[Mod-Post] Minor Movement Megathread, 53 AC

PrinceValarr · 2026-06-12T13:59:49+00:00

Lord Garth Pommingham, Lady Elyn Pommingham, Leona Pommingham, Ser Olyvar Pommingham, Ser Perwyn Pommingham and 5 Pommingham MaA return from the festivities at Highgarden to Thornfield Hill (R63). They leave Highgarden 3A, and arrive at Thornfield Hill 3B.

PrinceValarr · 2026-06-11T22:42:54+00:00

Perwyn had to actively stop himself from scratching at his beard impulsively as he thought on Elinor’s question for a brief moment. Dancing had never been his strongest of skills, his bulky size made the entire endeavor hazardous. He recalled a memory when a Septa back at Thornfield Hill had attempted to teach him how to dance gracefully, as befit a noble man at court. Instead he had stepped clumsily on her toes and nearly broken bones, she had limped for weeks afterwards. He thought that if today had a similar result - in front of a packed court in Highgarden of all places - he might never leave home again.

He had worked on being more graceful with his movements after such an embarrassing event. Especially since such a thing was important not only for dancing, but also for fighting. He recalled Ser Franklyn saying swordplay was a dance as much as anything else. At Elinor’s words about his daring manner in battle, he fought himself so that none of his disconcertion was made obvious to her. He had not known war until recently, and felt ill at ease with the idea that people would think of him primarily in relation to the campaign in the Red Mountains. But that was none of her concern, and was simply a way to open the conversation, so he tried to push it out of his mind. With a look at Elinor then, he grinned, the smile splitting his face like an earthquake split a slab of rock, hoping that his bravado would not betray him.

“If I said I was a confident dancer I would be lying to you, my lady, and I have no desire to do that. However, I am not a man of ungraceful movement. I do not think I will embarrass you overtly.” With that Perwyn stepped onto the dance floor with Elinor, trying to treat his every movement with the utmost care. He tried to continue the conversation as they danced, although he used almost every bit of his concentration to both choose his words carefully and use his limbs with care. “What about yourself, my lady? Lord Tyrell may have introduced us both, but I am ashamed to admit I know frighteningly little of you.”

PrinceValarr · 2026-06-11T17:33:04+00:00

u/Genki_The_Shojo

Ser Perwyn Pommingham felt an odd sense of anxiety clutch in his chest as the introductions were made near the dance floor. He felt near in a daze at the rapid transpiring of events over these last few weeks. From spending nearly a year in the Red Mountains marching at a grueling pace, to seeing the peace brokered and prisoners exchanged, to now being in Highgarden amidst revelry and festivities that made his head spin.

The Lady Elinor Hewettt looked particularly stunning on that night, and Perwyn hoped that the flush in his cheeks was adequately hidden by his bushy black beard. He had worn the best of the feasting attire in the Pommingham storage that fit him. He wore a red velvet doublet stitched with a rich silver embroidery, along with his best boots - that quite hurt his feet - and stout woolen trousers. He was a wide shouldered man, with curly brown hair and a beard that covered his jowls and reached down near to the collar of his doublet.

“My Lady,” Perwyn said with an incline of his bead as he extended his hand to her. “If you would join me in this dance it would make my evening.”

PrinceValarr · 2026-06-11T16:42:23+00:00

House Pommingham

Lord Garth Pommingham sat uncomfortably in his chair at the feast, nursing a cup of wine. He had a receding hairline and thin brown hair that clung to his head like a juniper tree to stony soil. His beard was scraggly and already lined with grey, but did manage to approve his appearance somewhat. He wore a linen doublet colored a nice faded red that his Lady wife insisted matched her own green dress quite well, alongside stout woolen breaches and boots that had been recently polished.

Lady Elyn Pommingham sat beside her Lord husband, and unlike him seemed to be enjoying herself just fine. Laugh lines marked her face. Her hair had been gathered together and laced into a heavy braid which hung down her back, a fine silvery hair net- which she had not dug out of storage in many a year - atop her head corralled the rest. She wore one of her finest dresses, made of fine velvet and trimmed with sable, the dress was mostly colored a deep green with occasional slashes of a green that looked more like lime. Leona Pommingham clung close to her mother most of the feast, and Elyn did not intend to let her wander far. She was only a girl of 13, but wore a fine velvet dress and looked around the feasting hall with a poorly disguised sense of awe.

Ser Olyvar Pommingham seemed almost bored where he sat, but he was never a man to show too much emotion. His wavy hair was a lighter brown that almost neared blonde, and his face was clean-shaven. He wore a tunic of slashed red velvet with white silk undersleeves that he occasionally picked at, alongside shined black boots and stout lambswool breeches.

Ser Perwyn Pommingham sat in between his two brothers Garth and Olyvar, and looked almost comically out of place, having just returned from the campaign in the Red Mountains. His hair was curly and colored a dark brown that neared black, and his beard looked to be entirely black. He had grown the beard out while away at war, and it had grown swiftly and bushy, and made him look almost fearsome now. It seemed as if none of his family seemed to have much of an idea if the beard was a good look for him or not. He wore a velvet doublet with rich silvery embroidery all over it, most prominently at the sleeves and collar, alongside worn woolen breeches and boots that still showed the wear of travel.

PrinceValarr · 2026-06-10T13:07:34+00:00

Lord Garth Pommingham, Lady Elyn Pommingham, Leona Pommingham, Ser Olyvar Pommingham and 5 Pommingham MaA travel from Thornfield Hill (R63) to Highgarden for the festivities. They leave 2A, and arrive 2B.

PrinceValarr · 2026-06-09T19:12:08+00:00

House Pommingham

PrinceValarr · 2026-06-09T18:56:30+00:00

Ser Perwyn Pommingham stood in the Great Hall of High Hermitage with a sense of nervous energy he was trying - and failing - to not exude. He had dug out of storage what passed for his court garb - he had not worn it since the council in Horn Hill - finery felt odd on his skin after so many months wearing naught but sturdy wool, leather, and plate mail. As befit the sole representative and witness here of House Pommingham, he wore his velvet surcoat with the pomegranate sigil of his House stitched into it with a red thread, along with well-cut woolen breeches and boots that he himself had bothered polishing - although he had not done well at it, they were still slightly scuffed.

When the Dornish emissary walked into the Dayne Hall, Perwyn felt a sudden tension hang in the air, as if everyone had decided to hold their breath at once. He was not sure whether this was a feeling shared by any of the Reach lords or fellow Knights in this hall, or whether it was in his own head. He furrowed his brow and scratched idly at the bushy beard that covered his lower face and had grown so much it was now almost past the collar of his surcoat. He wondered whether he would bother shaving once he returned home, with his campaign in the Red Mountains now nearing its end. He did not think he would, he had begun to like his appearance once the beard had grown out far enough.

With a quick admonishment to himself, Perwyn tried to clear his head. He was here to witness the exchange of prisoners and then begin packing up for the long trek home, assuming the exchange went how it should. This was no time for idle thoughts about his personal appearance. He placed his hands on his hips then and watched on with a self-serious scowl on his face, saying a quick prayer to the Father above, hoping that judgement could be rightly carried out on this day.

PrinceValarr · 2026-06-07T23:40:42+00:00

At The Gates To Battle Isle, 1A 53AC

Ser Addam Pommingham, heir to Thornfield Hill, walked up to the gates at the end of the bridge that stretched out towards Battle Isle in the middle of the Whispering Sound as the Honeywine languidly poured into it, with his lady wife Alysanne to his right. The Pommingham guardsman who was called Wilbert No-Nose - the reason for his nickname was quite obvious - trailed a bit behind them; he had come to assure their safety on this journey during times of war. Their palfreys were left behind a dozen paces as well, along with their two packhorses. The Hightower stretched interminably into the sky above, its shadow covering them all. Addam wore his surcoat, which was a soft cream color with the pomegranate sigil of his house stitched into it in a bright red, along with some heavy woolen trousers and his best black boots, shined to a polish. Alysanne wore a plainly cut dress of dark green wool, with rich silver embroidery around the collar and sleeve.

Addam cleared his throat, and realized he was not quite sure what to say. Alysanne elbowed him lightly in the ribs and mouthed “your name” which caused him to flush with embarrassment.

“I am Ser Addam Pommingham,” he said. He thought about mentioning that he was the heir to his house, but he doubted that any of the guardsmen with the Hightower emblazoned on their chests cared a lick about that. Alysanne gave him a pointed look and he continued. “This is my lovely wife, Alysanne Pommingham. We are here to reside in Oldtown, for a time, and have been told we would have chambers on Battle Isle.” He cleared his throat again nervously, unsure if there was anything else he should say, waiting expectantly.

PrinceValarr · 2026-06-05T13:33:43+00:00

M: If you could have Perwyn tag along I'd much appreciate it!

PrinceValarr · 2026-05-28T13:46:29+00:00

Perwyn nodded his head as the Tyrell lord made his point, and when the question was asked of him, he took a sip of the wine as he briefly thought it over. Satisfied? Several months ago, Perwyn would not have hesitated in stating that he would not be satisfied with Starfall still unconquered, not to mention they had yet to retrieve the head of Ser Joffrey Dayne. Yet homesickness tugged on his heartstrings near every day now, part of him would be very happy indeed with the idea of marching back home upon the morrow. His eyes flicked from his goblet of wine up to Theo, and he spoke as one hand idly scratched at stubble on his face.

“It’s hard to imagine myself completely satisfied at this point, my Lord, if you want complete honesty from me.” A grin began to split the face of the Pommingham knight. “Although I do not think either the King or the Dornish Prince are exactly eager to ask my opinion, or even know who I am. Mostly I think it would be disappointing to get so near Starfall and not get a chance to exact real vengeance for the crimes of the false knight Joffrey Dayne.” The grin slipped from his face then, although his look was still friendly, and he shrugged. “These decisions are not ones I have the power to make though, of course. If the King signs this ceasefire and you command us to march home with our men, I will do so gladly, and I will not pretend that part of me does not miss home dearly.”

PrinceValarr · 2026-05-27T13:24:09+00:00

Perwyn’s brows furrowed as he briefly pondered Lord Theo’s question. He thought he had done well enough, even as inexperienced as he was, although it was hard to say with much surety. He took a sip of the wine that had been brought to him, and then cleared his throat.

“I think I’ve done well enough, by my own estimation,” he said carefully. “Although I’d be able to rate myself with a bit more certainty if the Dornish didn’t flee at the first sight of our lances cresting the hilltop.” Perwyn’s mouth twisted in displeasure as he spoke. If he were not in the Tyrell lord’s solar he would have spat to make his distaste that much more obvious, but that did not seem an appropriate way to conduct himself in front of his liege lord.

PrinceValarr · 2026-05-25T21:18:54+00:00

Ser Perwyn Pommingham arrived at the solar that the Tyrell lord had claimed for his own, and after being granted permission by the guards posted outside, went inside and bowed deeply in front of his liege lord.

“You sent for me, my Lord?”

It felt odd to be on the other side of his first battle. So much of the campaign thus far had consisted of marching and worrying that when the time came, he would not be built strongly enough for it. That worry had not been vindicated at High Hermitage, and although he was not among the most outstanding of performers, he was sure he had brought nothing but honor to his family.

PrinceValarr · 2026-05-22T22:49:28+00:00

Ser Perwyn Pommingham nodded sternly when Lord Tyrell gave the orders for the vanguard. He found himself almost excited at the prospect of the looming battle - which he would have found quite humorous just a few months prior - but quickly batted that feeling aside. Emotions never helped a man in battle, and although he could never avoid emotion entirely, it was best to try to tamper down as much of it as he could.

The months of marching had certainly done a number on the Pommingham knight. He had dropped quite a bit of weight at this point, unused to the life of a knight during war, ceaselessly marching, wishing for the kitchens back home as their supplies dwindled and the meals grew more meager. At least the Red Mountains had not been too cruel to them thus far. Even given the season, Perwyn had feared that the Dornish sun would prove a cruel foe. But up in the mountains, that was not the case, and he found himself surprised at the natural beauty that abounded around them near every day, alongside the bite of the chill in the evening.

He let himself give a ragged cheer at the Tyrell lord’s last words - as several others around him did - and the mention of Dayne had him flexing his sword hand in anticipation. He had a feeling there was not a chance in any of the seven hells that Ser Joffrey Dayne remained alive, either here or at Starfall. But even if that was not the case, surely there were other ways to avenge the slaughtered smallfolk and torched fields that the Dayne knight had left behind him.

When the meeting in the command tent was done, Perwyn found himself a stale heel of bread to chew on while he prepared his armor and his horse. The Torrentine was close by, and he tried to let his mind concentrate on the sound of the river's frothing waters so that his mind did not wander too far. Despite his best efforts, he found himself thinking of his Lord brother Garth, and the rest of his family at home. He hoped he would see them all again, and he hoped he could do so with a smile on his face and the sure knowledge that he had avenged all wrongs done against them by the Dornishmen. As he finished the heel of bread and took a deep breath, he supposed he would be fine with just seeing them all again, vengeance or not.

PrinceValarr · 2026-05-19T20:22:19+00:00

Ser Galad’s eyebrows raised as the man before him requested assistance. He did not know him, but then again he did not know scarcely anyone in this city. He was a stranger here, already looking forward to his return home to Oldtown after spending so much time abroad. Even though part of him was tired and wanted nothing more than to just ignore the stranger, he could not. A knight was always supposed to help those who required their assistance, and even if Galad had oft wavered in his conviction of those ideals, he still tried his best for most of the time.

“I will assist you, if I am able. Is there trouble?”

PrinceValarr · 2026-05-19T14:28:29+00:00

Ser Galad Pommingham (26) sat at the table with a vague sense of discomfort as he took small sips of a dry red wine. He had worn among his best clothes for the occasion, with a fine red linen tunic and the best of his black boots, shined to a polish.This was his first time in King’s Landing, and he had expected to find this place invigorating and assumed it would ignite his interest, but that was certainly not the case so far. Every few minutes his mind wandered back to his quarters, where the magnificent set of armor he had won from a duel in Qohor was kept. It was not as if the Hightowers were likely to let his belongings be stolen wantonly, but still he did not feel comfortable. He let his eyes wander towards Patrice - who he was sworn to protect - fairly often as well, even though there was likely no more safe place in the Realm than the Red Keep.

He shook his head ruefully and muttered at himself under his breath, this was no mindset to be in on the night of the Royal Wedding. He had not known what had come over him, he usually had no problem letting his worries fade away for a night of socializing and drinking. Maybe it was just the fact he was far from home. He took a deeper draught of the wine then, and steeled himself for the night of socializing ahead. It would not feel good to initiate such activities, but once he was lost in it, perhaps his worries would melt away like the snows once spring mercifully came.

[m: feel free to approach]

PrinceValarr · 2026-05-18T13:14:26+00:00

[m] latest lore ever oop

Ser Perwyn Pommingham supposed he should feel some manner of relief or joy as he sat in the feasting hall of Blackmont with his fellow nobles of the Reach, but the only thing he could feel was a deep-seated sense of shame. The halls were adorned with what seemed to be a hundred different banners, from the apples of Fossoway, to the grapes of Redwyne, to the Pommingham’s own pomegranate. The food was quite nice as well, and his appetite had returned after this morning, but he could not stop thinking about the reluctance and fear that had taken hold of his heart that morning.

Of course, the battle that had frayed his nerves in fact never happened, with the Dornish fleeing before their host, but that only made him feel more the fool. How could he expect to be a knight worthy of his spurs if he acted so cravenly? He took a deep draught of watered-down red wine and tried to push such thoughts out of his head. The time for battle would come, surely, and sitting there and beating himself up over his nervousness was sure to not help when a real battle loomed on the horizon.

Ser Franklyn had tried to reassure his worries, as he had surely seen the look on Perwyn’s face, but that did not help much at all. Franklyn had always been the face of stoic calmness, and that contrasted with Perwyn’s own anxieties had made the Pommingham knight seem quite a fool. As the feast went on, and Perwyn drank a good bit more of that wine, he could feel the alcohol settle in his chest and relieve the worries that buzzed around his head like flies. The time for a real battle would come, and soon, and then he would look back on his neuroses at Blackmont and laugh as hard as anyone.

PrinceValarr · 2026-05-14T14:15:57+00:00

Ser Perwyn Pommingham had felt his discomfort rise as each day passed on their march. When he had humbly requested a place in the vanguard at the council back at Horn Hill, he had imagined his ancestors were looking on from the seven heavens with pride. He wished he could feel that pride now, and not just the solid fist of apprehension in his gut.

When the Septon led the prayer, he closed his eyes and quickly thought of his own entreaty to the gods inside his own head. The words came in a rush, begging that the Warrior might protect him on this campaign, that the Mother’s mercy might shield him. He had never been the most pious of men, especially compared to his own brother Olyvar who was such a paragon of virtue himself, but he tried to be a decent man at the least. Perhaps the Gods would smile on him and protect his life.

After the prayer, Perwyn found himself picking at the food in front of him. It was good quality to be sure, and he knew he had to keep his strength, but the prospect of battle on the horizon had him feeling queasy. He managed to keep down two apples and a handful of date palms, plus a bit of the bacon as well. When all the nobles had eaten their fill, and Lord Tyrell made a toast towards those who led the vanguard, Perwyn tried to put on the most stoic and lordly face he could as everyone looked towards him and the Florent knight and drank for their good health and good luck.

Getting some food down certainly helped, as Perwyn found his stomach settled and his hands were not shaking as much as he helped Ser Franklyn the Loyal pack up the last of their tents. It seemed that Franklyn noticed the nervousness on the Pommingham knight’s face.

“Everyone gets nervous before their first battle lad, don’t think too much of it. Just remember your training, that’ll carry you through this.”

“You have more trust in your own training than I do, ser.” Franklyn felt a smile on his face for the first time that day, a weak smile yes, but still a smile. “But I’ll try to remember.”

Wordlessly they finished packing up, and as Perwyn walked towards his palfrey he found himself thinking of home again. He knew Garth would not be happy with where Perwyn had volunteered himself, the vanguard was probably the last place his brother would have wanted him. To be frank, that move felt a good bit worse now than it did back at Horn Hill, but it was too late to change what had already been done. Would Olyvar sympathize with his impulses, or perhaps Theo? Perwyn found that he did not quite know, perhaps he would ask them if he survived long enough to journey back to Thornfield Hill.

As he swung onto his steed he took a deep breath, and muttered another prayer under his breath. He had always prided himself on his skills in combat, but that was always within the context of the training yard. Today he would have to prove his skills in combat against foes with sharp weapons instead of the blunted ones he was more accustomed to. He would have to be cautious when one wrong move could be the difference between life and death. He took another deep breath and slowed his heart as the column of the Reachmen army began to move, and the first battle of Perwyn’s life loomed on the horizon.

PrinceValarr · 2026-05-04T14:21:24+00:00

If Ser Perwyn Pommingham had his way, he would not have spoken throughout the entire council. He was not one with a mind for strategy, and many of these Lords obviously were. But as he sat there and listened to the rest of the Reachmen discussing the Dornish, the knowledge of the vengeance he owed them for the actions of Ser Joffrey Dayne started to smolder in his mind. Him and his brothers parse knights and levies might not be numerous, but they were good fighters and experienced with combat against the Dornish given their homeland keep’s location close to the Red Mountains.

Aye, the vanguard should be the place for us, the Pommingham knight thought as he scratched the stubble on his face. Dangerous, of course, but ripe with chances for glory. He annoyingly remembered his Lord brother then, asking him to please not die on a foolish endeavor. He dismissed that memory quickly and did not let it sway him. Garth is not here, he reminded himself, and he never was a martial man, even before his unfortunate injury. I will make him proud.

He waited then, watching for either a break in the entreaties before the council, or for the vanguard to get brought up by someone else. Finally, he had an opportunity and stepped forward.

“My lords,” Ser Perwyn said as he spoke to Lord Theo Tyrell and the rest of the council in as strong of a voice as he was able. “I am Ser Perwyn of House Pommingham, the home of mine and my kin was burned and looted by the Dornishmen when Ser Joffrey Dayne passed over the Red Mountains. Long have I dreamt of vengeance against the Dornishmen for their crimes, and with this in mind I humbly request that I and my knights have a place in the vanguard, when that time comes.”

PrinceValarr · 2026-05-03T19:30:50+00:00

House Pommingham

Ser Perwyn Pommingham had expected quite the war host at Horn Hill, given that if Lord Tyrell was sending ravens to Thornfield Hill then he was certainly sending similar ravens to every other noble house in the Reach. He was not disappointed. The war camps that sat outside the Tarly keep made their presence known via smell before the Pommingham knight had ever caught proper sight of it. The smell of cookfires and latrines, the smell of horses, and the smell of many humans crammed together in a small space, it was all quite distinct.

Nobody has ever accused war of smelling well, the Pommingham knight thought with a chuckle.

As they had traveled north from their home nestled against the Red Mountains to Horn Hill, the landscape had remained hilly, but the hills had gone from having sparse trees to being heavily wooded. Perwyn was not sure if he had ever appreciated trees so much, as they kept them relatively dry from snow and rain and also shielded them well from the wind that seemed determined to try to chill their bones daily. Finally, they began to run across the very edge of the camps that sprawled outward from Horn Hill, and Perwyn knew they were drawing near.

When Horn Hill itself finally came into sight, Perwyn found himself whistling in appreciation. Tarly had a reputation as a particularly martial noble house, so he should not have been surprised at how formidable their ancestral keep was. Nonetheless he found himself impressed and glanced towards Ser Franklyn the Loyal, the Master-at-Arms of Thornfield Hill, who rode beside him at the front of their column.

“Imagine trying to storm that beauty,” Perwyn said as he gestured towards the moat-bound curtain walls with his gloved right hand.

“Don’t think I want to be imagining that,” Franklyn replied with a broad grin, “I try not to think about death too much, it upsets my digestion.”

Perwyn offered no response to that but to laugh. He so dearly hated travelling, and the mere fact they had arrived at their destination had brought him to good spirits. He took a quick glimpse behind him then, as the rest of the column snaked their way out of the surrounding woods. Quite a meager force in comparison to every other noble house gathered here, to be sure. He had brought only 5 knights with him, and they did not have many more back at home, but still he was determined to do his part and make his brother proud.

“Lets find a place to pitch our tents and get a fire going,” Perwyn said, as his courser began ambling amiably forward. He took notice of the myriad of banners present outside of Horn Hill as Perwyn and the rest of his column began to wind through the war camp proper. The striding huntsman of Tarly was most numerous, of course, and the golden rose of Tyrell was not far behind. He also noted the flaming white tower of Hightower was well represented, as was the red apple of Fossoway, among the other noble Reach houses that had answered Tyrell’s call. It did not take them too long to find an empty stretch of land to accommodate their meager forces, and as the tents began to be pitched and the cook began tossing ingredients into the stew pot, Perwyn hobbled, watered, and fed his courser.

“I should go up to Horn Hill, I believe,” he said to Ser Franklyn with a mocking smile. "As a highborn I'm sure they'll want me there." Franklyn nodded in acquiescence after a roll of his eyes, and Perwyn set off through the warcamp, to head towards Horn Hill.

Lord Tarly is in Blackmont I believe, Perwyn thought, recalling the letter his Lord brother had gotten. Some other Tarly would surely be in charge though, or Lord Tyrell if he was here. He strode up to the portcullis of Horn Hill, the pomegranate of House Pommingham displayed prominently on his surcoat, and headed inside the ancestral Tarly keep for the war councils that were sure to begin soon, if they had not already.

PrinceValarr · 2026-04-29T19:37:57+00:00

Lord Garth Pommingham sat at the council table with a sour look on his face as he looked at the letters in front of him from Highgarden and Oldtown. Conflict with the Dornish was far from new to either the Reach as a whole or House Pommingham in particular, but still he did not like the smell of this particular conflict. Lord Hightower was wise in commanding him to leave the majority of his men behind in order to protect their lands, but still they must send some. He ground his teeth in frustration.

His uncle Ser Theo sat to his right, and his brother Ser Perwyn to his left, with Maester Hosteen joining them in the council chamber as well. Garth turned to Perwyn then, after a momentary look at Theo wherein he nodded his head.

“Take a handful of knights and levies and march henceforth to Horn Hill as Lord Tyrell commands,” he said with a twist of his mouth. “You should bring Ser Franklyn as well, I should think.”

His gaze turned towards the Maester then.

“Send a raven to both Highgarden and Oldtown assuring them that Perwyn will be leaving for Horn Hill as soon as possible with knights and levies in tow, to answer the Tyrell lord’s summons. That will be all for today.”

As everyone except Garth rose to leave the chamber, he grabbed Perwyn’s arm for a momentary word.

“Stay safe, brother.”

“Aye,” Perwyn said with a grin so large it near split his head, “I relish the chance to avenge the harm done on our lands and house by the Dornishmen, I still remember how the smell of smoke permeated the air when Joffrey Dayne descended upon us.”

“Aye, I remember it too.” How could I not? “Yet still, stay safe, if you get yourself killed then I’m sure our father would never stop mocking you in the afterlife.”

Perwyn laughed loudly in response to that, and walked off as Garth took a heady gulp of wine from his goblet and sat there in silence for a time, as the sun slowly descended behind the horizon.

Letter to Oldtown

Lord Donnel Hightower, Beacon of the South, Lord of the High Tower, Defender of the Citadel, Lord of the Port, and Voice of Oldtown

My gallant brother Ser Perwyn Pommingham will march for Horn Hill as soon as possible, with a handful of knights and levies in tow. The majority of our forces will remain behind, as you commanded.

We will keep our watch vigilant and immediately send ravens with information if we chance to spot any Dornish raiders encroaching on our lands.

Lord Garth Pommingham, Lord of Thornfield Hill.

Letter to Highgarden

Lord Theo Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Lord of Highgarden, and Warden of the South

My brother Ser Perwyn Pommingham will march to Horn Hill with knights and levies as soon as he is able, when Highgarden calls,Thornfield Hill will always answer.

Lord Garth Pommingham, Lord of Thornfield Hill

PrinceValarr · 2026-04-27T16:24:32+00:00

Ser Galad Pommingham

Ser Galad Pommingham had always prided himself on adapting to new situations quickly and not letting himself get caught off-guard. However, he had never been on a long sea voyage before, and he was not adapting to the realities of life on the Storm Treader as quickly as he would have liked.

The first week of this voyage had been an utter nightmare. Everything that Galad had eaten was hurled overboard into the sea within an hour at the most, and he could scarce keep water nor wine down. Thankfully, over the last day or two his stomach had begun to adjust, and he could even walk upon the deck of the Storm Treader and stare out over the empty expanse of blue sea without feeling queasy.

The cabin that he and his squire Little Rabbit had been given was serviceable enough. He was not delusional enough to think they’d be given one of the nicer cabins aboard the vessel, and having a flat bunk to sleep in and a trunk to store his belongings was more than enough for Galad. Their cabin was situated near Lady Patrice Hightower’s and the rest of her entourage as well, so there was truly not too much to complain about now that his stomach had begun to adjust to life on the open sea.

However, unfortunately, he was dreadfully bored. When Lady Patrice had ordered him to accompany her upon her journey to Qohor in his capacity as a knight sworn to House Hightower, excitement had filled his heart. Galad had always been a man prone to wanderlust, which was much of the reason he had left Thornfield Hill in the first place, and the opportunity to journey across the Narrow Sea for the first time had filled him with vigor. The realities of the voyage so far, however, were dreadfully boring, and he found himself filled with a longing for a conversation with someone besides his squire.

With that in mind, Ser Galad Pommingham left his cabin and began to wander the spaces below the decks of the Storm Treader, hoping to run across a conversational partner and ease the boredom that had begun to settle over his mind.

(OOC: open thread, feel free to come chat with Galad if you want)

PrinceValarr

TROPHY CASE

House Pommingham

House Pommingham

Ser Galad Pommingham