[h1][u]King's Landing[/u][/h1]

The sun shined brightly over King's Landing, but not normally, the clouds blocking it, turning the sky a bright shade of orangeish-yellow, the sun slowly raising over the horizon. Smoke had already begun wafting towards the clouds, carried by the wind into a leaning column of choking grey waste, something that hadn't gone unnoticed by Alyssa Baratheon.

"What's going on?" Alyssa asked a passing citizen, who was running from the conflict.

The citizen ran past, tripping over his feet, before collapsing, an arrow stuck in his back, blood staining his heavily stained brown shirt. No one was around, suggesting that the arrow hadn't been a recent wound, it was surprising how far he had run, from Flea Bottom all the way to the Red Keep, but judging by the placement of the arrow, he hadn't much longer to run.

He weezed, rolling over onto his back, his hand slapping limply into the ground. He looked at Alyssa, his mouth hanging around halfway open.
"The stranger be a Lady so fine? I fear not my impending demise, no much moreso than a passing breeze." He spoke like a noble, considering his garb.

"Just tell me what's going on!" Alyssa demanded. "Luftum, help get him up."

"T'is too late f'r me I'm afraid, them Crakehalls got me good, but I'm safe now, safe in the hands of one who I'd never thought to pray to. I apologize, Lady Stranger, but t'is fr'wned 'pon..." He coughed, his breath slow and audible.

"Guards, with me. Let's go investigate the poor district," Alyssa commanded, turning her back to the well-spoken commoner. "Sreas, you get this man to a Maester. The arrow struck his lower back, he'll live."

"I'd not leave this spot until you bring me my father, Stranger. Who was taken from me too soon, and now you take me after I ran so far from the Iron Gate, why not then and there? Why make me suffer so?" The man never raised his voice above a drunken stupor, a smell of evacuated bowels wafted from his breeches.

"Would you rather be stabbed right now? Because I think I can help with that," a guard in the ranks remarked, raising his halberd.

"Shut up, Boberto," demanded another guard, slapping the first one on the back of the helm.

A goldcloak approached at a brisk pace, flanked by Tyrell household guards, wielding a silver sword stained red by the blood of whatever person had challenged him. He scrambled to a stop, the guards doing so as well.
"My lady!" He bowed, lowering to one knee, yet never losing eye contact.
"You must leave, the Iron, Lion, and River gates have been assaulted, we need to get you to your quarters immediately!" He pushed up to his feet, walking up to the lady, grabbing at her upper arm.

Alyssa yanked her own arm out of the guard's grasp. "You think I can't handle a few pigs?" she asked. "Men, form up. 2 ranks of 10. Let's get moving." She then turned back to the soldier who grabbed her. "Just point me in the direction of the enemy," she said in a softer voice.

The guard was taken aback by her statement, but quickly pulled his hand down, it lightly slapped into his thigh. He gripped at his sheath, leather trimmed with yellow bronze.
"I must insist, a battlefield is no place for a Lady, and as I act on the orders of a former kingsguard, I have more authority than you, my lady." His voice was acidic, a tone that suggested that he thought less of her. A Tyrell smashed the ground with the bottom of his spear.
"I will not allow this my lady, a good knight protects a woman, and I shall ensure your safety."

"This will ensure my safety just fine, Tyrell guard," she declared, tapping the short, wide sword that rested in it's sheath on her hip. "I'm sure you're all much more needed on the battlefield down there, than you are defending trained warriors up here."

"I'm bored now, let's get to the part where I butcher something!" shouted a Stormguard in the back rank. Alyssa glared in that direction, and it quickly fell silent.

"A woman doesn't fight, that's the long and short of it, I will ensure your protection, with your permission or not." The goldcloak again grabbed at her, more forcefully.

Alyssa slapped his outreached hand away with her own guantlet. "Let us pass, or we will make you pass." She then turned to one of the Tyrell guards. "You wouldn't want Garland and Alerie to find out one of their loyal rank has raised arms against an ally, would you now?"

The Tyrells glared, before beginning to chuckle.
"Let a woman fight! Hah, my father would be brutalizing me for this." The two Tyrells then parted, but the goldcloak still remained.
"I am no Tyrell, and I answer not to you." Any hint of sarcasm in his statement had been washed away by bitterness.

Alyssa has had enough of this pompous child of inbreeding, deciding what she should do with herself. She forcefully pushed him aside, her brawny Baratheon warrior hand forcing itself against his chest, and drew her sword, walking towards Flea Bottom. Her guard team followed closely.

The goldcloak scoffed, but took no further action, other than screaming after her.
"I'm sure you will love being raped my lady! I'm sure that you'd prefer hard ground to a nice bed as your final resting place as well!"

"Luftum, when we return, I want you to ask around. Find out who he is, and shut him up for, oh, six months," Alyssa muttered, tapping the flat of the blade to her leg as she walked. Luftum nodded. No words were needed to get her command across.

In the poor district, it was hell. Unarmed citizens ran around, cowered in stalls, or were curled up in a fetal position, in a pool of suspiciously red liquid. Amidst them, armored men dashed from person to person, gorily hacking away with heavy axes.
"Get as many people out of here as possible alive. Sending a few Crakehalls to the grave is preferable," Alyssa noted, curtly. The Stormguards then charged into the fray, removing top halves from bottom halves and heads from necks.

The mercenaries and what Crakehall soldiers had gotten into the city clashed, axe meeting shield or sword, screams of dead men and maimed others. A heavily armored Essosi, blue hair streaming down his half-helm, speared through the gut of a young Westerosi in chain, a brown cloak with a boar upon it resting over the chain. The Essosi lifted the knight off of his feet, before throwing him away with a flick of his wrist. He looked over at the Stormlanders, scanning over them methodically, he reached lady Alyssa, passing her but then performing a double take, chuckling loudly and rubbing under his nose.
"A lady? On the field of battle? How odd! Well..." His voice was shrill and unassuming, and Alyssa guessed that if not for his hair he would fade into a crowd unnoticed, just take off his armor and he'd be no one. He stood at attention, his sword touching the ground, a curved scythe-like thing, an Arakh, probably taken during some battle far east.

"I am Nyessiphos Pahrinar, of Tyrosh, and I am here to take Westerosi heads!" He stepped forth, jabbing with his arakh. He flamboyantly spun it throught the air slowly, before pointing quickly at the Lady Baratheon.
"I fought in the pits of Meereen for years, all so that I could kill, and the next victim I take is you! You hear me!? I have taken warrior women from the Rhoyne to the Dorne, and I will take you next!" He yelled out a throaty cry, one that could shatter glass, before charging forth, his broad shoulders making his head look small in comparison.

Alyssa saw as the large brute, Ness- something or other, charged her. She hopped lightly to one side, trying to get out of the way. A heavily armoured knucklehead like him, he'll just pass right by. Gris liked to go on about his new science laws, Alyssa believed he called this one "mentum".

The pit-fighter yanked an axe from his belt with an off-hand, leaping into the air, landing on his left foot with the other still in the air, before throwing his arm up and sending the axe spinning through the air at an incredible speed, it seemed to be suspended in air with string of some sort. His body flew behind the axe, his head tucking in towards his legs, before rolling through and continuing his run.

Alyssa barely had time to register the 6 pound steel piece racing towards her. She clumsily held her sword up, to stand between her and the axe. It struck with a piercing clang, failing to cleave through her but succeeding in knocking her down and putting a nasty dent in the sword. Huh, Gris had sproken of "Conservation of mentum". Oh well, she barely listened anyways.

The Tyroshi quickly rushed into the nearest Baratheon guard, slamming his shoulder up into the man's chin, before quickly turning on an advancing other, throwing a handful of sand from god knows where into his face and then running the arakh through his chest, throwing the man away like an unwanted toy. He looked at the prone Lady Baratheon, running for her as well.

The Baratheon ranks were broken. Some sort of half man half bear crushed their ranks like a thousand pound horse, sending two of the twenty flying backwards. Well, two of the nineteen. One of them was running around much like the Crakehalls, wildly swinging his halberd around.
"Yeah! Get some!" yelled Boberto from somewhere in the huge dogpile of soldiers. Then he turned and saw the huge bear-man running at Lady Baratheon. Oh boy! he thought, a real challenge!
Alyssa saw, through blurry vision, Ness about to reach her, then suddenly an odd anomaly occured. She thought she saw Boberto tackling him. Was she hallucinating?

Nyessiphos felt the Baratheon guard tackling him, he planted his feet, and the man pushed pointlessly against the much larger mercenary, Nyessiphos grabbed Boberto by the face, pushing him away with great strength.
"How brave! But let me assure you, bravery kills, as it did The Young Dragon, as it will you." He swung the arakh through the air towards the guards neck, falling with the swing and grabbing something from the downed Baratheon guard.

Boberto thought back to a similar situation. It was back in the ring, back when he was named Arillos. He was on the ground, and a similarly large man had swung down with a similar sword. Then Boberto remembered how he had escaped that near scrape. He grabbed the small but surprisingly sturdy knife from his belt and blocked the sword with the blade in one swift motion.

Nyessiphos pushed up into a more comfortable kneel from his earlier position. He looked down at the Baratheon guard, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the man's face. He laughed heartily, pulling the arakh back, now with a helm in his other hand.
"Arillos the Armored! The little one with the huge plate! You were my first draw! I'm surprised you lasted this long! You only lived that time because you got lucky, and you know it, now, I'll finish the job that no one else seems able to!" He screeched his war cry again, feinting multiple times before hopping back and throwing the helm towards Boberto's knee.

How remarkably predictable, Nyessiphos hasn't changed at all, thought a very tired now Boberto. And his plate wasn't that big, he only earned that nickname because all the others barely had any metal on them. "Hey, Champ! I haven't seen you since the Melee!" called Boberto in Valyrian. He remembered the melee, where all of the pit fighters were released without weapons to beat each other to death by fist until the overseers said stop. That had resulted in a large purchase of them by the Baratheons, who were impressed by thei brutal slaughtering ability. The helm then bounced off his leg guards. It wasn't heavy enough back then, either.

Nyessiphos tilted his head, growling through barred teeth, swinging his sword seemingly violently, before bringing it to rest on his right hip. He then cackled, his shrill voice unfitting to his large frame.
"Are you scared yet? Haha! Your Valyrian is a bit rusty by the way." The same words he had said when they met in the melee.
"Ah, those were good times weren't they? Too bad you went with the Baratheons instead, I'd hoped to crush your skull like a grape. Nevermind that!" He gripped at his belt, pulling loose another axe, he feinted that he was to throw it, before skulking over to Boberto's right, aiming to slash at him as he flinched.

With Nyessiphos, the first attack was never an actual one. It's a shame very few people actually caught on to that. Boberto was an exception. With his small size, he had to make it up in either sheer insanity or keen observation. The problem was, after the first one it became hard to predict, so as the second attack was coming he flung himself backwards until he hit a wall.

Nyessiphos, seeing his opponent crumbling under him, rushed forth, again throwing the axe and rolling through, a tactic that often tricked his opponent enough to allow for him to hit the killing blow, after the roll, he rushed forth with a surprisingly conservative thrust, keeping the hilt close enough to his body to allow a parry.

The conservative thrust really caught Boberto off guard. Usually, he went crazy with his attacks, but this time a quick jab to his leg. Nyessiphos pierced through the metal leggings and into flesh. By R'hllor, it hurt. Then behind him, Boberto saw Sreas creep up and swing his halberd hilt first at the back of Nyessiphos's head. The hit knocked him out cold with a loud smack, but he would be up in a few minutes. Boberto held out his hand, letting Sreas help him up.
"I may need someone to help with my leg," he mumbled, wincing.

(Working in unity with [@bluetommy2])