MrDidact

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

The Stepstones - Blackguard Bay

(Collab with @AtomicNut)

After several had their say, Aemon turned to Layali and said, "I do not know if you should come. You are brave. But I do not know that it is enough. We go into dangerous waters, and this mission requires discretion and skill in arms both. I'm not sure that one so fair and genial as you, should come with us."

Then he turned to his brother, "Rhaegar. You've proven your valor many times over. What do you wish to do? Shall you come with me? Or can I trust you to manage things for a short while? Viserys and Visenya will come with me. It could be up to you to oversee everyone else until we return."

The answer would normally come out of the fourthbornes mouth as sure as day...although this time, Aemons words brought some worry into the youngest Prince. The past experiences of this campaign, especially the operation in which he rescued Arak Snow-the first time he even commanded men too-, gave him a new perspective on their mission. Should he remain unmoved on his goal of acting as a dedicated shield, or see the larger picture before him. After all, his brother wasn't a babe, this was the Prince of Dragonstone standing before him...

"Aemon, do you really trust me in this endeavor...to oversee over our men?" he asked. Could he really command the same amount of respect just on his own?

Visenya smiled at Rhaegar, and even Viserys nodded at his younger brother with a smirk. Aemon said, "I do trust you Rhaegar. You're as much a dragon as any of us. You proved yourself many times over already, and we need somebody that we can trust to do this right if you do remain here. Should anything go wrong, should anything happen to us, it will be up to you who will take up the mission for our family, our country, and our people. I know you won't let us down, no matter what you choose."

Rhaegar didn't fail to notice the smiles of approval from both Viserys and Visenya, his own lip stretching to a similar one in reply. Just like every human being, the Prince wished to obtain a desire that was bigger than himself, and while it wasn't endless amounts of gold or fertile lands, praise was always something he secretely craved.

"It will certaintly be a daunting task...perhaps even more so than yours. Being a Dragon can do so much for you Aemon..." he replied with a rare use of sarcasm, even amidst the lingering trace of self-doubt. He ignored the comment of something going wrong, as in his mind he could just not fathom the possibility of his eldest brother failing.

Viserys chuckled, "Just make sure the ship doesn't sink before we get back. You realize how much I spent on good silks and velvets for this cutthroat wardrobe?"

Aemon smiled minutely at his youngest brother, "Indeed it can, Rhaegar, more than you know. Very well, until we return you are in charge. If you see a yellow flare fly into the sky, that will be the signal to try and help us. Our.. special guest may come in handy then," Aemon nodded at the hooded figure who had accompanied the band this whole time.

"Red, red means you must go immediately and not look back. And be on the look out for anyone trying to sneak up on you in this darkness."

The Prince stood tall, "Alright, if that's all there is to it, it's time for us to go. A dozen at most, the rest of you will follow Prince Rhaegar. He speaks with my authority." The three elder royals all traded a glance with the Bold Dragon before turning on their heels and descending to a small skiff that would convey them, Captain Seronna, Tamsyn, and the rest of their companions to the beach, along with Tamsyn's Eel carrying the arm supplies.

"As if you do not have enough back at home...not to count all the armor you keep at Summerhall." Rhaegar shot back at Viserys' quip with one of his own. After all, eh had to act to act more like a leader rather than a glorified wardrobe guard. He then listened carefully to Aemons instructions and nodded in agreement as he memorized them. Yellow for Reinforcement, Red to abandon the mission and abandon everyone left behind.

Needless to say the latter was a choice he would rather avoid...

His turned at their hooded ally, but before he could inquire or question further, they were already descending towards a small skiff "May the Warrior give you strength!" he called after them, before reciting a small prayer uder his breath. The Bold Dragon was never a religious sort, mostly missing the sermons in the Great Sept that the rest of the Royal Family was implored by the Most Devout to join, instead spending his time in the sparring yard. Yet it was moments like this that brought a profound need for faith into a man.

"Well, if things are like that...uh. I think Prince Rhaegar would make a better use of me." Seran added, after pondering. They were carrying a lot of good competent swordsmen to the meeting, and his abilities could prove superfluous. Plus he reasoned that in the worst case scenario, it was Rhaegar the one who had attachment to his sister, which made in his eyes, more valuable than the other princes. "Besides, I might be recognized. even with the disguise." He paused as he walked towards Prince Rhaegar, and performed a corteous bow.

Aemon nodded, "As you will. We shall proceed now at any rate."

------
(Collab with @Greenie)

Later, the skiff began to approach the beach. They had edged onto the outskirts of the pirate armada, and most of them had been too drunk or otherwise preoccupied to even notice them as they slipped in among the other skiffs heading onto the beach. The Eel was small enough to beach itself on the sand as well, among the scores of fires that had gone up in the night. There were hundreds of pirates. Thousands even. And Aemon knew that even if they flew a yellow flare, even with their hooded ally, there would be little chance of escape if this all went to hell. Which meant getting this deception done without a hitch, was the best move forward.

Aemon allowed Seronna to talk and grease palms, preferring to remain quiet. There were a few score of their number who had landed, mostly Seronna's own Maiden's Men. They made blending in much easier, and Viserys did an admirable job of appearing like a Lysene lout. Aemon kept at Seronna's side, well within dagger reach. Should the lady pirate betray them, she would be the first to die, and she knew it. But she did her job and kept up the facade.

One band of armed and armored cutthroats approached them, led by a man with a bright gold bandana and skin dark as pitch. His accent placed him from the Basilisk Isles, "Seronna, you're late."

The blonde captain bowed her head, "Fashionably, Bill. Fashionably."

"What the hell is this? You were supposed to bring the weapons, not the damn ship too."

She shrugged, "Change of plans. The royalists cracked down. Took Goldbeard, killed the Grey Septon in the cove. Captain Draxos and I had the get out of there, and the smuggler decided to tag along instead of getting thrown into a dungeon. Figured she might come in useful anyway."

Bill, apparently, looked Aemon up and down, "Draxos eh? You're younger than I'd think you'd be."

Aemon grinned, speaking with a Lysene lilt, "Didn't stop your mum."

It was dead silent for several moments, all the chatter dying as the pirates turned to look at them. Bill glared at Aemon. Then he laughed, and everyone else followed.

Bill jerked his head, "Come on then, it's starting."

Seronna nodded, "Lead the way. We're the last to arrive I suppose. Quite a gathering."

Bill turned and lead them deeper into the forest away from the beachside festivities, "You're damn right. We have ships from all over the islands, all the captains together. We hired sellsails from the Three Daughters, Braavos, Pentos, Volantis, Lorath. The Basilisk Isles. The Bay of Dragons. Even some pirates and cutthroats, from the mainland. The Black Kracken has some of his armada parked on the other side. Three hundred ships, easily. Closer to four. More than enough to sink Aurane's castle back into the sea."

Aemon nodded, "Impressive." Inwardly he cursed. Three Hundred. Enough to match both the ships his father sent and the ships Aurane and Salladhor Saan could rely on, as frustratingly placid as most of the local lords had been. And the rumors were right. The Black Kracken was with the Scorpions. He was one of the most dangerous pirates on the fourteen seas. And he was here.

Aemon had never met the man, but even he knew enough to be nervous. He was the Crow's Eye's son. He had inherited his father's ship, and some said his cruelty and his curiosity for black magic. He had gone into exile in the Far East to build up his forces to challenge his cousin, Asha for the rulership of the Iron Islands, and now apparently, he was here in the Stepstones to help the Scorpions. It made sense.

With the Iron Throne focused on the islands, it would allow him to go to the west while the royal fleets struggled to restore control over the province. This whole mission just got intensely more complicated.

But all the reaction Aemon showed was an appreciative nod, "Good. That Ironborn bastard can help us with the royalists."

Bill laughed, "That's the idea Draxos, that's the idea."

Eventually they reached a clearing near a river that fed into the sea, the moon clear above. There were dozens of pirates there already. Several pirate captains, corsairs, and sellsails that Aemon knew by reputation if not by sight.

He saw the Black Kraken. He was dressed in dark leather, his armored breastplate emblazoned with a black kraken with a red eye, a great axe in one arm and a valyrian steel dagger at his belt. His hair was dirty blonde, and his eyes were as blue as the ocean. He was young, not much older than Aemon, and would have been comely. But the scars and the cruel set of his features spoiled the effect. Out of everyone there, he had one of the largest retinues, all of them hardened killers by the look of them, most of them from the Iron Islands.

The one with the largest retinue was the Scorpion King. He was shorter than Aemon would have guessed, and slimmer of frame, but even so he had two sabers at his belt and covered his face with a dark red cloth that color of blood. A black scorpion marked his breastplate. He was surrounded by pirates of every description and upon his head was a golden coronet set with a grinning skull. In the low light, it was hard to tell, but Aemon thought he saw a flash of dark blue eyes. It seemed, even here, the Scorpion King wanted to hide his identity.

Bill said, "Captain Seronna and Captain Draxos. Goldbeard and the Grey Septon were taken out."

A ginger of about fifty with a long bushy beard, standing next to the Scorpion King stepped forward and said, "Troubling news. But we welcome the Maiden's Men and the Silver Serpents to our company. Our King would like to thank both of you for your help in breaking Aurane. And he would also extend his regard to the famous Captain Draxos." The Scorpion King nodded at Aemon and he nodded back, "Good to be among like-minded company. Now, we getting to business?" The man was likely Redbeard, a famous Stepstoner and said to be the Scorpion's right hand.

Suddenly, Aemon noticed a surge in the water and someone threw themselves out of the river, to rest on the rock. Aemon gaped for a moment before recovering. She was beautiful. With full womanly curves, soft skin, long glistening hair, and bright big eyes. She was as naked as her nameday. And her hair was black as the night, with streaks of blonde from the salt of the sea. Her eyes were nearly white, shining in the moonlight, and her skin was a greenish blue, the hue of the ocean. She had gills, and Aemon could see that her naked feet were webbed, as well as her hands. And that the lower half of her legs were scaled in the colors of the rainbow, the moonlight reflecting in dazzling patterns. He thought that he saw a flash of a fin or tail when he saw her perch on the rock, but when the water settled, he saw only legs.

A mermaid. A real life mermaid. Aemon knew that the monsters of the deep were real, ever since the attack on the Red Keep. But a mermaid? He didn't expect that. The being of legend looked at him and smiled. He could only stare back. Almost everyone stared, including Captain Dagon Pyke, who looked at her with a leer in his bright blue eyes that Aemon misliked.

Redbeard stepped up and said, "Alright, alright, all of you stop gawking. Welcome, Princess. Our regards to your father. Now that you're here we can begin."

Aemon's mind worked. Princess. Merling royalty? Did that mean that the stories of a Merling King were true? And that this Merling King was allied with the Scorpions? It explained how the castle had been attacked by creatures of the deep. The Scorpions had the forces of the sea, seemingly at their disposal. This already daunting mission just became more dangerous.

How could they counter such a force with their own ships?

And Aemon had a horrifying thought. If the sea creatures were working with the Stepstoners. That meant that there was another party in play. Shadowbinders.

His eyes darted around but he didn't see any sign of sorcerers, especially the female warlock who had attacked him at the Red Keep. He may have looked much different with his haircut, his clothes, and several weeks worth of beard. But he didn't want to risk that she recognized him. It would have blown this whole operation and gotten them killed. And yet the fact she wasn't there, made him even more nervous. Why wasn't she here?

Seronna noticed his ill ease, but did not show any visual acknowledgement, "Yeah, yeah. Pretty girl. But can we move on with the plan? I have a need for a drink." There was a murmur of agreement from those around them.

Redbeard grinned, "Alright then, listen in. We'll tell you how we're going to destroy the Velaryon fleet, and rid the islands of the royalist scum for good and all."

So far, joining Aemon's group was proving to be full of shocks for Taria, even more so than any of her previous 'adventures' since the night of the Prince's wedding. Still, the latest two were enough to send her mind riling.

The Black Kraken... this was indeed an epithet she was familiar with. The rogue Greyjoy and his men had been the whole reason she left the Iron Islands in the first place; she had been a coward and hardly wished to meet her dreaded relative in combat. It seemed fate had always meant for their paths to cross. She had expected the Scorpion King to look as he did, intimidating to the eyes, enough to make ones knees shake. It still didn't quite effect her as much as the Black Kraken; he looked more terrifying than she had imagined, and it was hard to keep the expression on her face calm and collected.

As if that hadn't been enough, there was the mermaid. Even Taria couldn't keep herself from gaping at her like the others. Yes, she was beautiful, but it wasn't the quite that. It was more the otherworldiness she represented. She believed in the Drowning God so a mermaid shouldn't have seemed like such a farfetched idea, but the fact was that she'd never believed in those tales.

She looked to her companions for a fleeting moment before returning her gaze to Redbeard. Her mind was rather overwhelmed, however. Why were the Merlings allied with the Scorpion King? And more importantly, how could they possibly with this fight when their enemy literally surrounded them from all sides?

Redbeard laid out the general overview of the plan for the gathered pirates, killers, and mercenaries. They would apportion an armada to strike in a feint to draw the attention of the royal fleet. One of their captains would lead an assault on Bloodstone, at the major port of Red Harbor, ostensibly to retake control of the island from the royalists. He also revealed that the true portion of their strength, including the Black Kracken and the merling forces, would then strike at Torturer's Deep in a lightning attack while the main royal armada was engaged in a false attack. They would take Aurane's castle and take Lord Velaryon and as many others hostage, then use them as leverage to force the exit of all royal forces from the Stepstones. The diversionary fleet would all depart in single ships or small groups and rendevouz close to the Harbor. The attack fleet would do the same, so as to not be detected.

It was simple, effective, and Aemon had the sneaking suspicion there was something more. But he could hardly voice his suspicions without drawing attention to himself, and for now, this was actionable intelligence. Aemon listened to the plan in silence, then said, "Just tell me where to go, and we'll do it."

Redbeard smiled and traded glances with the Scorpion King, "We want you in our diversionary attack. It may not be the big one, but it will still be dangerous and we need someone with a good head on his shoulders to be there. Captain Seronna though, she'll be with us in the main strike."

Aemon grunted, "So be it, I'll do as the King says, long as I get paid."

The Scorpion King's aide laughed, "Oh aye, you'll have plenty of coin from plunder too, I'm sure."

It continued on like that for several moments with back and forth between the various pirates, Aemon nodding at Seronna who nodded back. She knew what to do. She would take her Maiden's Men, and several royalists including Visenya, with her as part of the main fleet. Aemon and the Silver Serpent would warn the crown and help stop the attack.

Dagon Pyke spoke up, "When do we move then? My men and I came to fight, not talk. And enjoy the local color of course." Dagon smirked at the Merling once more, who met his eyes with a look Aemon couldn't decipher.

Redbeard said, "We can start leaving now, we need to move quickly, before the Throne has too much of a hold on the islands. You all know your parts, let's get these royal bastards out of here."

There was a chorus of cheers at that, Aemon nodding in affirmation, then the meeting began to break up, pirates leaving to either join the festivities or prepare to leave. The Prince caught once last glimpse of the Merling Princess as the Scorpion King went to her with his retinue behind him. The Princess smiled dazzilingly and they seemed to begin to speak.

Aemon looked away and he went to approach Seronna in a cluster with all of their crews. Aemon leaned in to Seronna and whispered under the babble of general ruckus, "Visenya and some of my men will accompany you. We'll break away from this diversion when we can and join you when the party starts. Good luck Captain."

Seronna grinned, then leaned in and kissed Aemon full on the lips. Aemon was too surprised to do much more than widen his eyes. After a moment, Seronna pulled back and laughed, "A far better parting gift don't you think?"

Aemon arched his eyebrow, "I definitely won't forget."

"Then I haven't lost my touch. Good luck, Captain."

She turned to leave, her men following her. Aemon walked over to Visenya and said, "Keep an eye on her, stay alert. Don't take any unecessary risks. Keep our people safe. And we'll meet again soon. Godspeed cousin."

Viserys swaggered up, "Indeed. Without you, the repartee would decline rapidly."

Visenya nodded, smirking, "Don't worry about me cousins. You still me owe me twenty gold. You can bet I'll be coming back for that." Viserys smiled at Visenya and the three of them stood there in a circle, silent for a moment.

Aemon said, "We will all meet again. I know it."

Visenya embraced Aemon, then Viserys. The rest of the company made their goodbyes and they all left. Visenya looked back one last time and then there were gone, with the Maiden's Men.

Aemon watcbed her leave and then he motioned to Viserys and the men following them, heading back to the beach, and then on to the Silver Serpent. The night was dark, the future uncertain, but they had a job to do.

----------------
The Golden Tooth

Lord Lorimer awoke where had fallen asleep, in the lord's seat of the Golden Tooth's great hall. And he wasn't alone. Men in white and red livery stood all along the walls, two of them right behind Lorimer with longswords at their hips. His sister, his wife, all of his men were gone. Ser Leon stood at the far end of the table, his face grim, his eyes seeming somewhat regretful. Next to him, in the chair directly across from Lorimer sat another man.

He was older than Leon, at least in his third decade, and looked much like him. Golden hair that was cropped short, a square cut golden beard that was kept nearly trimmed. And light brown eyes with flecks of amber. The man's face was unscarred, and he was even comelier than Leon, with a lord's bearing and countenance. The nobleman was bedecked in a set of white plate armor with red enamel, with red lions as pauldrons, and golden insets shaped into claws along the collar.

The man spoke in a refined baritone, "I apologize for the intrusion, my Lord Lefford. Rest assured, your family, your soldiers, and your servants are all unharmed. I simply wished to have a chance to speak to you alone. I had hoped for our first meeting to go more smoothly, but my plans have been accelarated."

He smiled, "I see you have treated my brother well. I thank you for that. The roads are not as hospitable as they once were."

A servant, one of Lorimer's own, came and poured wine for both of them. The man picked up his glass and said, "Don't worry. It's perfectly harmless. I thought there was no point in wasting fine food and drink, when you already went to the trouble of setting it out."

"We do have occasion to celebrate after all. House Lorimer has returned to the Golden Tooth. And House Reyne has returned to Castamere."

The man stared into Lorimer's eyes, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Roger Reyne, Lord of Castamere. And I'm here to talk."

"I believe we can come to an arrangement."

---------------
The Vulture's Roost

Andrew Tarth gritted his teeth, rising from the ground as the battle came to a close all around him. The royalists had flooded into the fort and the Vultures were all dead, dying, or surrendered. Ser Uther's mad charge had saved his life, killed the beast, and left almost no resistance in the enemy camp. Andrew watched as the alchemist knight Hallyne rose, coughing and clutching his throat.

Ser Tarth came and helped the young man up and they both hobbled over to the battlements, looking over into the chasm where Ser Uther had fallen. They watched as the dragon banner flew over the Vulture's Roost and stood as the men cheered and raised their weapons to their air. The two warriors had no cheer in them and Hallyne looked down into the chasm, "He's gone. Nobody could have survived that."

Andrew was silent, then said, "There is always a chance. Tend to the wounded. Gather the prisoners. Send a raven to Gendry. Tell them we took the Vulture's Roost. And organize a search party immediately. We're bringing Ser Uther home, one way or another."

Across the Great Sea - A Witcher RP (OPEN / STILL IN INTRO STAGE)

(Collab with @BlackSam3091)

Fridolf declared that he would lead the way towards the Jolly Lion, and so the two riders got lost three seperate times on the way to the inn. He tried to convince Kieran that the detours were intentional, to help familiarise themselves with the new city, but he didn't think the young witcher bought it.

Still, the sun was still high in the sky when he eventually stumbled upon the Central market, and it wasn't long after that they located the Jolly Lion inn, a large, multi-storied building of wood and stone construction. It looked like the kind of place that had been standing for as long as anyone alive could remember, and the gentle babble of early hour merrymaking (one of Fridolf's favourite kinds of merrymaking) emanating from the inn was a good sign that the place was a favourite with locals and visitors alike. As they got closer the smell of delicious roasting meats wafted out to greet them, Fridolf's belly growling in aching want.

"Praise be, they've got dinner cooking! My stomach was starting to think that my throats been cut." He said aloud, only part-joking. The anticipation of enjoying a meal that he didn't first have to pick from a bush was mouth-wateringly tantalizing. He half-slid and half-fell from the saddle in his usually graceless manner, narrowly dodging a bad-temperd nip from Flo in the process. The sergeant had told them that there was a livery at the back of the Jolly Lion that they could stable the horses in while staying in the city. Flo would be quite comfortable there for the night, but Fridolf felt he had suffered enough dealing with that bitch horse for one day. Kieran liked horses so much, let him deal with her.

"See to Flo, will you? I'll go in and get us settled." He tossed the reigns to the witcher and hurried inside before Kieran could voice an argument.

Kieran catched the reigns and opened his mouth to speak but the con artist had already gone. He chuckled and slid down from Storm, reaching over to stroke Flo calmly and retracting his hand before she could nip him as well. Kieran quickly looked around to see that nobody was watching and in the grey murk of the temporary respite from the storm, nobody was. He formed the Axii sign and Flo calmed instantly.

He felt a bit bad about doing so, but she wouldn't suffer any side effects, and it would stop her from kicking some stableboy in the chest before she got settled in. The Witcher walked them both to the stable and paid the head groom for their feed, lodging, and care. The stableboy who came to attend the two horses got a generous tip, and the boy smiled, producing apples for both of the mounts before setting to work cleaning the gunk of travel off of them.

Kieran stroked Storm's mane and his friend nuzzled him affectionately before the Witcher took his leave. It was refreshing to walk around and talk to people and have them think he was just like anyone else. In most cases, had his eyes been visible, the grooms would not have been no so friendly if they had even taken his coin at all.

The young man whistled an old witcher's tune, a jaunty and cheerful song, as he made his way to the inn proper, he stepped inside and basked for a moment in the warmth, taking in the scent of good food and drink. It was a friendly, clean, homey kind of place and the atmosphere immediately lifted Kieran's spirits. He looked around for his friend to see what he was up to.

Fridolf had a claimed a table near the fireplace, where a merry blaze was crackling away. The grifter waved the witcher over, thrusting a tankard of ale into his companions hand.

"Drink up pal, this round is on the good guardsmen of Telchar!" So saying he emptied his own ale in two,steady gulps. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and called to a nearby barmaid, a buxom blonde wench of maybe twenty-one summers, for a second. "Ahhh, that hits the spot. Gods, it's good to be back in the lap of civilisation again, isn't it? Make yourself comfy mate, we got eats coming up, and the keepers getting us a room organised upstairs. We're sharing, unfortunatly, but beggars can't be choosers. You'll just have to put up with my snoring for couple more nights, but it's not like -"

He looked like he might have kept on yapping, but was interrupted by the re-appearance of the serving girl who dropped two more tankards in front of the travellers, followed by two steaming bowls of beef stew, and a large loaf of crusty black bread. Fridolf smiled his thanks at the waitress, breathed deep of the delicious aromas wafting from his bowl, then got stuck in. The food was divine, though he barely took the time to taste it, so hungry that it was probably more accurate to say that he inhaled the meal. He was just mopping up the dregs of gravy at the bottom of his bowl when the waitress returned to let him know that his bath was ready.

"If you'd like to follow me, I'll take you to your room before the water gets cold." She stepped away from the table and waited for Fridolf to excuse himself.

"Righto Kieran, don't wait up" He pushed himself up from the table and leant into his companion, whispering into the witcher's ear so that the maid couldn't hear. "Have a few drinks and make yourself scarce, yeah? It's been a while since I tamed the stange, and I'm gonna chance my hand here. Don't need you stumbling in and interrupting me. I'll come get you when I'm finished." He slipped a couple of coins into Kieran's hand, enough to buy him a few more ales, and made to follow the maid upstairs. As he dissapeared up the stairway he could be hear entreating upon her to help him scrub his back.

"Have fun."

Kieran could only chuckle to himself, shaking his head in mirth as he watched Fridolf walk off with the woman. He had barely drunk from his first tankard or taken a few spoonfuls of the savory stew before Fridolf had already been scampering upstairs and into the serving maid's skirt. He didn't mind in the slightest. His friend needed it. And Kieran didn't need much sleep either. If he took too long, he could just sleep in the barn next to Storm. It wouldn't have been the first time. But, Kieran himself had never been with a woman. Aye he had kissed a few farmer's daughters or serving girls. But he had never shared a woman's bed, or loved one.

Kieran mused on that a while as he chewed his bread and stew and sipped his ale. He would never have a child of his own, that was for certain. And any woman he did love, he would most likely have to watch grow old and die while he lingered on. If he wasn't killed by a monster first, of course. He wasn't even sure if he was capable of love, with the way mutations had dampened his emotions.

The good mood he had been in from the food, warmth, and drink started to sour. But he couldn't exactly head to bed at the moment. Kieran gritted his teeth in annoyance. He was a witcher. He wasn't supposed to worry about things like love. He was supposed to save lives. And if he didn't go after that missing girl in the morning, she would never have the chance to have children either. Kieran took his time with the rest of the food, and called for more ale.

He may not be able to have children. But he could get drunk.

"I'll have another round."

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

@Abefroeman Completely understandable Abe, I've also been a bit busy. Hope to have the next GM post within the next few days.

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

The Dragon and the Kraken

(With @Ezekiel)

Iron Isles Collab

For the first time in generations, a Targaryen would set foot on the Iron Islands. And the Ironborn were ready. Longships were gathered around the shores of Pyke, the most ever seen in one place since the days of the Iron Kings. Hundreds of ships, flying practically every sigil and device of the Grey King's numerous descendants. Harlaw, Stonehouse, Merlyn, Sunderly, Botley, Goodbrother, Wynch, Tawney. Even the Farwynds and Codds. And of course, the Greyjoys. The thousands of men gathered could be seen on the decks of their longships and on the stony beaches, hundreds of campfires trailing smoke into the cloudy, grey sky.

They were a loud, buzzing mass of cutthroats and reavers. They drank, they ate, they played cards, and dice, performed the finger dance or wrestled and scrapped to the roars of their comrades. They were undisciplined, aggressive, brutal, rapacious, crude, and often cruel and sadistic. But they were good at killing and burning. Something which Queen Rhaenyra would like as not, find useful in the near future.

And so Dalton Greyjoy, the Red Kraken, Lord of the Iron Islands, Lord Reaper of Pyke, waited for the royals. The longhall of Pyke was crowded with his bannermen, drinking and laughing as he sat on the Seastone Chair of his ancestors, the sword Nightfall resting in it's sheath against his seat. A tankard of mead was in one hand, a knife that he idly flicked in another. He drank and smirked at the sight of his men having their fun. Their blood was up, reaching a boiling point. Sooner or later, they'd need to unleash it. Black or Green, there would be blood. It was just a question of whose they would spill and for what.

He pondered burning the Lannister's Gold Fleet, sacking Lannisport, the Arbor, and Oldtown. Putting market villages to the torch and bringing back gold and thralls to Pyke as maids shouted his name. A fine vision.

Suddenly, the doors to the longhall opened and a reaver came in, shouting, "Lord Greyjoy! Dragons! Two of them! Coming in from the East!"

Dalton smiled widely, "Ah. The royal family. Better make them welcome. Make sure the archers and scorpions are at the ready. Just to let them know we mean business."

The Red Kraken stood, shoving away the thrall girl who had been sucking him off and pulling his breeches closed, she stood to leave and he said, "Stay right there, I might need you again soon. The boys definitely will. Have at her boys." Some of the feasting men laughed and took her immediately, carrying her off to the tables.

Dalton stood and belted Nightfall, walking outside whistling an old Ironborn shanty as he spread his arms and another thrall draped him in his leather coat. His personal guard fell in line, the best killers in the Iron Islands, men with bloody krakens on their armor. Dalton pushed open the doors and walked out, inhaling the salty air with a sigh and stepping up to the battlements. Archers and scorpions stood at the ready, scores of men. They stared at the dragons in awe and fright, while Dalton held his hands on his hips and waited for the dragons to come.

Arrax and Moondancer raced towards the Iron isles with all the grace of apex predators, diving between thermals and clouds in the practiced dance of flight. Arrax was larger, each beat of its wings carrying it further, but Moondancer had an elegant speed of flight that was not matched by any living dragon, despite her small size.

The very sight of the two dragons might have suggested something of dire importance was driving them forwards, in the grand scheme of things that was indeed the case, but this sudden burst of speed was something far more innocent.

"Last one there stinks worse than a Wildling" Baela had shouted, over the storm, bringing Moondancer 'just' close enough to Arrax for Lucerys to hear, before darting away. The sudden challenge had snaped Luke out of his pensive thoughts, worrying about the realm, his mother, and more pressingly, his own role in securing the Iron Islands, he had laughed, before spurring Arrax to race after the smaller dragon.

Thus, when the two dragons came within sight of the massed Iron Born, they did so at the peak of their primal ability, not for any show of force, some display of majesty, but a game, devised by two adolsecents born into the world's most powerful dynsasty. They swooped in the air, well above even the greatest range of the Scorpions below, circling the Ironborn, both dragons bellowing roars, Moondancer's higher and quieter, but no less draconic. Then, they swooped low, twin dragons, over the ships and beach, low enough to ruffle sails and banners, mildly displacing some of the smaller boats as they turned about, eventually deftly landing high on the beach, a spot with enough space to land without crushing any of the hard-bitten warriors they hoped to win over.

Both Baela and Luke were laughing as they dismounted. Much as Daemon rode the Red Wyrm boldy, Baela was barely strapped on more so than a horse's saddle, swinging off Moondance swiftly. Luke was only a moment behind, his more traditonal harness coming with a few more buckles to hold him in place.

"Fear not, good-sister, Moondancer will soon be the faster, a close one." Luke chuckled, even as the Ironborn surrounded them.

"Second is only the first loser, my Prince, the victory is yours." Baela bowed, somewhat mockingly, towards the young Prince, before straightening up to face the oncoming raiders. "So, which of you is Dalton Greyjoy?" Her tone was whimsical, she looked at them, this murdering horde of rapers and warriors, as if they were nothing more than a King's Landing crowd. In Baela the world saw the beginnings of a female Daemon, something that only made Luke smile as he strode to stand beside her.

Most of the Ironborn, hardened warriors and reavers as they were, still shrank away for the most part as the dragons landed on the shores of Pyke. They didn't shiver in fright, but neither did they move forward or let their hands stray far from their weapons. Perhaps one in a thousand of them had ever glimpsed a dragon before, and even that one man had a firm grip on his sword hilt. Every boy in the Iron Islands grew up hearing the tale of the fall of Harren the Black and his whole house, at the hands of dragonfire. None were eager to see such a fate befall them. And so all kept their distance as they surrounded the two royals.

All save the Red Kraken. Instead he came forward with a wide grin, sauntering toward the pair of dragonriders with confidence. Dalton was only a few years older than the two royal youths, but was tall, with a lean, hardened build. His black hair was cut short, showing them both a scar that traced vertically over one of his dark blue eyes. Dalton was handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, but his eyes gave a hint of the wildness that was within him. Even still, with his valyrian steel sword, dark leather coat, and retinue of killers, he cut a striking figure.

He stood before the two and said, "That would be I, princess. I hadn't any idea that one of Rhaenyra's envoys would be so beautiful. You must be the Rogue Prince's daughter, Princess Baela." He bowed his head to her and took her hand in one of his black leather gloved hands, giving her a chivalrous kiss on the hand before withdrawing.

Dalton gave Prince Lucerys a once over and cracked a smile, looking over his shoulder to his brother Veron and the other Ironborn, "This one doesn't look very Strong does he?" There was a wave of chuckles and sneers.

Lord Greyjoy kept smiling, "Look at this men, Rhaenyra sends us two dragon riders! Two envoys for a Greyjoy, when most only get one! They must think we're important!" The Ironborn roared their approval in a rowdy cheer, their courage rising back with their lord's bravado.

Dalton turned back to them, as the cheer died down, sweeping his hand over the sea, "Well, you sent two riders to this meeting. I gathered every longship I could get my hands on. You must have seen the masts from miles away. They could be an island unto themselves. The Iron Fleet. The largest, deadliest Ironborn armada in generations. Under my command."

His smile turned whimsical, "I assume it's what you came for yes? Unless you brought the fair Princess here to propose a marriage. In which case, I have a few salt wives already. But maybe it's time, I had a rock wife, and someone made an honest man out of me." The Ironborn laughed again, Dalton's lust being almost as legendary as his skill at killing.

There was the barest noise of steel being drawn as Dalton Greyjoy turned around, the young Lord of the Iron isles met, almost to his face, the point of Baela Targaryen's blade. It was an elegant weapon, but with a savage curve. It would look pretty on a wall, but would leave a horrible mess of anyone who had the misfortune of it being buried within them.

"The last man who mocked the Prince so, lost an eye, how will you pay my lord?" The Princess had something of a smirk on her lips, even as the throng of Ironborn reacted to her motion, several moments behind. The clatter of weapons as they were readied, shouts of alarm and much fouler things. Despite her jovial expression, Baela's eyes were fierce, and 'just' mad enough to maybe even consider it.

Every Ironborn within range had drawn steel or strung their bows, Dalton's honor guard tensed to spring into action. The snarls of the dragons stopped all the other reavers from advancing beyond a few steps. Except for the Red Kraken. He stepped forward, letting the point of Baela's blade poke his cheek as he smiled widely, showing his surprisingly white teeth. Dalton spread his arms, holding his hands open.

"Beautiful steel. Elegant. Exotic. Swift. And deadly. Just like its owner." Dalton stared right into Baela's eyes and didn't even try to obscure the lust and desire that danced in them. As well as other, darker drives and visions. Dalton's hands curled into fists. His voice was low, both subtly menacing and even vaguely wistful, "I see the fire that burned Harren black and brought our people to their knees in you, Princess. If you had been born Ironborn, during the age of the Reaver, you would have been a Queen."

He pressed even closer, letting the blade prick his skin and blood began to trickle down the side of his face as his smile turned mischevious "I give any piece of me you desire, Princess. Voluntarily and with all vigor. Though I have a particular piece in mind, and would prefer to do so in a more private setting. Otherwise, I'm afraid we might all die here. And wouldn't that put a damper on negotiations?"

"Enough, Baela, let the man keep his appendages." When Luke spoke it was with the voice of one well beyond his brief years. All three of Rhaenyra's Velaryon sons were well built and mature for their age, but a life as princes in chaotic times had only pushed them further. Baela watched Dalton for a moment longer, before the blade withdrew, flipped in her hand, before returning to her belt, hopping a step back. It was not quite enough to calm the surrounding Ironborn, but it prevented them from immediately rushing her. That, and two dragons.

Dalton laughed and waved to his men, motioning them to lower their weapons, "Keep the offer in mind Princess. Our children would conquer the world."

"My children will, have no doubt." Baela retorted with a grin as she strode away from the Greyjoy. It was playful enough to not be a rebuke, but hardly confirmation of the dark things she had seen in his eyes.

"Yes, we want your fleet and your warriors. We want them turned on the traitors, and on those who sit and do nothing." Lucerys spoke plainly, the Ironborn were not akin to the lords that the rest of his family, on both sides of the conflict, were treating with. Spinning praise and such would only hinder them. "There are titles we can offer, but I am sure they mean little and less. Instead, Queen Rhaenyra would simply restore your old rights, to plunder and ravage. The Iron Fleet can take what it wishes from those who would deny their rightful Queen. How that is achieved, would be left to yourself, your captains, whoever, so long as it is done." While it pained Luke to sign away the lives and freedoms of those who simply had the misfortune to have lived under the rule of traitors, the Iron Fleet was too great an advantage to not press. He did not allow his misgivings to rise to the surface, instead presenting the image of a young prince, cold as iron.

"Assuming you are up to that challenge."

The Red Kraken smirked, "Perhaps there is some fire in you as well Prince. You are your Mother's son, at least."

He crossed his arms, the mirth leaving, and said, "Up to the challenge? I am a Greyjoy of Pyke. My ancestors have been reaving, burning, and raping for thousands of years. Iron, salt, and the blood of the Grey King runs in my veins. I killed my first man while you were playing with wooden swords and eating lemoncakes with tea. I've fought in twice as many battles as years you've been alive. Claimed twice as many women."

Dalton pulled Nightfall from its' sheath, leveling the sword at the Prince's chest, ignoring Baela and the dragons, "This is Nightfall. Valyrian steel. I claimed her when I was your age. But not the way you greenlanders do, with your birth rites and blood claims. I didn't get this sword because I had any right to it. I paid the Iron Price for her, Prince. Because for me the Old Way was never the old way, it's the only way. Everything I have, I won by blood and death. Like your ancestors. Except, I don't need a dragon to do it."

He stabbed Nightfall down into the sand, walked up to Lucerys and glared down at him, "Don't question me again about reaving and I won't question your parentage, Prince. Because I won't need Nightfall to put you in the ground, warrior princess and dragons be damned."

The beach had fallen into total silence, the Ironborn reaching their hands to their weapons. Seeing the Prince's lack of reaction, Dalton laughed long and loud, until his men began to join in. This continued for a few moments until Dalton smiled and said, "I think you and I will get along just fine, Prince."

He stepped back, smiling at Baela and pulled Nightfall from the ground, sheathing the sword, "Your offer is certainly interesting. I've always wanted to sit on Lord Jason's seat, drink his wine, and piss on his wife. But I'm sure you know that I've gotten an offer from your uncle as well."

Dalton produced the letter the council had sent, "He'd give me a seat on the Small Council. Make a Greyjoy, master of ships. And he'd give me leave to plunder and pillage Driftmark. I could take your grandfather's gold. His ships. His treasures. His women." He smirked at Baela once more.

"He's even richer than the Lannisters and the Hightowers, uppity cunts." He spat on the ground at the mention of them.

"With the Sea Snake's fleet and riches, I can grow the Iron Fleet even bigger. As a councillor, I can do great things for the Ironborn. We can write our names in blood and iron across the fourteen seas. And all with royal warrant. I could sack the Throne's enemies. Like the Stepstones. Be the first Ironborn to raid the Sunspear and the Three Whores." It was a glorious thought, to immortalize himself by taking riches and spoils from the Martell Palace or the cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. The Red Kraken, was evidentally, unaware of Aegon's entreaties to both of those nations.

Dalton cocked his head curiously, spreading his arms open in a questioning gesture, "I like you Prince, Princess. But give me one good reason why I should choose black over green, and fight Rhaenyra's enemies for her. Raiding is raiding after all. And one dragon seems much like the other to my mind. Either way, I get what I want. Why should I declare for your mother?"

In truth, Dalton was loathe to put in with the Lannisters and their Reachman compatriots. Any ambivalence he had for the Targaryens was more than outweighed by his scorn for the Lords of Casterly Rock and Oldtown. He was even more distasteful of managing Aegon's ships for him. And he had a certain respect for the Sea Snake. There was a sailor. There was a man who earned his power and riches. But damned if he'd roll over immediately for some princeling, even if he wanted to bed said princeling's cousin. Might as well see how much he could get out of the Prince. And it'd be useful to get the measure of him further.

The Prince had remained stoic throughout the Greyjoy's intial outburst, while Baela paced back and forth, some distance from the two young men. It was true that Dalton had fought more battles, certainly had more women, then the Prince, but Luke was not shy of him in size, the difference small enough to make keeping his cool easy enough. If he could land in the middle of the Iron Host, he could take any amount of raving from its lord.

"You can accept my uncle's offer, if that is your wish." Luke's eyes remained fixed on Dalton's as he spoke, his tone as unwavering as the Prince himself. "Take his titles, sit on his council, sip from his cup, write his letters and try your hand at besting the Sea Snake." He paused after speaking, his hand resting on his sword belt, but not straying near to the blade itself. "Would you have paid the Iron prince for those?"

Dalton met Lucerys' gaze and he smirked at the Prince, faint approval in his eyes, "No, and that's one of the reasons I won't take your uncle's offer. The others being the fact that I will be damned if Aegon expects me to build and maintain his fleets, while I lick his boot. And that I have wanted to knock the Lannisters and Hightowers down a peg all my life, and now I have a chance to do so. So no, I will not be declaring for the Greens. Not with their current offer."

He straightened, "But that still doesn't mean I should declare for the Blacks. I could just as well take this chance to raid every shore I see fit while you royals squabble over your iron chair. If you want me to pass up the chance to win the Sea Snake's loot, and that of all of your various present and future allies, we'll need to discuss terms."

The Red Kraken jerked his head to his squire and the lad scampered off to return with bread and salt. Dalton eyed both of the royals, taking the coarse bread and dabbing it in the saltwater that was the traditional substitute for plain salt that adherents of the Drowned God used. Not overly common anymore, but today was a day to proudly display their culture. Dalton took the sodden bread and popped it in his mouth, not reacting at all to the taste as the squire held the plate to the two Targaryens. Dalton cocked a brow, "Shall we?"

Both Prince and Princess partook in the somewhat odd tradition, quickly swallowing bites of the stodgy mix of salt water and bread. Luke was expresionless, while Baela raised something of a curious eyebrow at the tradition.

"You can see why this isn't a tradition elsewhere." The Princess mused, although offered no other complaint, verbal or physical, to the damp bread. She waved a hand at the vast crowd of Ironborn, before offering a somewhat chirpy; "Does this make us all friends now?"

The Red Kraken smirked, "Because you greenlanders aren't of the sea. We are," then he chuckled, "I wouldn't say no to your friendship, Princess Baela."

Despite the distraction of his cousin, Luke continued only in response to Dalton; "You can refrain from declaring to either side, if you wish, and enjoy several weeks, months, maybe even years of raiding across the lands and seas of Westeros, maybe further. I am sure you will be a very rich, succesful man, iron price or not. One side will win, however, whoever that is, will still have dragons, and your ships are still made of wood, and none of your keeps are so grand as Harranhall." As before, the Prince was calm as he spoke, allowing no taint of emotion to his words, despite the matters he described.

"Side with us, not because we offer you baubels, or because we will allow you to raid. Side with us because afterwards, we will allow you to live."

Dalton kept smirking at Lucerys, turning to his men, "Allowing us to live? Hear that boys? The Prince is very generous." There were chuckles, catcalls, jeers, and sneers aplenty. He faced the prince again, with a friendly smile, "You may not have the look but you are a true Targaryen. Fire in your blood for sure. I wonder what would happen if we chained you down and waited for the waves to take you." More laughs.

He leaned in and whispered, still smiling, "You're lucky you're a guest. Because you'll be the first to survive threatening me. But don't push your luck, Prince." On some level he approved of the Prince's attitude, it was the most fun he had speaking with a greenlander in some time.

Dalton straightened, "I am surprised by this attitude. By all counts, the Sea Snake is an honorable man." He chuckled at that, "I wonder what he thinks of you wanting me to attack neutral houses. Or does he not know? Or maybe you want the threat of Ironborn attack to get some families to make a decison, is that it?" Not that Dalton truly cared. These southorn political games bored him. He was curious how the young Prince truly felt however. Was he as ruthless as he played at? Or was there a gentler soul within?

He crossed his arms, "Say I fight for the Rhaenyra. I take our fleets and attack the Greens for you. I keep the spoils. I also don't want to have to deal with any greenlander coastal lords that are on your side, tripping over me. No, if I do this, I want to be given command of all the western fleets that fight for the Blacks. From the North to the Reach. There's not a man more experienced in naval combat on this side of the continent. If you want those ships to be put to good use, there can be no question who's in charge." He may have hated the idea of building and overseeing fleets for some rich mainlander, but it amused him greatly to think that those same nobles would have to listen to him. Especially those damned Mallisters.

And there was another, even more amusing boon, "As such, this befits a title. The Lannisters are traitors in the eyes of your Queen. And with the Iron Fleet, I am the greatest other military power on the west coast. For the duration of the war, until you get those golden lions to bend the knee again, I want to be recognized as such."

He smirked and spread his arms, "Until your mother wins, I wish to be named the Warden of the West. That should anger the Lannisters nicely." Dalton didn't believe for a second that the Blacks would give him control of all the loyalist western armies as the title implied. The fleets were another matter. But it would send all those dead Lannisters rolling in their graves if they knew that the the very people that their coveted military title had been created to defend against would now hold it, at least nominally. It was simply too delicious to pass up. His men all cheered at the suggestion.

Dalton continued, "Once the West is subdued, I will give up the position so your Queen can name whoever she wishes, whether it's the Lannisters or some other greenlander. But I do want a seat at your table. I do not want to run your fleets for you once this is done, but I do want the Iron Islands to have a say. As such, I desire that we be granted to right to name an advisor to your Queen on her small council, whether it be myself or someone I trust, for the duration of the war and afterwards."

A few might frown and think this not of the Old Way, but those dumb cunts weren't ruling. Dalton would win the Iron Islands a position of power to keep their interests in mind. And they wouldn't have to run errands for the dragons to do it.

"Lastly, I hear there are murmurings of peace." There was another round of jeering at that, and Dalton smirked, "Your greenlander politics are up to you, and I will swear to abide by the provisions of peace so long as an Ironborn voice is there to speak for us. We will not reave the mainlander coasts if there is no war and will swear our allegiance to whoever wins the crown in case of this." There were some grumbles in the crowd but Dalton smiled widely.

"But if we will not go to war against the Greens, I will see blood in other ways. I will take the Iron Fleet to the Stepstones. I will take the fleet to Lys, to Myr, to Tyrosh and all the lands under their control. And I will be the first Ironborn commander in history to sack their cities and carry away their gold and women. Your stepfather and all the other greenlanders are welcome to join us. As long as you don't stop us. And I will lay a mutual enemy of ours low. If there is war, I will raid the Three Whores after we win." There was another round of cheering, the loudest and rowdiest rumble of approval yet. The Sea Snake may have been richer than the Lannisters and Hightowers. But the Three Whores were even richer. And no matter what, those riches would be his.

Dalton smiled at Lucerys and extended his hand, "Do we have an accord?"

The jeers and cursing of the Ironborn washed over the Prince wise ease, while Baela paced behind him. It seemed to affect her in some way, but more as a lion with prey dangling just out of reached, her hand straying to the hilt of her blade. Once more, Luke did not merit the Greyjoy's quieter words with a response, although his silence was not a protest in of itself, he understood he had pushed as far as the Ironborn would accept and had no desire to teeter on that edge.

"Warden and Marshall of the West it shall be then." The Prince nodded, he had been granted leave to provide any titles that Dalton might seek, short of King. The Prince surveyed those around him, the warriors and fleet of the Iron Isles. It was an easy trade, a little pomp and circumstance for such a tacical boon.

"My Uncle and the Sea-Snake will no doubt celebrate the destruction of the Daughters, there will be no opposition, and likely support, for such an action." He added. Unspoken was the suggestion that the Three Daughters may very well decide to aid the Greens, if that was the case, then it may come sooner than later.

"So, we have an accord?"

Dalton grinned widely and said, "Aye, it seems that we do." His gloved hand reached out to grasp the Prince's and he stood next to Lucerys, roaring at the crowd of Ironborn, his voice booming across the beach.

"Let all men of the Islands know that the Red Kraken stands with the Dragon! Our foes will wash away before us like pebbles before the sea! There will be blood, men, that I promise you! We will write our names in fire and death, and the world will remember the fear they felt whenever they sighted our sails! With the Kraken and Dragon united, none will stand against us! Their gold, their ships, their women will be ours! If you lot are strong enough, are you?"

Every man roared in answer, a unified war cry from thousands of throats.

Dalton pulled out Nightfall from his sheath and held it above him, "What is dead may never die!"

Swords, axes, and fists were raised into the air as warhorns sounded, and thousands of reavers and killers spoke with one voice, "WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!"

The discordant mass chorus drew out into one prolonged roar of unbridled adrenaline and raw savagery, and the dragons roared with them.

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

@AtomicNut Good sheet, Nut! You are accepted.

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

@agentmanatee Great sheet, you're a go for the CS tab. Welcome back!

Across the Great Sea - A Witcher RP (OPEN / STILL IN INTRO STAGE)

(Collab with @BlackSam3091)

After weeks of travel on the crowded roads, Kieran and Fridolf caught sight of the free city of Telchar, the wind beating against their cloaks as the rain poured from the murky grey sky. Kieran had wrapped himself in his black travelling cloak, and his black cloth scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth. It hid the silver bear medallion that hung against his chest, while the telltale cat-like eyes of a Witcher were hidden by the glamour he possessed, which took the form of a silver crescent belt buckle.

The glamour had been costly, and Kieran had to give up a month's worth of pay from contracts to a travelling enchanter for it. As such Fridolf and he had spent many nights under the stars instead of an inn, drinking water and ale and eating hard bread and whatever they could catch or gather instead of fine food and wine. It wasn't so bad until the storm had rolled in the past few days. Kieran did not much mind the downpour or the more humble vittles, but Fridolf was another matter and it took every ounce of Kieran's Witcher discipline to block out his friend's curses and complaining. Thankfully, they still had enough coin squirrelled away to stay at an inn for at least a few nights, and Kieran had little doubt that they could find more money in the city, despite the costliness of the glamour and the need to disguise himself.

But such concealment was wholly necessary, for the City of Telchar disdained magic in general and Witchers specifically and vehemently. Kieran was proud to be a Witcher. But not so much that he would risk burning to death for it. He had a job to do, and he was resolved to see it through, no matter how long it took. News of Jaspar's death had shocked Kieran, and he had rode post haste to the city to right the wrong of his comrade's death and put an end to the killings that had wracked the city.

Kieran had quite a bit of work set out for him. He had to get a look at the bodies, examine the attack scenes. Identify the beast, track it. And kill it. If indeed it was a beast. It could have been a serial killer, though the need for Jaspar to investigate in the first place implied otherwise. In any case, Kieran would put a stop to it. He had to. The young Witcher found his swords, strapped to his hips instead of his back. The steel and silver tools of his trade. He wasn't used to the position, but that was another neccesity, else the guards recognize him as a Witcher. As it was, he simply looked like a hedge knight or sellsword who was fond of carrying two swords. Whatever the killer was, Kieran would be ready for it.

He looked at the walled city, with it's stunning castle on a hill, sprawling buildings, and proximity to the sea and knew it was one of the most magnificent sights he had ever witnessed, even as the storm pounded on it. The city was far older than him, and would exist long after Kieran was gone, even with his extended lifespan. It was a grand testimony, in construction at least, to the potential of humanity.

If only the inhabitants of the city were as forward thinking as the architects had been.

Still Kieran smiled, grinning ear to ear and petting Storm, "Good girl. We'll get you out of this soon enough and into a stable, with a nice apple." The Witcher-trained horse was used to the rigors of the wildnerness, but Kieran thought it was only proper to compensate his companion and friend for the rougher weeks they had recently spent on the road, and reward her for her steadfastness throughout them.

As the city gates came into view, and they slowly rode on the muddy road next to clusters of people, animals, and carts entering and exiting the city, Kieran turned his head to look at Fridolf, "Magnificent isn't it? Have you ever been here before? Know what it's like in the city?"

Fridolf started suddenly at Kieran's question, his attentions momentarily diverting themselves from the path in front of them. This momentary distraction was all Flo, Fridolf's contrary-natured mare, needed to start causing a fuss. Without skipping a beat she reared up onto hindlegs, whinnying loudly as she fought to shrug her rider out of his saddle. The con-man snatched feebly at the saddlehorn, but it was too little, too late. With a high-pitch squawk, he tumbled gracelessly from his seat, somehow managing to twist bodily mid-air, before dropping face first onto the churned mud of the road.

Manfully stifling a sob, he went to push himself upright, but to his horror just sank deeper into the murk. For a terrifying heartbeat he thought that he might just die there, suffocating in the dirt and shit outside of Telchar. Panic added strength to his limbs, and with a cry he managed to fight his way clear, pushing himself to his knees. With the back of his grubby forearm he tried to wipe the worst of the muck from his face and eye's, but something told him it was a losing battle. He'd need at least two baths to shed the filth that now plastered him like thick icing. Flo stood facing him from a few feet away. She was wearing a decidedly smug look. Fridolf hadn't even known horses could look smug before he met Flo. Gods, he hated that horse.

Kieran had almost jumped out of the saddle, thinking Fridolf was injured, but he soon realized he was fine and simply warring with his mount once more. Kieran's concern turned to amusement, and he fought to stifle a laugh.

"Try not to look to pleased with yourself," He growled to the horrible herbivore, "Soon as we get to the city, I'm selling you to a butchers." Flo didn't seem all that intimidated though, responding to his threats by raising her tail and farting lazily.

"You just see if I bloody don't!" The criminal muttered to himself as he marched ungainly through the sludge, and hauled himself back into the saddle. Now that she'd throughly embarrased and defaced her owner, Flo seemed satisfied to settle back into the unsteady, disdainful truce that usually coloured their relationship, though no doubt she was already planning her next attack. Fridolf would just have to endevour to be more ready for her next time.

All of Kieran's Witcher training was barely enough to contain the young man's laughter at the sight. As it was, he fought to hide his amused grin as Fridolf wrestled his way back into the saddle. Charming con artist Fridolf may have been, but forrester he was not.

After brushing the worst of the grime from his clothes, he settled himself more comfortably before turning his attention's to Kieran.

"That was your fault, by the way. She plays up in front of you. She was far less ornery before I met you. A paragon of virtue, in fact, compared to her behavior now. I think you're a bad influence." Which was all blatently untrue. Flo had been a bad-natured bitch ever since he'd had the misfortune of winning her in a rigged card game, but Kieran didn't need to know that. Fridolf's pleasures had become few and far between recently, and so he had learned to find his jollies wherever he could. One of his favourite passtimes was attempting to get the ever-honourable Bastard Bear to feel righteous guilt over horrible deeds that he actually had fuck all to do with. Just last week he'd managed to convince Kieran that it was his fault that all Fridolf's socks had holes in them. Juvenile, but fun.

Kieran's brow furrowed in thought, , "Hmm. She might still unused to the presence of a Witcher. Animals have been known to react poorly around us on occasion. Flo could be particularly senstive. I apologize if that is the case, Fridolf. At least the rain will wash some off."

"Ach, I'm bloody drenched. . . And cold. . . And hungry, now that I think about it. If only someone hadn't wasted all our money on an overpriced glamour - instead of just wrapping a black cloth around his face like I'd suggested - then maybe we could have purchased some proper vittles at the last village, and I wouldn't be in danger of starving to death." Calling the money their's was being generous in Fridolf's favour, as he hadn't actually contributed anything to the communal pot, but he didn't like to let facts like that get in the way of a good gripe.

Kieran frowned, "Too risky. This city is no friend to either of our kind, Fridolf. I couldn't chance someone catching a look at my eyes and reporting me to the guards. They'd burn us both at the stake. Worth missing a few hot meals to avoid that, if you ask me," He smiled at Fridolf, "Besides, I'm sure we can make some money in the city. Should be all kinds of beasts lurking around."

While Fridolf had been complaing, the two companions had happened upon the Common's Gate, where they were forced to wait in a que of traffic before entering the city limits. The train of wagons, merchants, tinkers and travellers moved slowly, as it appeared they were all being stopped and questioned by the squadron of city guards postioned at gates. As the two neared the checkpoint, it became apparent that the guardsmen were soliciting a toll from all entrees. Fridolf clucked in annoyance, as at that moment he wanted nothing more than a warm bath, a hot meal, and a cold drink, and this diversion was hindering him in his pursuit of those things. Still, nothing else for it. This was how civilisation worked. Taxes everywhere.

The two riders were the next in line when the con-man turned to his companion "Would you like the honor of dealing with these gentlemen," He gestured at the guardsmen, "Or shall I do the necessaries?"

Kieran shook his head, "Better for me to interact with the guards as little as possible. And we don't have much coin left.' Kieran grinned at Fridolf, "This is your area of expertise, my friend, you should have the honors."

Fridolf returned the grin, though there was something slightly predatory about the bent of his features.

"Oh, I have very little in the way of honour, good sirrah, as shall no doubt soon become apparent."

The grifter cracked his long fingers, made a last attempt at cleanliness - he still looked a state, but there was nothing else for it now - then dug a tightly rolled scroll, stamped with a purple waxed seal featuring a proud griffin with wings outstretched, from his saddlebag.

Fridolf's criminal ways had always been a concern to Kieran, but perhaps now they could be put to good use. Kieran simply sat straight up in the saddle and watched his friend at work.

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

@kingkonrad Hmm, nothing jumps out at me at the moment. Unless there's more KL intrigue with Willas, and we could have Ellion hook up with Tamsyn perhaps.

Across the Great Sea - A Witcher RP (OPEN / STILL IN INTRO STAGE)

Looks good to me, this information will be useful to the dynamic duo if Fridolf doesn't already know.

And Sam and I are working on a collab right now. We're probably going to pursue that sewer contract.

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

@Monochromatic Rainbow In small doses it doesn't. The safest alternative would seem to be dreamwine.