Abefroeman

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

Who is going to host the next collab, so we can get to work conquering the world?

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

@AtomicNut@MrDidact@kingkonrad Thank you to all these fine artists for their help in this collab.

----The Grey Ice, The Frothing Chaos of Battle----

Lyseni bastard Valyrian, represented with << >>

Ser Aerion listened to Seran speak. Funny, to hear one's native tounge after going so long without using it, refreshing to say the least. He looked away from Seran at the sudden arrival of a magpie, perhaps a pet of someone aboard the ship. 'The Lady of Lys', Aerion thought, before he couldn't help but laugh at the bird's humorful outburts. It shouted "Tits!" aloud, cawing afterwords as though proud of itself. Still chuckling softly to himself, he turned his head back to look at Seran, a smile playing across Aerion's face as the magpie and Seran seemed to fight one another in order to be heard.

Seran continued to speak, making note of his feelings on the situation at large. Seran was right though, in that little of this adventure made sense. It certainly appeared to an outsider's view that certain individuals were far too eager to fight in this conflict, turning it into some heroic tale of warfare and heroism. Dragons flying high above, burning their "foes" indiscriminantly to a crisp, with men and women on the ground rushing to claim their glorious victory, so it can be forever memorialized in song and story. Aerion nodded at Seran when he seemed to elude to the possibility of this being a suicide mission of sort, in that it would be easier to pay the few rather than the many.

Seran finished by eluding to the possibility that the use of dragons and a heavy handed crackdown upon the Stepstones might only serve to further insense the rebellious people of the islands, rather than subdue them. Everyone, young and old, had heard the tales of Harren the Black, and the ruins of Harrenhal. Yes, it ended that evil king and his whole line, but that castle has remained forever cursed, and the difference between here and there, was that the people hated Harren the Black, and the Stepstoners love, or at least like their lords far more than those of Westeros. Seran was right in that they had a number of vetrans that would certainly be useful in the comming chaos, but who was to say what they all would exactly be facing. Seran finished by turning his head to look away at the ocean, and offered Aerion the customary greeting of Braavos, <<"Valar Morghulis, Ser Aerion.">>.

<<"Valar Dohaeris, Seran... Valar Dohaeris.">> Aerion sighed, then turned back out to look at the sea with Seran. <<"Seran, just because I have a knighthood now doesn't make me any different than the man that fought beside you, beside all of us sellswords in that Seven forsaken string of islands. But you speak truthfully, in that some of the bravado and posturing some of these greenhorns are showcasing is worrisome. But who am I to judge? I am but a humble knight and fighter among many, and we have our leaders assigned. Though, I do wonder if they share the same fears that we do, or if their hubris of command and 'glory' blinds them to the dangers we shall all soon face.">> Aerion shrugged, turning his back to the sea, looking at the deck of the ship as all sorts of people moved about, completing whatever tasks they set out to complete.

<<"Seran, tell me something, if you don't mind, but whatever happened between you and the company you had been working with? I heard rumors, vague at that, but, well, you and your sister seem to be out on your own, rather than at the behest and employ of... what was his name, that greedy hot-headed captain of yours, the one with the golden tooth and the scar on his face? You know... that guy...">> Ser Aerion smiled, laughing softly as he found himself unable to recall the former captain of Seran's sellsword company. <<"He reeked of a tavern most of the time...">>

Seran tensed, his arms gripping the ship's rail tightly, his gaze still in the vastness of the sea. The question was unavoidable, was it. <<"Ah, that fat Pentosi. We all called him Grimbeard. Some people because it seemed a worthy nickname to strike out the fear into his enemies. Most of us because he always was covered in some sort of grime.">> The young mad added, his blue eyes now glaring at Aerion. <<"It's always greed, you know. Both we had drunk a little too much after some goddess-sent spoils. So we decided to try our fortunes once more. I won. He lost.">>. He paused, averting his gaze. He could tell this much to Aerion, but it still was hard to remember the situation. <<"But, he went back on his word. He tried to take by force what he had lost at gambling. He tried to sully my sister. His men killed my brother.">>. He paused. <<"And I cut through half of the men's of his vanguard.">>

"Tits." The magpie cawed once more.

Aerion noticed Seran tensing up when he spoke about that particular chapter of his life. He wasn't going to press any further. <<"I'm sorry about your brother. I am glad that you and your sister are safe... you both are good and honorable people.">> Aerion smiled, and rolled his eyes as the Magpie screached out "Tits" again. <<"Let us not traverse such dark waters. Perhaps another time, if ever. Seran...">> The sudden pause was due to Aerion being distracted by something dark and ominus on the horrizon. The shape was closing fast, and soon turned into two. From above, on the helm, a voice shouted out what Aerion feared, pirates, and by the proximity, pirates that were loyal to the Stepstones. Switching back to the common tongue, Aerion sighed aloud and spoke, "Well, it certainly looks like all those itching for a fight will have one. Good thing that we have but our leathers on. The water can pull a man down faster than you could spit." Aerion turned to look at the closing sails of their new enemy.

Seran's eyes narrowed, following Aerion's line of sight. His switch to common followed almost in reflex as he eyed the commander. "That kind of night, huh. Not even allowing a beachhead. Tough luck." He added.

Aerion moved away from the edge of the ship, towards the center where the stout mast was. He looked about for his two companions, Lady Lyvia and Ser Oswell. They appeared from below deck, no doubt having been storing away the clunky and heavy armor they were cleaning. The two ran over to where Aerion was standing, taking ahold of the rigging to brace themselves for impact. The three began to steel themselves, knowing the enemy ships would be ramming the Grey Ice with everything they had, not to mention the rushing tide of pirates that would leap from their ships to the Grey Ice. Aerion looked over to where Seran still stood, and shouted out to him, "Seran, come with us, and take ahold of the rigging... its going to get really bumpy real quicky."

Seran nodded, as he performed a brisk run following Aerion's steps. Luckily, his uneasiness had made him skip most of the wine and the morsels during the dinner, so his stomach wasn't wavering in the slightlest.

The Gray Ice rocked violently to port, listing heavily as the Silver Serpent viciously rammed it from starboard. As the Grey Ice began to settle back, it was rocked again from the port side, The Last Rite slamming into them now. Aerion felt his arm strain and tense tightly, gripping the rigging with all his might, praying the ship's mast didn't break apart and fall. The rocking and creaking had finally stopped, all three ships dead in the water, signaling the dread surge of bodies pouring across decks to meet in combat. "May the Seven protect us all, both those who believe, and our friends and allies of different faiths." Aerion let loose of the rigging, drawing his Valryian Steel sword Poison, and looked to his friends, "Lets banish these criminals to the briny deep, and make the world a safer place because of it." With that, Aerion, Lyvia, and Oswell rushed into battle, leaving Seran to either join them, or strike off on his own for fighting.

And Ellion himself had already thrown himself into the fray, the collision of the ships already making him run into action, sword and shield drawn, his helm away for the moment being, given that there weren't so many arrows flying now. The movement of wood, and the mixing of men, blood and chaos about to erupt made him lose sight of anyone else, only the Crown and those pirate scum now in his head.

Seran gritted his teeth, as the tides of battle once more flew around. A blanket of chaos covered suddenly his surroundings. Brigands and pirates jumped onto the knights who retaliated fiercely. Screams, and the sound of clashing steel. He clenched his fist, pondering Aerion's invitation. His voice, almost a whisper. "Aye... the world is such a cruel place." He thought of his dead brother. He thought of her sister. He had to fight. His muscles surged and twitched underneat his clothes as he started to follow in a brisk pace at first. Then a trot. Then a full sprint. His self was allowing to undo all the cumbersome restraints. There was no manners, and no rules in a battlefield, only beasts with the shapes of men. He smiled.

At the very least, he could stave the sorrow he had remembered, with the fresh smell of blood. His first objective was beset, as he tried to stab him through the head. A palm powered through the defense of the pirate, making a direct contack with the neck area, a gristly sound as the windpipe was smashed, prompting the man to fall. Seran, who had no weapons, quickly snatched the blade of the choking man, as he caught up to Aerion.

"I shall cut you a path."

He eyed him, with a brisk nod, and he performed a flourish, and then a throw to another pirate. The distraction allowed him to overpower him quickly as well, catching the spear of the second man. A different style of weapon, but Seran could use that aswell. His pace quickened. He jabbed, run, smashed. What he couldn't put down in one or two blows, he skidded past. He discarded his weapons as many times as he took them from the fallen. Damnit all. You seven and all your glory and honor. Die you all, and be the fodder for the Iron throne. He thought bitterly, as his fighting intensified. No grace. No style. Only pure brutality and efficiency. He kept cutting down and advancing, eventually overtaking in his advance several of those with more flourished armors and weapons.

And Ellion saw Seran at work, the brutal swordsplay that the Valyrian was using impressive, as Ellion himself clashed with one pirate, using a scimitar of sorts to parry away his shield, as the Rose-smelling Reachman used his superior knowledge to the pirate's training to knock the sword and his whole shoulder aback, smashing the shield hard against his collarbone, before slamming the longsword with an effective stab through his ribs. Kicking him off the sword, Ellion glanced another hit with the blade, the armoured and long-locked Tyrell no stranger to fighting.

He seemed to have a different energy, not that of a water dancer nor a un-noble skirmisher, he seemed to hold a commanding presence, his height and his armour, the way that he blocked and counter attacked making it difficult to get a bead on him. The blade cut through another man's arm, the blade slicing through to his neck as he turned, blood pissing away, as he used his shield to bash another. He yelled, as a man ran up, with a mace of some sort, Ellion feeling the brunt of the man knock into him as another pirate in the chaos collided with him, using his sheild to parry away the blunt weapon and counter attack with a kick, every single movement and swing and swipe feeling automatic, flowing, unending. He hacked the man at his side, taking a couple of hits on his armour- these pirates perhaps didn't know how to deal with advanced plate, such as the metalwork that Ellion had, and he almost let them come closer, a rather strange way of fighting that a Westerosi Knight could afford when he knew the benefit of the doubt. The fact that it was heavy meant nothing to the Tyrell- enough mail and plate was difficult to slash, rather point or brute force was needed, and that was what Ellion was focussed on, his training kicking in, watching for their weapons, capability, and position.

Walking over a few bodies, he looked over at Seran, following close to the Valyrian, watching yet never too closely as he kept his eye on other pirates on the deck, his blade red with blood, his wooden heater and the Tyrell sigil beginning to blur, with a mist of red and pus.
"Fucking come on then!" Ellion yelled, raising his shield and sword, clattering them against each other, looking over his shoulder at Seran, a little blood on his face. Blunt methods were bloody, after all, and the Tyrell didn't look so pretty now. This whole experience was insane, everything felt fluid, and perhaps it was lucky he was not able to look on afar at the chaos. Being in the middle of the hurricane of swords, he knew his swordplay was not going to be simply for show or honour, but for survival and duty, and he felt like he understood that a little more, the moment he saw blood drip from the end of the longsword's end.

Aerion nodded towards his two friends, and together, they joined the combat. They fought as a team, watching eachother's backs, all the while doing their best to not die. Aerion used his sword to deadly effect, Posion slashing out in a lightning arc to cut down two pirate like freshly cut wheat. He huffed as he deflected a downwards slash of a nasty looking boat hook. The weapon lodged itself into Aerion's shield, as the pirate tugged upon it, Aerion stumbled forward. He cursed silently, and let his shield go, the pirate and wooden shield tumbling backwards. Aerion took his sword in both hands, holding it before him in a defensive manner. He turned to his left, hacking downwards at a rushing pirate, taking the man's hand off, before shoving him away. Aerion backed up, nearly bumping into Ellion Tyrell, stopped only by the cry of anguish from a man killed by the Reachman. Aerion shook his head, moving away from the Tyrell, as he looked for any other adversaries.

Lyvia Clegane cut down two more men, her blade wet with blood and her tabard stained with gore. She yelled at Ser Oswell to pay attention, and for him to keep an eye out for Aerion, who had been lost in the chaos of the fighting. She sneered at another pirate, the man seeing his two allies cut down deciding to find a more easier foe to fight. Her shield had been hacked to a ruined mess, and discarded for another sword. She parried and fought the pirates with measured patience. They were untrained, undisciplined, relying too much upon attacking the weak and defenseless. Still, each foe put up a challenge that had to be met with equal caution and respect, less she risk lossing a limb or worse. She cut down another pirate, both blades cutting him down and creating an opening for Lady Lyvia to see Ser Aerion finally. Somehow the man had mannaged to get a few dozen paces away, and was near none other than Ser Ellion Tyrell.

"Ser Oswell, lets cut outselves a path to Aerion... we must regroup and figure out how to end this madness. The pirates will fight to a point, but if they try and leave, our ship might sink. Lets not let that happen. Move..." Lyvia shouted to Oswell, the two making their way across the wooden deck of the Grey Ice. Oswell fought more defensively, rather than killing his foes, he wounded or incapacitated them. Taking off a hand, a foot, smashing a fash with a gauntleted hand or his shield. The ship rocked slightly beneath him, his feet staggering slighlty as he regained his balance. Lyvia was right, they needed to capture one of the enemy ships, or when the two backed off, the Grey Ice would begin to sink. He knocked another pirate out cold with his shield, before using it to block a blow meant for Lyvia's head. "Almost there... Aerion, get your ass over here." He shouted aloud.

He dodged backwards, tripping over a fallen corpse. Aerion cursed his luck, rolling off to his right to dodge a nasty downwards slash. He grabbed a discarded shield, holding it above his body as the pirate hacked downwards at him again, the vile man's axe biting deep into the wood. Aerion was cornered at the moment, waiting for a chance to break free. Another axe blow rained downwards, and this one thankfully, got stuck in the shield. Aerion grimaced, twisting the shield as hard as he could while snaking a gruesome kick out at the man's knee, hearing the satisfy and disgusting sound of bone breaking, followed by a howl of pain. He reached for his blade, taking it back up in both his hands, then thrusting it down into the pirate's heart, silencing the man. He wiped a bead of sweat from his face, before being rejoined by his compatriots.

"Aerion, are you alright?" Lyvia asked with concern.

"I'm fine... lets make sure these pirates don't escape." He paused to help fight back another pirate with Lyvia, the man cut down and falling overboard. He held up his left hand, cutting off any more discussion. The three worked in unison to vanquish four more pirates, the fight quick and bloody, and it earned Aerion a new cut along his right arm. He gritted his teeth, it wasn't deep, but it burned like hell. Another scar to add to the collection, as Aerion thrust his blade into the pirate's neck, killing the man. He finally spoke during the brief respite in battle, a small opening while more pirates boarded and clashed with the Crown forces. "We have to board The Last Rite. She hit last, and will have the least amount of damage. Plus, if we take her, we will have our meal ticket to the table." Aerion swung his blade out, catching a pirate in the abdomen, cutting the man down.

"We will need more than the three of us. Seran is close to us, as well as that pampered priss Tyrell knight. That gives us five, but we need at least one more person to come with us. Lyvia, Oswell, do you see anyone that you feel is compitent enough to help take over the helm of the enemy ship?" Aerion asked in a heated voice, fighting back more pirate now as the three compatriots fought off their foes.

Ellion overheard it, chuckling as he headed over, watching Aerion gut the pirate looking across.
"That pampered piss used to sail boats in the Shield Isles when his uncle couldn't." Ellion calmly said, as he walked up to another pirate, charging at the Tyrell, as he ducked and hit him with the shield, kicking out his legs before sliding the blade into his throat. Calmly pulling it out, he wiped the sweat from his brow, looking to the experienced Goldfyre.
"Whatever you may think...don't think I came here with no good reason."

Visenya was a demon to behold, her violet eyes flashing as she quickly slashed and stabbed her way through the brigands. She favored a one-handed style and smoothly flowed across the battle while Viserys comported himself like a water dancer, stabbing and thrusting with finesse and precision, an exuberant grin on his face while Visenya grimly went about her work. Jaime Tarth was a boulder, armored with a star emblazoned on his shield, breaking bones and hacking limbs with his longsword and shield, no foe able to penetrate his defenses as next to him Robb hammered the foemen as savagely as his vaunted grandfather had. Meanwhile Tyrion Tanner favored the sword and dagger, fighting like his adopted father Ser Bronn, all deadly cunning and practicality, without the chivalric tendencies of his comrades. The young Ned Stark fought side by side with his wolf, the beast rending throats and ripping guts from the pirates while the wolfblooded lad cut a bloody swath with his axe and longsword. Petyr Hill fought with a greatsword, swinging the blade with speed and strength despite his youth, cutting men in two and bathing the deck in blood and viscera.The group had trained and fought together since childhood and the waves of pirates were cut down like twigs in their coordinated defense.

Visenya, seeing the other group making a move towards the Last Rite, disengaged from her friends, flinging a dagger into a pirate's eye before making her way to them. Visenya shouted over the clamour of the skirmish, "I'm with you! Let's take these bastards!" Trusting in them to follow, Visenya slashed a pirate swinging his way onto the deck and took his rope, jumping to the other ship and rolling to the floor before stabbing another pirate and clearing a circle for the group to follow. Jaime Lannister, seeing the offense, rallied the companions to the Silver Serpent while Aemon and the Dragon's Teeth held their own ship. Scores of pirates still remained, but they had evidently not expected such fierce resistance, and the battle was beginning to turn in their favor. One of the pirates on the Last Rite, seeing the souring fortune, began wheeling a small scorpion around to the Gray Ice, intent on sinking the trading vessel with all of the loot in a desperate attempt to kill his opponents.

Seran's bout of violence kept at its insane pace for a while, although it became increasingly erratic. The blood was getting into his hands, making them numb and slippery. Nicks and cuts, old and new, opened and bleed again once more. He was panting, but still well in the vanguard. And then the realization that perhaps, he was getting too fark from the bulk of his allies. One thing was sure, if he stopped, an arrow or an sword would cut his fairly light dressing and cause a major wound.

He still hadn't seen any of the usual targets you would seek in this kind of fight, officers or the helm, and time was running against him. The Tyrell tool and sir Aerion looked they were being kept more and more behind, deciding to go elsewhere. Not good. Seran then spotted the group from afar, and clicked his mouth as he made yet another pirate lose a copious amount of teeth with a well placed hilt blow.

He spit on the ground as he tossed his blade in a last ditch effort to drop more weight, his legs sprinting towards the group with almost what remained stamina. An arrow zip past his arm, cutting it right in the same place as he had taken the gash during the defense of the Red Keep. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, eventually reaching the group. It was then when across the decks, he spotted in the opposite side the pirate with the scorpion. Could he really cross two ships in a small amount of time? He braced himself as he caught up to the pace of Sir Aerion, ser Oswell and Lady Livia, and of course the pompous Tyrell.

"I spotted a scorpion! Move!" He harkened, his breath ragged.

Ellion himself bolted with a run across the ship's wooden deck, following behind Seran as he put his shield up, taking a arrow as he carried the momentum into a pirate, his leap more like a step really. With a hard bash, he was moving at a heck of a pace, and smashed the pirate into the ground, the shield's bottom then landing straight in the man's throat, with a kick following it up as he moved by Seran's side, a few men coming over.
"Yep!" Ellion added, looking across.
"Come on, ya bastards!" Ellion's southern accent was clearly not as vulgar but was proud and brave, he still seemed to have an aura about him, as one of the men yelled, charging over.

Seran's frantic pace once again resumed as he literally zipped past the deck culminating with a tackle that broke the pirate's throat, effectively neutralizing the threat. Seran's vision was finally becoming blurry, as the tiredness crept to him. He couldn't last much longer at this rythm, but he clenched his fists. He had captured the scorpion. He pondered on what to use next, as he steadied himself among the tide of battle.

Ser Aerion smiled as Lady Visenya soared across the water to land like a cat atop the enemy ship's deck. "Well, I guess we have our sixth person. Lets move and take control of the enemy ship." Aerion, Lyvia, and Oswell pushed forward, cutting and hacking down the unlucky foes before them. Aerion himself mounted the Grey Ice's railing, leaping across the small gap the land atop an enemy pirate who was picking off Crown forces with a bow. The man's bow split in two, Aerion's blade landing solidly in the pirate's shoulder. One less villain to kill forces of the Crown, as Aerion pulled his blade back from the dead man, making his way forward. They needed to take control of the helm and the command deck. Lady Visenya was in the lead, and Aerion with his two allies would defer to her command for the time being.

Lyvia snarled in rage, cutting down two men with a vicious swing of her sword, a dagger protruding from the meaty part of her thigh. She let loose a string of curses, before pulling the dagger free and letting it fall to the floor. Turning to fend off another pirate, Lyvia took a solid kick to her wounded leg, sending her tumbling to the floor. It was a blessing when Ser Oswell stopped the falling sword blow, and killed her attacker. He smiled, helping Lyvia up, before moving off to help Aerion defeat a particularly large foe. She spat the blood in her mouth at, and ran to help kill off the overly large pirate. They needed to help Lady Visenya, and the path to help her was through the big brute swinging two large wooden mallets. "Lets cut you down to size..." Lyvia snarled as she joined the frey with the freakishly big deck hand of the Last Rite.

The brute swung its hammers with surprsing finess. Already it had driven back Aerion, Oswell, and now it bared down on Lyvia. She narrowly missed being brained by throwing a passing pirate in the brute's path. The pirate crumpled with a sickening crack and thud, tumbling to the ground lifeless. The pirate sneered at Lyvia, laughing in a gutteral and sadistic manner. "I am gunna taste you... yes, licky you and thens fill you up, dog lady. Hehehehahahahahehahhehaheheh, yesh... your tasty cunny is going to be mine." The brute then roared in anger as Ser Oswell jammed his blade into the man's back, but still it did not kill him. Oswell recieved a pummeling punch from the deckhand, sending him reeling and falling to the floor. Aerion knew that they were outmatched, this freak certainly was beyond normal, and pain seemed to only enrage him more. "Damned be you, the Seven will purge you from this realm." Aerion shouted out, before looking for either Visenya, Ellion, or Seran... he shouted out loudly... "Help us, strike this beast down and send him to the stranger!"

Ellion ran over, pushing down a pirate on the way, sliding the blade into his throat, as he looekd across at Lyvia, the tall Clegane bastard even dwarfed by the large pirate, as they tried to overwhelm him. Moving to his side, Ellion let his shield sit on his back, taking the longsword in both hands, nodding to Aerion. Moving up he swung out, the hammers coming close as Ellion barely dodged them, skidding away from them as he swiped his sword across the man's arm, scraping his arm, the wound skin-deep but enough to give him another moment to take him on. He was head on in the giant's path, as he looked up, with a distinct grin.
"Come on then, you fat fucker." Ellion's smirk only made the man charge, as he let him, the hammers swinging again, Ellion aware he was slow. And with it, he didn't even need to make a fast move, countering the giant by pushing forwards, and actually grabbing a hold, pushing him over unstable towards Aerion, knowing the Goldfyre would have an easy shot at him.

"DUCK!" Seran's broken voice roared, as the sound of thunder happened almost immediately afterwards. Holding a fuse in his hand, the Lyseni was leaning on the just used scorpion, gently rocking by the sudden release. Opposite of him was standing the mindless brute. Literally mindless, as his head had been blown in tiny bits by the bolt. "I uh... it was a big target." He confessed.

The brute's head was literally turned to a pulp, well, it was more than an arrow or any other piece of hand-drawn equipment could do. This was a weapon that would clear through thick wooden planks. Through flesh, it had passed through with ease. The brute dropped onto the floor like a headless chicken, Seran by the scorpion on the other side of the very dead man.
"Seven fucking hells...." Ellion looked on, his mind taken away by the sight, he actually wanted to piss himself laughing, rather than look on in horror, it just seemed almost comedic. But there was more fighting to do, as more pirates emerged from the hold, Ellion looking back at Serran and Aerion.
"That's one way to solve a problem. Let's get these fuckers!"

Aerion felt the splatter of blood and gore upon his face, the warmth of it never something you could get used to. Also the fact that it was sticky, and seemed to stain everything it touched. Gritting his teeth, Aerion rallied his two comrades, helping Lyvia up to her feet, checking that she was fine, before propping Oswell up to his feet as well. "Thanks, the both of you mad fools. Lets rally to Lady Visenya, and take this ship for the Crown." Aerion waved his sword aloft, charging towards Lady Visenya and the direction of the helm, shouting the battle cry of House Targaryen, "Blood and Fire!!". The day was not over yet, but hopefully, together as a team, they could overwhelm these vicious pirates. With Lyvia and Oswell, and hopefully the other two, they made quick time to Lady Visenya's side.

"My Lady, fancy meeting you here. What are your orders?" Aerion quipped, a smile on his blood splattered face.

A circle of bodies surrounded Visenya and their portion of the deck was mostly clear of pirates. Malrik Towers, Rakharo, Black Bat, Larraq the Lash, and the Red Lamb were engaging another cluster of crewmen while Jaime's party fought on the Silver Serpent. The decks were choked by bodies and it wouldn't take much to slip on the blood or trip over a corpse. Near the helm of the craft, a man in a Septon's robe with a ridiculously large hat and an axe in his hands bellowed harsh orders, a phalanx of pirates arranging themselves between Visenya's group and their captain.

Visenya pointed her blade at the captain, "The Grey Septon. Kill him, capture him, this whole ship falls into disarray." A long row of pirates were in front, spears out, the men tense as they waited for the Kingsmen to make their move. Behind them were several swordsmen and a quartet of warriors who had the look of water dancers as well as a squad of crossbowmen. It was a tight ordered formation and wouldn't be easy to break. Visenya yelled for them to cover behind the mast as the crossbow men fired a volley. Visenya called out to her Dragon's Teeth on the Gray Ice, who strung their bows and riddled several spearmen with arrows, making a very momentary opening as the pirates struggled to reform their spear line and the crossbowmen reloaded. Visenya shouted for the charge and ran full-tilt at the pirates, leaping over them to slash and stab in their midst.

---The Lonely Mountain Pass leading to the Vulture's Roost----

Ser Uther dove out of the way from an arrow shot at him, scrapping across the dry ground. He scrabbled across the dirt pathway, his armor making loud crunching noises as it crushed and rolled over small pebbles and dirt. He finally unclapsed his shield from his back, finding two arrows lodged into the wood already. A smile played across his face as he looked around for their attackers. It had seemed only minutes ago that they were all riding in quite reverence, talking amongst eachother. He heard the cries of men wounded and dying, drawing his sword out of its scabbard while he moved as cautiously as he could towards the main body of allied forces. It was Ser Andrew Selmy rallying the men, bring a sense of order to all the chaos that swirled around them.

As he dashed across open ground, he remembered what he was asked about Vulture's Roost by Ser Andrew. But that was cut short by this defensive attack by the rebel forces. Uther made his way to stand near Ser Andrew, speaking out above the din of the combat. "Well, isn't this peachy? Vulture's Roost has been in disrepair for at least a few hundred years, but last I was told about it from my father that even in ruin, it was still a place to behold. Who knows what these rebels may have done in their spare time." Uther's voice carried a sense of annoyance, as he shouldered the impact from another volley of enemy arrows. He looked about, seeing where is friend was. Not anywhere in sight, but people are easy to get lost in the chaos of combat.

Across the pass, on the other side of the formation, Ser Harwin fought off a pair of skirmishers screening their allies. He narrowly missed be hit by a javelin, the poor soldier behind taking the projecting square in the chest. He felt the warm blood splatter across his neck and back, shuddering at the idea of dying himself. To say it was a tactical nightmare was an understatement. The enemy had the high ground, and was still harrassing them while their foot and mounted forces charged in to hopefully cut down their enemies. Harwin slashed his weapon downwards, cutting down the lightly armored foe, while he fell back a little, keeping in line with his allies. Only a fool would rush out into battle in a place like this, and hope to live. At least the numbers were even, as the Crown forces began to fall back towards the baggage train. Strength in numbers, and the large wagons would provide cover from the incessant enemy archers. He smiled as an enemy archer sprouted a bolt in his chest, from from the ledge he was perched on.

Uther continued to fight from his side of the line, having to step over a few dead allies as they neared the baggage train. 'At least they are not using fire arrows... the heat and dry air will turn the wagons into infernos.' Uther thought to himself, cutting down an unlucky vulture. He made a mental note to come back to that particular man. His cloak was rather nice, and his boots were about the same size from a quick glance. He looked over at Ser Andrew, seeing if any new orders had been issued. For the time being, it was fall back, regroup, and fight off the enemy until either they were all dead, or were forced to retreat. Another damned arrow found its way to rest in Uther's shield, making eight arrows thus far. He felt the hard wheel of a wagon behind him, signifying that this was where they were going to make their stand. "We are at your command, Ser Andrew... lets show these rebels what happens to traitors." He shouted aloud.

Andrew grinned back at Uther while the arrows rained down on them, his smile growing wider when he espied a falcon flying through the air, "We're about to have our chance in a minute boys. Steady..."

Vulture Raiders clashed against their pike line, horsemen either being driven off or impaled by the professional formation while javelins and arrows embedded themselves in the shield wall or the wagons, which were being used as impromptu cover. Luckily for the Loyalists, Dornish tactics favored lightning assault and they had maintained enough composure to counter the assault. But still the men kept coming and Ser Andrew had the troops hold the line.

Until, a hue and a cry rang up on the cliffs, several sand steeds running along both sides as riders slashed, stabbed, or shot arrows into the archers and spear-throwers above the Loyalists. The outriders had heard the commotion and organized a counter-attack, and the pressure lessened on the soldiers below. Andrew bellowed at the top of his lungs, "LORANNA! NOW!"

The small Rhoynish woman ducked beneath a wagon, closed her eyes and held out her hands as the latest line of Vultures rode at them. Their war cries choked in their throats, they swayed and jerked in their saddles, their steeds halting their charge as their bodies became grey and took on the complexion of ash. They wailed, the sound of cracking parchment, as water drew itself from their bodies and the riders wilted on their steeds, their screams giving way to gasps as they blew away as dust on the wind before Loranna turned the floating water into hundreds of tiny razor-thin drops that hurtled themselves into the foot soldiers behind the riders. Loranna collapsed to the floor, spent, as water spears tore themselves through eyes and mouths, brain and viscera giving truth to the name of the Red Mountains.

Andrew shouted, "Charge!" The pikes parted and the mounted men retook their horses, the knights charging for the disorganized and rattled remnants of the raiding party, who had lost over a third of their number in just a few moments. Following on the knights' tale were the foot soldiers and the Vultures, defiant to the last, charged back at the Loyalists, the battle turning into a pitched melee of flashing steel and cries.

Ser Uther followed his commander into battle, letting loose a powerful war cry. No sense in trying to make sense at what the hell just happened. The enemy were cut down, and were outnumbered now. He ran past the grisly dead of the Vultures, meeting the enemy sword and shield in hand. He thanked the gods that their enemy was now falling back, as with each passing moment they lost more and more men. The arrows and javelins had seemed to stop, as he looked up, he saw that they ranged combatants were either dead, or had turned tail and run. That only left the enemy foot forces, who fought as violently and viciously as to be expected. He cut down two more men, still on the look out for his friend, Ser Harwin. And that was when he saw it, letting loose a cry of enraged anguish.

Ser Harwin fought valiantly, fought honorably, but in the end, he was cut down by a Vulture Knight, a man that carried a shield that bore a sucinct resemblence to Uther's own shield, though the colors were purple and gold, rather than red and gold. The Vulture Knight reveled in the kill, leaving the dead Ser Harwin where he lay as he looked across to Ser Uther. Uther knew that beneath the man's closed helm, he was smiling, gloating over his victory. Yet, he was too far away, too many men, of both sides were inbetween the two, and as soon as he had killed Ser Harwin, as he had appeared as though from a nightmare, he was gone, fleeing atop a loose horse. Uther smashed his shield against the face of another enemy, before fighting his way across the field of battle to kneel beside his dead friend... forgetting about the faltering combat about him. The Crown forces would mop up the enemy... he needed a moment for his own grief.

The riders rode off the last of the Vultures, Marcher marksmen raining arrows on the fleeing enemy who shrank back into the mountains, utterly broken. Scores of Vultures and a dozen or so Kingsmen had been cut down, including Ser Harwin. Several other Vultures had been taken prisoner and kneeled in the sand, hands bound by rope while Ser Andrew wheeled back to Uther and Harwin, dismounting and shouting for Patrek. Patrek, trained in medicine, kneeled down and saw that there was no saving Harwin. He pulled out a tube and fired a ball of maroon smoke into the air.

Andrew gritted his teeth, "I'm sorry Uther. Harwin fought valiantly. One of the Conningtons will be along soon. There is a Red Priestess waiting at Blackhaven. Ever since the King's own resurrection, the new strategy has been to present highborn before a Red Priest to see if their Lord of Light can breathe new life into them. It rarely ever works, but... there may be some hope. If not, the Silent Sisters will care for him. The rest of our soldiers will be buried here, their resting places marked for posterity." Andrew directed a burial detail while Patrek had the Vultures gathered into a heap for burning.

Andrew came back and said, "Take however long you need Uther. We'll rest and tend to our wounded and continue along shortly, while we question our captives. The Roost knows we're coming but their assault failed. We press on after break of noon."

--- Lord Lorimer, The Red Keep and the Militant Faith---

Lord Lorimer looked on in shock. This ssepton from the Riverlands, Carston, had brought dark tidings with him. He spoke of long dead families, houses wiped out through war, violence, hatred. Perhaps these families did indeed survive, lingering in secret. But the worst fact of the matter was these families, along with religous zealots, had risen up in defiance to the throne, and we starting to purge out any non-believers of their faith, and non-natives to their land. He was sickened at the reports of the violence. Such chaos, and unfettered violence, it was what had consumed the realm some twenty plus years ago. Septon Carston was a messanger, perhaps even a perpetrator of the crimes commited at Stoney Sept. While not being a Septon himself, Lorimer knew well enough the Seven did not condone this level of brutality and evil.

"This is no work of the Seven, Heretic. You have sullied the name of the Seven with your crimes..." Lorimer shouted out in anger. He found the crimes of these men appalling, but what was more, he saw a chance to bring honor to his household and family, to help balance out their service to Cersei Lannister. Soon after, the room descended into chaotic yelling and fighting. The Septon and those captured were hauled off towards the Black Cells, with Carston himself preaching all the way. Lorimer hobbled after the King and Queen, knowing that he would need to volunteer himself for their mission to defeat the rebellious religious zealots who had now cropped up within the mainland borders of the the Seven Kingdoms.

"Your graces, King Jon and Queen Daenerys, allow me to stamp out these murderous zealots. I can serve the crown on the field of battle better than I can do so here. Please, hear my plea for combat." He called out, pride and anger in his voice.

Jon and Daenerys stopped walking, the group clustering in the hall toward the small council chamber, Sansa, Sam, and Willas all standing silently nearby as the king regarded Lorimer. Jon finally said, "Luckily for you, our maesters managed to help your leg. But you're still in no shape for combat ser. You've much progress to make before you're fully healed. But, I do have a task for you. Within the week, I'll have a ship take you and your household to Lannisport and then have you escorted to the Golden Tooth. You'll be charged with the garrison of that fortress and the gathering of men to seek out where these so-called Reynes will be hiding. I'll have Tyrion's cousin, the former commander of the Golden Tooth, with some Lannister soldiers under your command. I want you to stay out of combat, but we need a strategist and administator on the ground. Castamere and Tarbeck Hall have to be secured, the rebels may have settled there.Once we find out where, send a Raven and we can formulate further plans from there.Any other questions?"

Lorimer simply nodded, and then knelt before the King and Queen. He was forever thankful for their generosity, and for them giving him another opportunity. "As you command, so shall it be done, your graces. I owe my leg, my life, and my home to the throne. House Lefford will be your faithful servants till our dying breaths. I will see to it that the Golden Tooth is not only secured, but fortified for any coming storm. The traitors will be found, and I will report anything of importance to you with all due haste. Thank you, your graces... thank you." Lorimer finished. He still knelt, paying homage to his lieges for their station and kindness.

Daenerys favored him with a smile, "No need to stand on ceremony, my lord. You paid your dues to the crown, and now we must do so for your loyal service. Tom and Aemon will be lucky to have such a loyal family. Now, the Council must convene on certain manners. Return to your wife, my lord. There is much to do and little time to do it."

"As you command your grace." Lorimer rose up to his feet, still favoring his uninjured leg. He bowed once more, before stepping back to allow the crown and council pass by. They were right, it would be some time before he could fight properly once more, but at least they allowed him to help out in this small measure. He watched them leave, marvelling at their grace and sheer greatness. After they were gone, Lorimer made the long walk back to his rooms, to meet with his lady wife and sister, and let them know the news of things to come.

Black Sun - Age of Wolves (Always Open)

Lady Margaux gripped the reigns of her horse tightly. The ship ride was relatively quick and uneventful, having sailed with all due haste to arrive in a timely manner. Margaux could not kid herself in the knowledge that she was deeply nervous, if not outright afraid. This was the capital of Sheol, the home of the Great-Father, the center of Archon Irkalla's power. She had been invited, but such an invitation also brought with it great responsibility and scrutiny. The looming walls of the black stone seemed to eat up any light that came down from the sky, and with them, rose the imposing towers of Maweth. Taking a deep breath, Margaux beckoned her mount onwards, flicking the reigns and digging her heels in. She was finally here, and it was time to prove that she was just as loyal and dutiful as any of the other children of the Great-Father.

She cast a side long look to Sir Armond, thankful to have him at her side. Along with her protector, rode a small retinue of forty-four more Crimson Reavers, all that she dared to bring with her. These soldiers were only meant to protect her if the need arose, and she surely hoped that such would not be needed. Looking away from her vassal, and back to Maweth, Margaux and her forces pressed onward, the foreboding citadel growing larger with each passing minute. It wouldn't be long before they arrived at the main gate to the capital, and would have to gain entry into the fortified complex. 'Lets hope the gate guards aren't in a bad mood, I would hate to be late to my first day of helping oversee Sheol while the Great-Father is away.' Margaux thought silently to herself as she and her retinue neared the Gates of Maweth.

Sir Armond rode ahead of the group, the rest having stopped the usual distance from the gates to allow their herald to speak with the guardsmen and gain permission to enter. "Hail, Guardsmen of Maweth, I come forth to speak for Lady Margaux, of the Rubis Isle, loyal subject of the Great-Father. She has been summoned by the Great-Father himself to conduct matters of State within the capital. We request permission to proceed." Sir Armond spoke aloud to the guards at the gate house. He held the letter of summons sent out by the Great-Father's steward, in case the guards needed evidence of what he said to be true.

The contingent of guards positioned at Maweth's southern gate was relatively minimal. Merely a half-dozen men with spears and black breastplates on the ground, and another half-dozen in the towers above with crossbows. Sheol's land routes were sparse, unpaved and rarely traveled, given the ubiquity of port cities around the island. That said, they were still ideal for an arriving noblewoman who wished to arrive inconspicuously. The guards glanced at each other, to Margaux and her retinue, and back to each other, before shrugging and signalling for the gate to be raised.

"Maweth welcomes you." Called out one of the guards. "Shall we bolster your forces with a contingent of our own on your ride to the palace?"

With the guards signal to open the gates, Sir Armond beckoned the rest of Lady Margaux's retinue to proceed forward. He wheeled his horse about, the creature flaring its nostrils as the gate creaked upwards. He looked to the guard who called out, pondering the question before shaking his head. Lady Margaux would not want to misuse nor waste resources of the Great-Father, and she had grown up here in the capital, she'd be able to find her way. "No thank you, we shall be able to manage. Lady Margaux would not wish to waste your time with escorting us. She is thankful for your offer, but we shall proceed with all due haste, and not take up anymore of your time." Sir Armond spoke politely, if not a bit commanding, as the Crimson Reaver's rode by. He nodded his head towards the guards, before riding off to rejoin the side of his liege lady.

Lady Margaux nodded to the guards as she rode by, at the center of her small retinue of soldiers. She steeled herself for the reunions she'd have to endure once reaching the central spire and holdfast of the citadel. She turned her focus back to the task at hand, riding her horse at a brisk pace, and not falling into the probably dirty streets. "That went easier than I had assumed, but I will not dwell on it Sir Armond. Let us hurry and make for the palace. We are expected, and I know that I will have to get to work right away." Lady Margaux spoke to Sir Armond as he rejoined her. Together with her loyal soldiers, Lady Margaux made good time to the palace, arriving just past midday.

-Royal Palace of Maweth-

Lady Margaux swung herself off from her horse, brushing the dust from the rode from her garments, taking the time to adjust them, before looking to the main doors of the palace. 'Home...' She thought to herself, smiling slightly, before making her way across the courtyard towards the awaiting figures. From here, she was not sure who they could be, but just by the way they held themselves, their posture, spoke of more "pure-blooded" children of the Great-Father. Her retinue was busy dismounting themselves, seeing to their gear and stabling their mounts. It fell to her, Sir Armond, and three other Crimson Reavers to meet with the representatives of the Great-Father, and see who they were, and how best to serve the Great-Father.

Waiting them stood Sibari, her white hair and pale skin contrasting strongly with her dark gowns in the midday sun, and four Sanguine Guards, all in glimmering gold-and-ebony rainments, their sheathed swords barely visible beneath their crimson cloaks. Members of the Coven all, the Guards glowered at Margaux's own Reavers, but Sibari's expression remained neutral, bordering on appearing disinterested in the ordeal.

"Welcome, Lady Margaux," She greeted the Exarch, bowing gracefully with her arm tucked under her. "We hope that your journey was free of difficulty." Her gowns seemed to have been designed with folds and swaths of fabric to conceal her right side, and perhaps suggest the presence of a limb there, but Margaux knew the truth. This was like many things in Sheol; gilt and prestige concealing deep scars and terrible pain.

Lady Margaux returned Sibari's bow, taking the time and effort to ensure it was as prim and proper as possible. Sibari was probably one of the more tolerable member's of the Great-Father's court, though Margaux still held her reservations towards the Great-Father's Steward. As she finished her bow, Margaux thought back to her own childhood, growing up as a ward of the Great-Father. Being one of the "bastard-brood" as the "pure-bloods" put it, she dealt with more than her fare share of ridicule and harassment. But, that was the past, and this was now. She looked at the Sanguine Guards, their imposing presence and no doubt blood purity another piece of the hierarchy that separated Margaux and her subjects from mainland Sheol. "Lady Sibari, I came with all due haste. Let us not keep you waiting any longer. I am correct in assuming that you would like to get straight to business, as usual?" Margaux asked calmly, looking to the woman who stood before her.

Margaux begrudgingly admired the quality of Sibari's gowns. They were certainly very finely made, and did their part in hiding Sibari's unfortunate loss of limb. Even though their pasts were not exactly one of friendship or direct kindness, she still felt sadness towards this woman. She was going to serve the Great-Father proudly on the field of battle, striking down his enemies and foes, yet fate intervened to steal away a limb. She let out a small sigh, before standing fully upright, her hands clasped behind her in the small of her back, awaiting Sibari's direction and command for the next move.

"Of course," she said, he voice still carrying an airy quality that smacked of dispassion. "If you would follow us..." Sibari turned about, walking from the courtyard into the archway that led back into the obsidian depths of the palace. The Sanguine Guards at her side all turned simultaneously to follow, no doubt still attempting to impress the idea of their superiority to Margaux's Reavers.

The halls of the palace were much the same as Margaux remembered from her childhood. Cold, black stone, as far as the eye could see. Only somehow, it seemed colder, and even more forbidding. She had not been in Maweth at the time of the Betrayal, as she had been busy defending her own holdings from the forces of the Ivory Dragon. But she could see plainly that even fifty years later the damage dealt was still felt. Maweth felt less like a monument to the Great-Father's glory, and more like a memorial of the city's former beauty.

Sibari gave Margaux a loose run-down of relevant information as they walked. "The palace's facilities are at your disposal, and the servants will attend to you as they would the Great-Father himself. We would only ask that both yourself and you men steer clear of the Seventh and Sixteenth Towers, as they have been deemed forbidden." The Seventh Tower was the Great-Father's own personal quarters and vaults, and so that much made sense. But the Sixteenth Tower was the nursery, where Margaux herself had been raised. Strange. "You will of course be roomed in the diplomat's quarters in the Fifth Tower. I will relocate to the room under yours so that I may assist you more easily, and I can have your men put up in the western barracks." Lodging for the common guards of the palace that were not of the Blood Host. Predictable.

They turned a corner, and Margaux was brought face to face with a sight she had nearly forgotten for more than sixty years. An imposing iron doorway, leading into the throne room of the Great-Father. They stepped within, following Sibari closely, but Margaux and her men both could not keep themselves from marveling at the sight. Priceless artwork, trophies from the Conquest of the North, tributes from vassals and supplicants the Great-Father. This was what Margaux had remembered about Maweth, and it was as comforting to behold as it was intimidating. Of course, the crown jewel of it all was the Sanguine Throne. It was even larger than she remembered, as it had grown by leaps and bounds during the purges following the Betrayal. The crystalline mass of blood and magic practically radiated power and opulence, casting a crimson light on the rest of the room.

Sibari gestured to the throne, a greater ruby than any that had been dug up from Margaux's home. "Come, my Lady. You will sit the throne."

Margaux politely listened to everything Sibari had to say. She was colder than Margaux last remembered, yet time changes everyone. She followed the steward on her tour throughout the various hallways and passages, making sure to take note mentally of everything she was told and informed of. In the back of her mind, Margaux thought that something was odd in how much leeway she was being given, or rather, delegated power and privilege. She did not question Sibari through her briefing, allowing the woman to fully speak her mind. Margaux kept close, until they finally arrived at the massive iron doors that led into the throne room. Being away from the throne itself made the sight all the more beautiful. The crimson red of the shimmering crystal reflected and refracted the light in a dazzling manner. Her men and herself stood in awe for a few moments, no doubt looking like country bumpkins, before Margaux shook her head and returned to reality. It was something that Sibari said that brought it all home once again.

"No, Lady Sibari. I am not worthy to sit the Throne, nor would I dare to transgress the seat of the Great-Father. We will have a simple wooden table and chairs set up in order to meet with those who seek an audience with the Great-Father." Margaux spoke with unshakable conviction and authority. "If there is one thing I remember growing up here, was that no one other than the Great-Father himself may sit the Sanguine Throne. Only fools and traitors dare to usurp the rightful bastion and symbol of the Great-Father's authority. A table and chairs will suffice for us both, in order to serve as temporary advisors for matters of state until the return of the Great-Father, where we will be released from these temporary duties." Margaux strode to the center of room, looking about at the centralized power of Sheol and that of the Great-Father.

"We both are loyal servants of the Great-Father, regardless of the nature of our blood purity." She turned to look back at Sibari. "No doubt you were tasked to help me out, much to your irritation to have a 'Bastard-Brood' delegated a position of authority above yours. I would also assume you were tasked in ensuring I didn't get too big for my own shoes, and to report any foolishness directly to the Great-Father. I am going to stop your right now and here. I am not a little girl anymore, able to be picked upon and bullied. I am certainly not some fool you can trick into damning myself and betraying my loyalty to the Great-Father." Margaux crossed the room to stand before Sibari, lowering her tone to one that only the two women would be able to hear, "You have served the Great-Father with honor and distinction for decades, cut the petty and paltry games of children, and be an adult. I expect you to be here tomorrow morning by the eighth bell, we will work together whether you like it or not, 'pure-blood'." Margaux spoke with a tone of irritation and dismissal, turning on her heel and leaving Sibari and her Sanguine Guards to their own devices.

"I can find my own way to my rooms, and will see to it myself the quartering of my retinue. Remember, wooden table, chairs, plain but able to be sat in comfortably for hours. See you tomorrow at eighth bell." Margaux said aloud as she left the Throne Room.

The throne room left empty but for Sibari and her guards, she sighed heavily, brushing back her hair. "I had been worried about this. She has too much to prove." She spoke aloud, seemingly to no one.

From the shadows stepped out an imposing figure, tall and strong-shouldered, with a dark cloak that made him seem all the more menacing. The man was Prince of Maweth, Nirgal Irkalla. He stroked his white beard with an ivory hand gilded with rings. "There's not yet cause for alarm, Sibari. We merely need to remind dear Maggie that her duty must come before her pride. She will serve Father yet." He smiled, but a certain coldness remained in his red eyes.

-Two Weeks Later, the Throne Room.-

To say that Margaux and Sibari got along would be a lie, but over the past two weeks, Margaux at least had tried to be less confrontational, in order to better serve the Great-Father. No doubt to Sibari's irritation and patience, Margaux learned all she could from the Great-Father's Steward, at least what one could learn in two weeks time. She busied herself with any and all work that was a matter of state. Always in the back of Margaux's mind was the fear that she might overstep herself, that she might abuse the powers that had been delegated to her, but at least so far, she hadn't done so, or so she hoped. Sibari was an enigma, but what could be expected from the "Pure-Blood" castes. They had always held themselves in higher regard, and Margaux herself was a relative newcomer, and an outsider who held a high rank, at least on paper.

Letting forth a sigh, Margaux pushed away the thoughts of loneliness and solitude. Aside from Sir Armond, she had next to no one to speak to. The aristocrats in the capital were loathe to associate with a "Bastard-Brood", and made a point of going out of their way to avoid Margaux. 'They can all drown on their refined and pure blood... they'll never be as loyal as I am to the Great-Father...' Margaux thought to herself as she finished sealing a Letter of Marque for a pirate captain hoping to curry favor with the Great-Father. No sooner had Margaux finished setting down the royal seal, a solitary old man in a heavy, hooded cloak had entered the room. He did not move hastily, but there was distinct purpose in his step, and he approached the two of them quite boldly, without announcing himself.

"I have a missive from the Great-Father," He said, in a rasping, heavily-accented voice. The man placed an unsealed letter on the table before them, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Arrived this morning. He calls for war."

"Sibari... " Margaux paused, looking at the old man. She bit her lower lip, not sure as how to proceed, thrown off balance now by this mysterious newcomer and his news that war was being called. Maybe he was a spy for the Great-Father, he surely had them, but the man seemed different than some eavesdropper or thief. Taking a quick breath, Lady Margaux thought it prudent to ask perhaps the obvious to everyone else but her. "Who are you, sir, and why is this letter unsealed?" She hoped that she was not digging her own grave, and looked down to the letter before her, carefully reading it while she awaited the old man's response and hopefully that of Sibari as well.

The man said nothing in response to Margaux's questions, instead facing squarely in Sibari's direction. His expression, hidden mostly by his hood, was utterly inscrutable. Glancing between the man and Margaux, Sibari eventually looked up at him as simply said, "Thank you, Master Vosk. We will follow through on this; I'm sure you have your own duties to attend to." The man, apparently addressed as Master Vosk, bowed curtly, and left the room as promptly as he had arrived. Sibari looked down at the letter on the table, not yet reading it, with a somewhat pained expression. "That..." She began tersely, "Was Mirko Vosk, the Great-Father's spymaster. Forgive his... eccentricities, my lady. He is slow to trust, as you might expect."

Margaux quietly leaned back in her chair, resting her hands in her lap. She looked to the direction in which Master Vosk had entered and left, and felt smaller because of it, felt as though she had seen a scion of death, and was graced to remain alive. Whatever rumors, tales, and whispers she heard, they were not nearly as terrifying as the real man was. "I'm sorry..." Margaux said softly, barely above a whisper. "I defer to your experience in this matter Lady Sibari." Margaux looked to the letter once again, knowing that it was true and real as the air she inhaled, or the wood of the table before her. She moved her right hand forward to move the letter closer for Lady Sibari's inspection. "What shall we do, Lady Sibari?"

Sibari reached over to pick the letter up, reading it carefully, herself. "The Great-Father predicted these eventualities a few months ago. Much of the war mustering is already complete, we merely need to mobilize our forces. Lord Nirgal and I will contact the masters of the Seven Hosts. I will send a missive to Lady Rubedo so that she might arm and ready Barzak's privateer fleets. We will also have to arrange a missive to Master Bloodhook to ensure that he relocates the Forever Worm to Charce." She set the letter down, closed her eyes for a moment, and reopened them to look squarely at Margaux. "All you need do is keep Sheol safe and Maweth running smoothly, my lady. That is what the Great-Father, and all of us here, need of you."

Lady Margaux nodded, taking a deep breath to collect her wits about her. "It would seem that you have everything already taken care of. Thank you Lady Sibari. I will ensure that I will not falter in my delegated duties to continue to the day to day operations of Sheol. I do appreciate your help... I hope you realize that... " She paused, looking back out across the room. She adjusted her clothes, and fixed her hair, before looking back at Sibari, "Well, shall we continue with our duties, and keep things running smoothly?"

"Of course, my lady." Sibari nodded somberly. Then, just for a moment, her usual disaffected demeanor slipped, and the slightest hint of her soul was able to shine through her emerald eyes. "I only wish to serve the Great-Father, in all things. I owe him my life, as same as you." Those green eyes were the human part of Sibari. The part of her that was not part of the Coven, the trials and rituals of blood, and the cult of the Great-Father. But just as soon as it had slipped, the facade snapped back into place, and Sibari's expression of disinterest resumed. "I will contact Lord Nirgal and begin writing the missives. Will you be needing anything before I become too busy? Communion perhaps?"

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

@MrDidact@AtomicNut@kingkonrad And anyone else, if you wanna, I am available for a collab right meow, if it pleases thee.

(Also, looks like Titanpad will be dying at the end of the year. No bueno.)

titanpad.com/IURIVHS7NJ - Dis is where I is, workings and writings. Yey.

I will be awaitings arrivals. I shall keep the tab open, while I play warhammer or somethings.

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

Sorry about my delay in starting these Collabs with you fine folks. Hopefully i will get some free time soon to kick them off.

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

Ser Aerion is just sitting there looking on with disgust at these antics. Tsk tsk, you'll get Bastard of Bravos dong, two days of burning and itching, then bam, off falls the "magic sword".

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

@AtomicNut@MrDidact@kingkonrad Is it possible to Collab with you fine folks for an upcoming post, if you have need of me, to Collab with you? Open invitation to anyone else as well. I have characters at the capital, Stepstones, and vulture campaign.

Black Sun - Age of Wolves (Always Open)

Lady Margoux, Chateau Rubis, Private Garden

Lady Margaux knelt beside a row of thriving green onions, the vegetable growing better than she had expected. It was Sunday, her day of days, so to speak. Easy, lazy, with a warm sun and a cool breeze to make it all the better. She smiled as she tended to her modest garden. While it was nothing compared to the lavish flower gardens of the other nobles, Margaux had a feeling she was among the few that actually knew how to tend to the garden itself, and not order some servant to take care of it for her. She leaned in closed uprooting some weeds that were trying to slither into her garden. 'Bothersome plants... no matter how many times I purge your from this soil, you always come back...' she thought to herself as she brushed the upthrust of dirt back into a smooth pattern. She took a deep breath of the fresh air about her, enjoy the aroma of ripening vegetables, ranging from onions to tomatoes. At the end of the day, Margaux could safely say, this was the one thing she had full control over, and didn't have to worry about the contrived and utterly ridiculous court politics. She smiled again, standing up to move towards her tomatoes.

"You will be ready to eat soon, my little friends. Just a few more days..." Margaux quietly said aloud to herself. She knelt beside the tomato vines, plucking away dead leaves and spoiled produce, when she felt a presence behind her. She let out a soft sigh, before rising up to greet her steward, Gérard de Villefort. The man was soft spoken and seemed to glide across the ground rather than walk, since he scarcely made a sound. Perhaps it was just tricks played within the mind, but Margaux placed those thoughts to the back burner, and brushed the dirt from her pants. "Villefort, what do I owe this privilege of your presence? Surely it could wait until tomorrow? Or, has there been another attempted escape from the mines?" Margaux smiled at her steward, taking her gardening gloves off and setting them aside.

Gérard de Villefort smiled softly, the barest hints of his lips curling upwards. He bowed his head forward, and in a soft, yet authoritative tone, replied to his mistress. "My Lady, I know that today is your day off from the tiresome task of running this island, but, this docket of business cannot wait. And do not worry, the prisoners are toiling away as they should, repentance for their inability to either serve the Great-Father admirably, or because the rest of the Empire has no need for such financially draining bodies." He stepped back, offering for Lady Margaux to take the lead towards a gazebo in the center of the garden. "It is best that we discuss this matter of state out of the warming embrace of the sun, besides, Sir Armand Dorleac is waiting as well. It seems this news has him lamenting over his duties of protecting you once more... " The man paused, before smiling, and looking towards the garden. "Quite the beautiful crop this year, my lady... now come, let us see to this business, and perhaps you will have time left to enjoy your day."

A while later, Lady Margaux, Sir Armand Dorleac, and Mr. Gérard de Villefort

Lady Margaux was first to speak after the long silence from learning the news. "The Great-Father has summoned me, one can not refuse such a summons, regardless of how you feel about all the lickspittles that call themselve's pure-blooded. It matters not to me what you would prefer me to do, Sir Armand, your job is as my Captain of the Crimson Reavers. Which I need not remind you, means you serve me, and be extension, serve the Great-Father. Piss on all the fetid fools who believe blood and their proximity to the Great-Father makes them better or more suited to be in charge. Those bootlickers care more about their pedigree than what truly matters, and that is your usefulness to the Great-Father coupled with your loyalty. Sir Armond, don't tell me you have forgotten of the traitorous ilk of the Great-Father, that vile creature who was among the closest of the blood-kin to the Great-Father? So keep that in mind, before you decide to spout off such borderline heretical and treasonous talk. We will answer the Great-Father's summons, with all due haste." Lady Margaux leaned back against a pillar, angrily eyeing her chief military leader. Damned be the fact this man was a skilled fighter, he just held too much open disdain towards the mainland politics, or rather, the Blood Children of the Great-Father who saw themselves as betters to his Lady and mistress.

It was Lady Margaux's steward Gérard de Villefort who interceded, speaking plainly and politely. "Friends, come now, now is not the time to be letting such emotions take control of us. Sir Armond, you will do just splendid in the capital. Lady Margaux has nothing to fear with you and your hand-picked attache at her side. Besides, it is only momentary that you shall be in Maweth, only till the return of the Great-Father. Let not your disdain for the mainland nobility bring dishonor unto yourself, our mistress, or the Great-Father. This Lady Sibari, the Great-Father's stewardess, is a... well, she can be worked with without too much fear of being stabbed in the back. Beside, the Great-Father would not look kindly upon those that disobey his orders, regardless of their peerage and pedigree."

Gérard de Villefort smiled, and beckoned his mistress in closer. "Lady Margaux, all will be fine. Just do as the Great-Father would do. Do not overstep your powers delegated unto you, and when in doubt, ask the stewardess, she will have been ordered to help you, regardless of her personal feelings in the matter. I will ensure that nothing goes awry while you are gone, my lady. And I will even send a fresh shipment of produce and blood wine so that you may enjoy your trip from home to the capital. The Crimson Reavers will keep you safe, and when in doubt, do not trust that which is told to you." He sighed, bowing his head, before motioning towards the pathway. "I must be off, my lady. I will keep you informed of the new shipment of prisoners, and their progress in the mines. I have to oversee their arrival, and ensure that these chattel know their place, and should things run amok, you can raise their dead corpses when you return. Sir Armond, protect our mistress, you are fully capable of that, don't let your doubts and reservations run amok." The Steward finished, bowing before the two, before setting off to his other duties.

Lady Margaux looked to Sir Armond, and let out a low sigh. "What could possibly go wrong? You see to the guard retinue, and I shall see to chartering passage for us. We leave in the morning, which should allow us to arrive in Maweth in four days time. Best to not keep the Great-Father waiting. He summoned me, and that is all the reason we need. Our loyalty to the Great-Father must be unyielding, no matter what outside forces we may face. Besides, it will be fun to rub those pampered prick's noses in the fact I was chosen over them to help oversee Sheol while the Great-Father is way." Lady Margaux finished with a wicked smile. Let the sycophants play their games and show their true colors to the Great-Father, Margaux bemused to herself, for she knew with the deepest of convictions, that there are few more loyal to the Great-Father than her.

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

Does anyone have need of me for collabs, or are thou art all fine and dandyith?

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

Ser Aerion, Lady Lyvia, and Ser Oswell, Covert Task Force, Disguised Trade Ship Gray Ice

Ser Aerion had watched and listened, patient as ever. He sat surrounded by his two friends that had come with him, Lady Lyvia Clegane, and Ser Oswell Whent. The three had kept to themselves, perhaps out of a profound hesitation, or rather collective experience of campaigns on the Stepstones. The grayness of the sea and the clouds overhead did not help with the matter, but it would help keep the range of visibility down to a minimum. The three sat preparing their arms and armor, slowing and methodically ensuring that no rust, grime, or other foreign matter would mar their ability to fight. Ser Aerion looked about the ship, to the others who had been drafted into this conflict. They all looked, at least to him, itching for a fight, excited for combat. Most likely none had ever fought on the Stepstones, never had to slog through the Seven-Forsaken terrain nor stormed beaches aboard rickety landing barges. Under it all though, was the fear of not coming back, of dying on these far away shores. Aerion forced a smile, offering out his hands to his comrades, beckoning them to join his. “May the Seven protect us from the trials we will soon face.”

As they unclasped their hands, Ser Oswell and Lady Lyvia went back to their work, the two industriously working away and cleaning their gear. Aerion paused from her work, looking about the ship to the others aboard. He spied their leader, Prince Aemon, along with his other Targaryen kin, Prince Viserys, Prince Rhaegar, and Lady Visenya, the four all upon the Sterncastle, no doubt plotting their course of action for the coming storm. They did look imposing in their clothing, the shirts they wore probably worth more than many men-at-arms armor and arms. Aerion looked from them to Lord Commander Podrick Payne, the man imposing in his armor and flowing cloak, nodding in his direction. There were others of note aboard the Gray Ice, though Ser Aerion did not recognize any of them aside from Ser Jamie Lannister, the Kingslayer. Of course, that pompous braggart Ser Ellion of House Tyrell was aboard, much to Ser Aerion’s continued irritation. He couldn’t stand the man for obvious reasons, but that was neither for here nor there. Seran of Lys was aboard, to which Aerion waved at with a smile, knowing that at least there was another combat veteran of the Stepstones. Last were the men and women from the Riverlands and the North, of them, only Lady Merebelle Gray, Ser Ellion’s current paramour, and Lord Bolton, the drunkard who from table talk, was a joke of a man.

Aerion sighed, setting his sword down, the weapon one of the few Valyrian Steel swords in the world. Unfortunate that the blade was named Poison, but perhaps in time, it could be reforged anew into a more suitable name. Standing up, Aerion stretched his legs and back, nodding to his two friends, before excusing himself. He wanted to go pick Seran’s brain on what was going on, and what he thought about all that was going on. The ship rocked slightly as a gust of wind pushed it to the side, letting Aerion smile a little bit as the members aboard unaccustomed to sea life and travel stumbled about the deck. He found Seran standing by himself alongside the starboard railing. Probably thinking about his beautiful sister, or maybe of a better tomorrow. Aerion called out to Seran of Lys as he stepped beside him. “Seran of Lys, a fine day for sailing, wouldn’t you say?” Aerion smiled, speaking matter-of-factly, before he leaned against the railing. “It is good to have you here, most of the people aboard this ship have no clue what they are sailing into. Though, we both know what’s waiting for us in the Stepstones, don’t you?” Aerion looked about, before lowering his voice, “Seran, what are your thoughts on this… this all just seems like a quagmire. They can’t seriously think that attacking the Pirate King will really work, do they? I mean, you and I have fought here, seen the chaos that ensues when one pirate lord dies, and all the lower rank and file swarm his corpse like bloat flies. What is our brave leader planning… or are you in the dark like I am?” Aerion looked at Seran, politely awaiting his response.

A passing thought crossed into Aerion’s mind while he waited. He had accepted the deal offered to him by the King and Queen, well, almost entirely. He had asked if they would consider allowing him to marry freely, as he pleased, to find a wife that he truly could love, rather than having one forced upon him so to speak. While the idea of being allowed to marry a princess was alluring, Aerion wanted to properly court whoever he was going to marry when the time arose. He left his family’s egg in possession of the King and Queen, one if he were not to return, and two, because he didn’t trust anyone else to look after it. While he had no room to barter with the King and Queen, they at least said they would think about it, and would have an answer for him once they had thought it over. More than likely, they would stand by their first offer, to which Aerion would accept, but there was always hope for this small bit of freedom.

Ser Uther Tattershall and Ser Harwin Strong, The Dornish Marches, Castle Blackhaven

Ser Uther stretched heartily as he dismounted from his horse. Dust still covered his armor from the long ride from King’s Landing. He sipped quickly from his water skin, before moving quickly to join those within the War Council that had been called. Ser Harwin called out as Ser Uther made his way through the outer courtyard to the interior of the castle, “I’ll take care of our horses and gear, don’t worry. You know this region better than I do, and besides, one of us needs to make sure everything is ready to go. Don’t let those people bully you around either.” He smiled, before turning away from the departing Ser Uther to take care of his work. Uther rolled his eye, before disappearing inside. Lord Gendry oversaw the operation, and Ser Uther wanted to be in attendance before he spoke.

Ser Uther found himself a spot toward the middle of those gathered about the war table, a large map of the Red Mountains overlaid upon it, though something seemed odd about it, though Uther couldn’t put his finger on it. The Tyrell subcommander was in attendance, along with his assorted Reachmen officers, and beside them, were the Dornish forces, though Uther couldn’t figure out who was leading them. Oddly, was the man from the Alchemist’s Guild, along with the Targaryen Lord or prince… Aegon, Uther hoped, though he wasn’t truly sure. It had been a long time since he last visited his homeland, and long still since his family lived here. Lord Gendry had a commanding aura about him, as he spoke aloud to the council. Odd, Uther thought, as the man spoke upon not having a for sure location to Hellgate Hall, the supposed stronghold of this new Vulture King.

The scope of the operation was to create a defensive line about the region, with the Reach forces along the Highgarden side of the Red Mountains, the Dornish forces along the Southern ranges, led by Lord Oberyn, and finally, to the North, the royal forces holding the line along Blackhaven. The Tyrells would be held in a rear echelon position, while the main thrust would come from the forces under Lord Gendry’s command. Uther looked at the pieces upon the map, indicating military units and forces, the usual, but he took note of the piece placed in the center of the map, indicating the Vulture King, or where he was supposed to be. Gendry detailed every part of the plan, to include the most interesting piece, Ser Aegon would be flying atop his dragon, and would provide a sort of over watch to the ground forces. Should they find themselves in a hairy situation, they’d signal the dragon rider, and he would swoop in to make use of the dragon’s fiercesome abilities, namely its fire.

The first phase of the rebel cleanup operation was to take the Spine, the highest peak in the Red Mountains. It commanded a clear view of the region, along with allowing a stepping stone for the further phases of this conflict. The risk of course, aside from enemy combatants, were the elements and terrain. High heat, high altitude, sparse water sources, hostile wildlife, and of course, when rain storms hit, it caused flash flooding and mudslides. And that was in the summer months, the winter brought freezing temperatures, and torrential snow fall that could bury entire passes. Hellgate Hall was the final prize, but everything one step at a time. The standing order was to have double water rations upon one’s self always, which certainly made sense. After Lord Gendry finished speaking, he opened the floor to the others present, to see if anyone else had any input.

After letting the other Lords and knights speak their parts, Ser Uther cleared his throat to speak out. The others had brought up important things, raised valuable questions, but they were missing something rather important. Uther had finally spotted the oddity upon the map, it becoming clear once he had gotten a better view of it. The ruins of Vulture’s Roost was missing from the very detailed map. Ser Uther moved to the forefront of the room, closer toward the table, and spoke aloud in a polite manner. “I couldn’t help but notice, but your map is missing the location of the Vulture’s Roost.” He paused, before motioning those to look at the map, towards where the River Wyl began. “I would assume this is a newer map, and probably why those ruins were left off. The Vulture’s Roost was once a formidable castle that commanded the region. It fell some time ago, during the reign of the First Vulture King. It may still be in use, and it would certainly serve as a means for them to smuggle goods in and out of the region. I’d wager they have a sizable garrison there, and maybe even personal maps of the region. Plus, if you cut off this means of resupply, you would weaken them innumerably.” Uther paused, before reaching into his shield, pulling out an old and yellowed map. While it wasn’t as colorful nor fine as the war table map, it had old details that had long since been forgotten or left aside with the progress of time. “This map is very precious to me… to my family, so be careful with it, my Lords.” Ser Uther stepped back, and if any were looking close enough at his face and eyes, they might be able to see he was holding something back, suppressing some internal strife.

Lord Lorimer of House Lefford, Lady Cerenna, his sister, and Lady Myrielle Hill… now Lannister, the Red Keep, Lord Lefford’s Rooms
Lord Lorimer sat in his study, in a rather cozy chair. Never had he believed such things would happen to him in a million years. He had the Targaryen’s to thank for all that he now had, even this room he was recovering in. The apartment was beyond anything he had ever stayed in. His lady wife was asleep in their bed, and how lovely she looked, even asleep. She was so serene and perfect, and it was by the charity of the Targaryen’s that he could marry her, and have a home in which to offer her. He still remembered the small ceremony in which they were married, and how the King and Queen were present, joining the Houses of Lefford and Lannister together. Never before had he seen such a kind sovereign, and forever would he be beholden to them. It was a great honor to be in their presence, one which he would not forget.

Lorimer smiled, pushing that thought away, as he focused back unto his work. He had asked the throne what he could do to help, even if it were small or insignificant. And thus, was how Lord Lorimer had been tasked with carrying out writs of disbarment and warrants of arrest, or rather, helping to write them out. The stack of papers was for a group of bandits that was harrying smallfolk and supply lines in a triangular region between Red Lake, Silverhill, and Goldengrove. Apparently, they were being led by two lesser sons of local nobility, namely a bastard son of House Swyft and the third born son of House Webber. These two had gathered a few dozen down and out hedge knights, along with a few other assorted criminal filth, and had proceeded to pillage and steal small trade caravans and farms. While in of itself was probably not that big of a deal, the longer it went on, the worse it could become. While traditionally those within the King’s Justice employ would do this type of work, they were overwhelmed right now with the amount of warrants and writs being levied upon them.

Lorimer felt a touch upon his shoulder, looking up to see his sister smiling down upon him. She had probably woken up to get herself some water, and stopped to check in on her older brother. “Lorimer, you are working too hard. Go get some rest and lay with your wife. These papers will be here tomorrow, as will any other work. Besides, you need to rest so your leg can heal, less you want to have a stump instead. Now go… or I will go wake Myrielle and sick her on you.” She said with a smile, quickly moving away to near Lorimer’s bed. He rolled his eyes, and sighed, nodding to his sister. “Fine, fine, I will call it a night. I best get some sleep, and I wouldn’t want to have two angry women. You win sister, you win. Now off with you, troublemaker.” Lorimer rose, grabbing hold of a crutch to help him walk to his bed.

Cerenna smiled, wishing her brother goodnight, before moving to blow out the candles in his study, tidying up his desk, before heading back towards her own room. She sat down, taking a sip of her water, before looking at a letter that sat upon her small writing table. She sighed, not sure how to finish writing it. But, there was plenty of time to figure these things out. Instead, she blew out her candle, and crawled back into bed, sleep first, worry later.