Ser Rodrick Baratheon gains Beginner Languages (Braavosi)
Ser Rodrick Baratheon improves to Apprentice Persuasion
Ser Rodrick Baratheon recruits the exiled Braavo, Taargio Nahol
Soon after the start, Lord Conwell Lannister’s westermen turned on their allies and joined the side representing King Aerys II’s forces, which was interestingly the opposite of what the Lannisters had actually done during Robert’s Rebellion. Out of the corner of his eye, Steffon saw his half-brothers Maekar and Daeron cross swords as their forces clashed.
Steffon’s own knights clashed with those following the Mystery Knight who had won the King’s Joust the day before. Most of the mystery knight’s men wore no recognizable knightly sigils, marking them as free riders, or as hedge knights whose origins were unknown to the Lord of Storm’s End.
The fight seemed relatively even at first, until the Knight of Sun lashed out with his blunted spear catching Ser Tybolt Wylde across the gorget, knocking him down where another of the mystery knight’s men kicked away his sword and forced him to yield.
All around them the mock battle raged, and Steffon bellowed orders at his men, who complied deftly and drove the free riders and hedge knights backward. Steffon knocked one of them out cold with a well-placed blow to the side of the man’s head, while Ser Rickard Kellington drove another to the ground and accepted his surrender at spearpoint.
It looked for a moment as thought the Knight of Sun’s men were about to break and run, until their leader himself stepped to the front of the battle. He knocked aside Ser Rickard’s spear with his own, and then knocked the man out of the fight. Ser Barnaby Swann stepped up brandishing his flanged mace, although he too was knocked down by the mystery knight’s spear, which moved at the speed of a Dornish viper.
Two more stormknights were knocked out of the fight by the Dornish free riders in quick succession, and the remaining four men began to flee the field despite Steffon’s bellows for them to remain and fight. He soon found himself surrounded by the Knight of Sun’s men, and he lowered his sword to signify his surrender, though inwardly he was seething at his defeat.
The melee continued on for nearly half an hour until the Targaryen forces eventually won the day, vanquishing the challengers representing Robert’s armies. Steffon had already had his squires remove his armor and made his way into the stands to sit with his brother the King until the tourney’s end.
Ser Rodrick Baratheon left the Archon’s palace in Lys and observed the city from the hill that the palace sat atop of. The city was only two leagues from the southern shore of the island, and Rodrick could see the sun sparkling on the surface of the Narrow Sea in the distance. He had not learned much from the Archon’s representative and he began to make his way down into the city to the tavern where he had been staying.
His warhammer was slung on his back though he still felt the dull ache of the wounds he’d taken from the giant boar in the Kingswood. Has he walked the streets of Lys, he eyed the populace around him. Courtesans and whores alike flaunted their wares along with merchants and fishermen; pirates roamed the streets in packs, along with the sellsails that the Archon had hired to augment his own navy.
The harbor was bustling with warships of all sizes and shapes, from small Lyseni war galleys with their striped hulls and square sails, to longships that could only be of ironborn design. He had even seen a Westerosi dromond, with three decks of oars and four gigantic sails supported by masts the size of tree trunks.
When he got to the tavern, he sat down at the bar and ordered a drink, quaffing it quickly and taking another. It was not the most reputable of places, but it allowed him a place to stay that was near the harbor, as well as let him mingle with some of the lower orders of the Lyseni populace. He’d always been friendly and ingenuous, and despite his obvious lordly appearance he was relatively quick to make friends as he sat drinking with those others seated at the bar.
He could tell more bawdy jests than anyone he’d ever met in the stormlands or at court, although two other men seated near him were matching him jape for jape. As they drank and laughed, conversation slowly turned to the brewing war. There were a few westerosi sellswords present, though most of the men hailed from one or another of the Free Cities.
“The Bravosi are not being so lordly now that their Sealord is dying,” said a Lyseni pirate whose name Rodrick could not hope to pronounce. “Much plunder we will be taking from their galleys and harbors.”
“Just so,” put in an exiled Braavo named Taargio Nahol. “There is much wealth to be found in the coffers of the Sealord, and the Iron Bank as well.” As he’d gotten further in his cups, the Braavo had told the story of his exile from Braavos; he’d been found abed with the wife of the Sealord’s First Sword. The First Sword had challenged him although he slipped into a canal and drowned a minute into the fight.
The Sealord had him exiled from Braavos and he’d been selling his sword in the Myr and Lys ever since. He’d refused to join a sellsword company, nor had he entered the pay of the Archon of Lys which set him apart from most of the other men who fought for pay in the inn.
“I’m heading to Braavos soon,” Rodrick said to him at one point. “I must needs to find someone there before the war begins and a guide would make such a task far easier. I will pay you better than what the Archon is paying these,” he said, gesturing to the drunken pirates and mercenaries around them. “
The Braavo stared at him for a long minute, before nodding slowly. “Very well, Westeros. Taargio can be your guide in Braavos; the old Sealord is dead and these new guards will know him not. It will be pleasing for Taargio to slip back home, to spit on Delnial’s grave before these Archons come to attack. You will be needing to be learning Braavosi, for the tongue of your Westeros leaves an ill taste on my mouth.”
Rodrick nodded, smiling, and bought another round. Taargio began to teach him various phrases and words that would be important on the journey to Braavos as well as once they arrived. He had no problem remembering the unfamiliar words, and he was pleased to know that he’d hired the first of the men he’d soon need.
Lord Steffon Baratheon improves toward Master Long Blades
Lord Steffon Baratheon improves to Expert Land Battle
Ser Rodrick Baratheon gains Beginner Languages (Braavosi)
Ser Rodrick Baratheon improves to Apprentice Persuasion
Ser Rodrick Baratheon recruits the exiled Braavo, Taargio Nahol