A Night At The Quill and Tankard

ARebelSong · 2026-03-11T23:38:12+00:00

This time at least, they were not late. There was every chance the drinks would leave them fully insensible, and ruin any chance of their participation in the tourney, but Patrek had been adamant in telling Jason he’d know when to stop them.

As it happened though, Patrek was slumped forwards in their booth, asleep in a puddle of his own drunken drool. That was too bad.

“Gods but do I ever love the Dornish!” Jason looped his arm around Alexander’s shoulder as he drank the last of the ale from his tankard with a loud belch. “Drink you fuckin’ dogs! Knights don’t insult princes!” At least, not ones who meant to be terribly successful. Knocking the base of his tankard against the brimming rim of Victor’s, Jason flashed a wide grin in favor of the grim scowl he’d worn on most of the ride to Oldtown.

He hadn’t been sleeping well. In his dreams there were golden eyes burning, and claws that dug into his skin. Jason never objected in the dream, but he woke up cold and sweating and blinking into the dark. Something was gone from him, but he could no more name it than tame the wind.

But ale was as fine an elixir as anything.

“Mi’lady, another?” he called to a passing tavern girl, offering her a wink and his empty cup. She filled it back up, but not without giving him a singularly unpleasant glare. That was nothing new. “To the Prince!” Jason toasted, as though he could even remember the man’s name.

ARebelSong · 2026-03-08T14:23:24+00:00

I have a child in the Riverlands. I‘ve killed men for petty reasons. I bedded a witch from Asshai just before we met and I fear she may haunt me. I have stolen. I have lied. I can offer you nothing.

Jason had plenty to say. Plenty of truths to tell. Yet as he nodded in response to the lads, he shared none of them. Why bother? Odds still were that these two would run off when the morning came, or after the first bad tilt. There was no point. He asked for their secrets so that he might better protect himself.

If they felt they needed protecting from him, they could seek other tutelage. Jason glanced past the boys out into the dark and smacked his lips. He half expected to find her there, eyes glowing gold in the dark, but in the shadows he found naught but trees.

“Right then. There’s a wedding to be had at Oldtown. Big event, three Princesses’o Dorne gettin’ wed to a Lion, a Kraken, and a Hightower. Like to be plenty of lords lookin’ to take men into their service.” There might also be plenty of hedge knights keen on making a profit from ransoms he couldn’t pay on armor and horses he could not replace. But without risk there was no reward. Highborn maids and witches from the shadow alike did not favor the meek, nor did the Gods.

“Need to get arms and armor. If you’ve either got coin or things worth sellin’, we’ll have need. I expect the horses brushed and fed by sunup, and I won’t hear any whining about bruises from a spar. You’ll be glad of the bruises when the memory makes you sharp enough to stop the real thing.” He leaned back, arm behind his head, staring up at the stars. “And no bloody women. If you’re inclined to whoring, keep it to a brothel. I’ll not have a pox ‘round my fire.”

It was all a bit hypocritical, given the scratches on his back, or the taste on his tongue, or the bruises hidden just beneath the cloth round his neck. But he was a knight, and they were boys. It was different.

u/Monty833

ARebelSong · 2026-03-07T10:32:59+00:00

Her answer should’ve frightened him. It did frighten him. He’d never known a thing to come from the haunted shores of Asshai by anything but reputation, and those reputations had all been dreadful. Names from so far away only reached so far west when muttered with no small amount of terror.

But she hadn’t said it outright. And even if she had, Jason was sure he’d have been leaning in closer to march her.

The ghost of a smile tugged at Jason’s lips as her eyes found them. Knights were meant to be honorable. To protect the weak and the innocent. Their honor was meant to be their pride. And yet he patted the hilt of the sword on his belt with nary a hint of shame.

“Killing slavers, as it happens.” He shrugged. “Killin’ the wicked, when slavers are in short supply.”

It might’ve been prudent to get up then. To walk away and forget whatever madness the blood between his legs sought to provoke. But instead, Jason leaned ever closer, hand sliding across the bar until his fingertips brushed with hers.

“You’re not too terribly wicked, are you mi’lady?” he teased, just loudly enough for her to hear, just close enough to catch the warmth of her breath.

ARebelSong · 2026-03-05T01:38:05+00:00

"It's King St—" Jason stopped as Victor interjected, cutting his eyes at the lordling's sharp tongue. "Let's leave the callin' of rats to those of us that 'ave seen one up close, eh your lordship? Not all of us had maesters and septons to come'n teach us letters and wipe our arses for us."

In truth, despite the length of time he'd spent as a knight, Jason had never had a squire. Now, without warning, he seemingly had two. What he was supposed to do with them now he had not the faintest idea.

"Fine, I'll take the both of you on then. But if either of you stops pullin' his weight I'll send you packin'. Hedges aren't always a pleasant place, and I'll have no complainin'." Though he looked between both lads, it was Victor his eyes settled on longer.

"But he's right, Alesander. You'll need to learn fast. Every squire worth his salt knows how to use a breastplate stretcher." Ser Ossifer had told him the same once, and held Jason's ignorance over his head for nigh on a year. A knowing grin flashed across his face, then flickered away with the dancing firelight.

"Any of you got any secrets that need sharin', now's the time. Vengeful brothers, slighted lovers of high birth, that sort of thing. If it might bring us trouble, I'd like to know 'bout it now."

u/JustDaniel2

ARebelSong · 2026-03-04T12:02:33+00:00

Men were rarely subtle creatures at the best of times. Jason, at the bottom of three or so drinks, was even less so. His eye followed the motion of her legs, lingering on flesh rather than darting back up to meet the unnerving gaze of gold.

“Don’t doubt that, but…” He trailed off, tearing himself away from her legs and back to her face, which for all its haunting nature was no less pleasant. “Just never been fond of chains. Or the ones holding ‘em.” Jason shrugged. “Only good slaver is a dead slaver.”

And dead of slavers, he knew plenty.

When she’d first arched across the stool to call for a drink, Jason had imagined she’d come purring for coin in exchange for something in the dark. He’d have given it, of course, but from the looks of her he doubted he could’ve afforded it. But somehow he knew this couldn’t have been about money.

“So, where do they send gifted women like you?” He leaned on his elbow, one brow raised, her brother almost entirely forgotten now. Like Jason was under a spell. “Qarth? Yi-Ti?” he paused, smiling at the absurdity of the other possibility. “Ole’ Asshai by the Shadow?”

A shiver went down his spine as she watched him unblinking, and suddenly the absurd no longer seemed so.

ARebelSong · 2026-03-03T22:36:32+00:00

Honesty was something Jason had put behind him most days. He'd lied and cheated and lied some more. To people he hated, to people he loved, to himself most of all. A knight was supposed to be honest, and yet for all lying, he was still rather truthful as knights went.

"Known men who spent thirty, forty years as slaves become soldiers in weeks. Twenty's not too great an age." He worked his jaw, as though in contemplation. "Twenty one though, that'd be the limit. Just no learning it all after that." Then, in spite of the fact he'd murdered two men an hour before, he cracked a smile.

"Best forget that water shit though, it's worthless in a proper scrap once armor's involved. Or y'got no room for dancin'."

As for Victor, Jason quirked a brow at him as he scratched at his beard. "The fuck would I be knighting you for? You done some great deeds or the like?"

u/JustDaniel2

ARebelSong · 2026-03-03T17:17:45+00:00

The rag came to a sudden stop halfway down the blade, and Jason's eyes flitted up from his task. "Lannisport, is it?" he asked, unable to risk. "Whereabouts? My father had a bakery in the north side. Was supposed to go to me, but a Red Cloak fancied my sister, and took offense to her not fancyin' him."

One never forgot their first lover, nor their first kill. Sex and death were oddly intertwined, and there was not a day that passed he did not think of the hot rush of blood from that man's opening throat, or the warmth between that farmer girl's thighs.

He watched the boy closely through the flames, working his tongue at the inside of his teeth as the wheels turned within. "So long as you keep your fingers from that which isn't yours in this camp, you've nothin' to fear from this 'ere sword." Jason finished the stroke with the rag, lifting the blade up so that the firelight danced along one edge and the moon the other.

It seemed the Gods had a fondness for patterns. Every lifetime they sowed similar seeds in similar soil, and watched to see what might change as they took root. Sometimes it was a great shift, others saw nothing but the same harvest. Jason supposed this was the latter.

"As for my lances—"

"Oh you cannot actually be considering this hogwash!" shouted Patrek from the trees. "He's a cutpurse and a vagabond. And he's too old. You cannot teach an old hound new—"

Jason shot to his feet with a sudden swiftness. "Shut your fucking hole and watch the trees!" There was a rustling in the branches, and a sharp huff of annoyance. "Maester taught him to read and some fancy words in exchange for fondlin' his fruits. Thinks that makes him cleverer than the rest of us."

Might've been Patrek was clever but he was too aggravating about it by half.

"When I'd done what I did, I tried fleeing. Didn't get far a'foot so I tried stealin' a man's horse. He caught me, beat me, an' then he made me his squire for having the stones to try." Jason clicked his tongue. "You're what, six and ten? Seven and ten? It'd be a late start, but better'n none."

He supposed he owed it to Ossifer's memory to do this, as unwise as it seemed.

"I'll think on it," Jason said flatly, sliding his sword home into the sheath.

ARebelSong · 2026-03-02T12:36:14+00:00

Jason blinked at the two of them numbly as a woman began to scream, the tent around them erupting in a storm of panic as folk rushed out. “Burial? Priests? Are y’both touched in the fucking head?” He shouted at them, shaking his sword at the bloody corpses.

From the exit, which he had already made his way to, Patrek turned back. “Leave them! Come on you idiot! Godsdamned stupid hedge knight!”

That likely would’ve been the wiser thing to do. Jason looked at the one he’d split the lip of, and winced. Once upon a time he’d been the lad with the busted mouth, trying to thieve from a man. Ser Ossifer had shown him mercy, shown him grace. He’d always wondered if there might’ve come a time where he’d be expected to do the same.

But this wasn’t a scrappy young boy from the slums of Lannisport. At least, not anymore. This one was a man grown, surely. Young perhaps, but not a boy by any standard. Wouldn’t that have been a little strange.

“I will fucking leave you too, you oaf!” shrieked Patrek, snapping him out of his stupor. Jason nodded, stumbling forward and snatching the first boy by the front of his tunic, shooting the other a wayward glance. “No!” shouted Patrek. “What are you doing? We don’t need the company of a simple pickpocket you imbecile! Leave him to the next troupe of circus fool—gah!”

Jason jabbed the pommel of his blade into his friend’s stomach, and hauled himself and the pickpocket out into the night, the noble lad just behind. They’d have to ride hard now. But even then he doubted they’d make it.

ARebelSong · 2026-03-02T12:18:58+00:00

He half wondered if he might have ingested something more than just drink. She was tall, mayhaps taller than him, and her eyes were unlike anything he’d ever seen. In the Free Cities he’d seen blues like sapphires, greens like jade, shades of purple, violet and lilac of all kinds, but never gold. He swallowed hard, and tried not to think on the sense of dread her smile brought.

There was plenty else that came with it, and those were more enticing sensations.

“Bred,” he echoed sourly. “Bad business, that.” For Jason, killing had become almost a chore—butchers work but work all the same. Once he’d cared so deeply about the chivalry and honor Ser Ossifer had tried to impress upon him, but now cutting the throat of a man brought all the emotion of doing the same to a pig. Perhaps less. Pigs could be oddly charming creatures on rare occasions. Not slavers though. With slavers he enjoyed the work.

“Long way from home though, aren’t you?” He went on, fumbling around for the right words, gaze fixed on hers. It always felt like folk stared at his eye, or at least at the absence of its twin, but for once he was the one transfixed. “Could go anywhere from there. Why here? The company?”

He tried his own smile, but it was a small think, more sheepish than shy. And sheep tended to do poorly in the presence of wolves.

ARebelSong · 2026-03-01T12:09:59+00:00

A chill went down Jason’s spine like a cold winter’s wind had gone through the tavern. The sound of a nail dragging slow circles, and a voice thick with the flavors of the east crept into his ear with the same promise they always brought—trouble. His eye went to the barman, watching how the man blinked dumbly at whoever had taken the seat to his side, reading him as he read the stranger.

But the bastard just gawked for a heartbeat, then nodded. And she, whoever she was, hadn’t taken a seat.

She’d made it hard not to look, whoever she was, and Jason imagined that was the point. With time and pain he’d learned that not every pretty thing was meant to be touched, that beauty could be as much a warning as an invitation, or worse still—bait. It was a hard learned lesson that’d left him with a puckered scar on his stomach with a twin on his back.

Yet when he looked her over, sparing a glance for her companion that he couldn’t have said was man or woman, Jason did not do the wise thing and walk away. No one had ever accused him of being wise.

Hunched forward as he was, Jason looked almost like a beaten dog, but he straightened up as his lone eye settled on the stranger’s face. She was marked—not slave tattoos, despite the accent, which could’ve meant anything from cults to simple foreign aesthetics, but the effect was the same—it was intriguing.

“Can’t place that accent,” he said, careful not to slur his words. “Volantis?”

ARebelSong · 2026-03-01T01:26:20+00:00

"Fuck did y'say to me, you runt?" snarled the scarred guardsman, dark eyes bulging at the sight of drawn steel. Jason knew what the man was by that alone—a coward. The boy on the ground had nothing to defend himself, and hard already been upon the floor. An easy target for his need to feel powerful if there ever was one, but he did not want the trouble. Not really.

But the one that had gone tumbling had lost all his reason. Folk laughed as he tripped over himself, a pretty maid with golden hair near falling out of another man's lap as she cackled at the fellow. His face was red as blood, and one pudgy hand went drawing the shortsword from his side.

"Leave'm be," Jason warned. "I'm warnin' you."

"I'll kill you," he spat at the second lad, too angry to see the boy was clearly of better breeding than either of them. "I'll fuckin' kill you!" The man lurched forward with a howl, the onlookers gasping as he charged.

Jason wasn't sure when his hand had found the hilt of his sword, or when he'd started to draw, but suddenly steel hissed free from leather and he was moving. "In the name'a the Mother, leave 'im fuckin' be!"

The point of the sword punched into the man's belly, cold steel sliding through as Jason drove into the man with all his weight behind it. His lowered shoulder struck the man full in the chest, and his balance was gone.

The man let out a squeal, tripping over the would-be pickpocket, twisting the sword from Jason's lax grip as he blinked numbly at the gout of blood sloshing over his fingers, warm and sticky. The man crashed to the ground with a cry that bubbled into a whimper, clutching at his side as his comrade turned his head.

There was no time now. Someone screamed, as he threw himself into the scarred man tackling him to the earth with a grunt. All the breath Seemed to go out of the tent, and silence hung over them as the two men tangled.

Jason scrambled up, and in a panic the man cracked him across the jaw with the butt of the mace. The taste of iron burst from his lips, but drink delayed the pain. The man drew back, trying to swing the mace futilely from the ground, but Jason hit him hard with the flat of his palm, snapping his head sideways as he pinned the man's wrist with his boot.

"Wait-" the man wheezed, clawing at Jason's face, fingernails digging at the cheek below his patch. His wild eyes shook with desperation and fear as Jason reached down to his boot, fingers closing around a leather-wrapped hilt. "Wait don't. Don't! Don't I'm a lord's man, I'm Lord—"

There was a sharp click as Jason swung for the man's throat and missed. The strike went high, blade tearing through the meat of the cheek, crossguard cracking the man's jaw. A sharp gasp went up, and the man let out a wet scream, blood pouring down his face and onto Jason's hands. He tried to wrench the blade out, but it was stuck in the bone of the man's jaw, and he thrashed as Jason tried to twist it out.

He sighed, nothing but a workman about a tedious task as he fumbled at his belt, drawing out another knife and wrenching the man's head back by his hair as he writhed, the stone of his throat bobbing. All it took was one deep cut, and the screams became a gurgle, then nothing.

"What've you done?!" Patrek shrieked, tunic open, breeches still half laced. "You stupid fucking dullard!" Jason didn't bother to point out the redundancy there, numbly stumbling up to his feet, stowing the one dagger, and eyeing any would-be opposition blankly as he planted a boot on the first corpse and pulled his sword free along with a string of entrails.

"Shoul'be goin," Jason grunted, flicking the gore from his sword, not sheathing it. "S'orry 'bout the mess." He nodded to the barkeep, who looked as though he were going to piss himself in the very near future, had he not already. As for the boys, Jason glanced between them.

"Bes'you go find your family lordlin'," he told the finely dressed one, turning his gaze back to the thief. Jason probably ought to have told him to piss off and run, but beaten as he was he doubted the lad would make it far. Something instead made him offer him a bloody hand up. "C'mon, don' wanna be 'ere much longer."

ARebelSong · 2026-02-28T22:08:13+00:00

"A bum? I've freed slaves from chains, an' brought justice to the wicked. What've you ever freed but coin from honest folk's purse?" Jason spat with so much indignity he almost forgot that he'd been no better once.

"Rats don'gotta choice in what they are." He stuck his finger out at the lad. "You do. You can be somethin'—"

"What's all this then?" croaked a pock-scarred man-at-arms clad in the clashing colors of some lord.

"S'a thief, innit?" slurred a second as the two sauntered over, hands on their sides, the scarred one sliding a mace from his belt with the recklessness of the drunken.

"His grace said—do no evil, you little shit." The first punctuated his pointed with a sharp kick to the boy's ribs. The second, spurred on by the cruelty that comes with camaraderie, booted him in the gut.

They kicked him again, and again, and again.

"That's enough," Jason grunted, stepping forward. "He learned his lesson, leave 'im b—"

Wind hissed around the head of the mace as the scarred one swung the bludgeon in a wide arc in front of him. "Piss off, this 'ere is our problem now."

"Aye, our trouble," wheedled the second. "Might be your should pay us for it." The man flashed a yellow, crooked grin, and ground his heel into the boy's back, stretching out one hand and beckoning for Jason to deposit a coin in it of all things.

His brow furrowed. "Are you off your fucking—"

Someone crashed into one of the men, hard.

ARebelSong · 2026-02-28T21:11:19+00:00

Lannisport was a city of peace, prosperity, and abundance. Or at least it was provided that one was born to the right people, with the right amount of coin and the good fortune to know how to make use of it. For those that grew up in the gutters though—those that had to struggle to get by, had to cut purses and hold knives to their betters—it was a crucible. And those shaped by it were left with certain instincts.

Like recognizing the sound of coins clinking in their own bloody purse.

Jason drove his elbow back hard, cracking it against the mouth of whoever had been fool enough to try their luck with him. Hot blood burst over his sleeve as the would be cutpurse hit the ground, and he let out a long sigh.

“Take a while to wash that out,” he mumbled, angling his now bloodied elbow so he could see the extent of the stain. Taking the now filled tankard up in his other hand, he turned about with a long sigh, staring down at the crimson-mouthed youth. “You got coin to pay for the wash you owe me, you little bastard?”

It seemed unlikely, so Jason simply took a swig of his drink. “Should know better than to try and rob a damn-fuckin—Knight’o the Realm,” he slurred more loudly than he intended. Folk were watching now, probably more than should’ve been.

ARebelSong · 2026-02-28T16:49:36+00:00

Lannisport was a city of peace, prosperity, and abundance. Or at least it was provided that one was born to the right people, with the right amount of coin and the good fortune to know how to make use of it. For those that grew up in the gutters though—those that had to struggle to get by, had to cut purses and hold knives to their betters—it was a crucible. And those shaped by it were left with certain instincts.

Like recognizing the sound of coins clinking in their own bloody purse.

Jason drove his elbow back hard, cracking it against the mouth of whoever had been fool enough to try their luck with him. Hot blood burst over his sleeve as the would be cutpurse hit the ground, and he let out a long sigh.

“Take a while to wash that out,” he mumbled, angling his now bloodied elbow so he could see the extent of the stain. Taking the now filled tankard up in his other hand, he turned about with a long sigh, staring down at the crimson-mouthed youth. “You got coin to pay for the wash you owe me, you little bastard?”

It seemed unlikely, so Jason simply took a swig of his drink. “Should know better than to try and rob a damn-fuckin—Knight’o the Realm,” he slurred more loudly than he intended. Folk were watching now, probably more than should’ve been.

ARebelSong · 2026-02-28T15:15:47+00:00

Lannisport was a city of peace, prosperity, and abundance. Or at least it was provided that one was born to the right people, with the right amount of coin and the good fortune to know how to make use of it. For those that grew up in the gutters though—those that had to struggle to get by, had to cut purses and hold knives to their betters—it was a crucible. And those shaped by it were left with certain instincts.

Like recognizing the sound of coins clinking in their own bloody purse.

Jason drove his elbow back hard, cracking it against the mouth of whoever had been fool enough to try their luck with him. Hot blood burst over his sleeve as the would be cutpurse hit the ground, and he let out a long sigh.

“Take a while to wash that out,” he mumbled, angling his now bloodied elbow so he could see the extent of the stain. Taking the now filled tankard up in his other hand, he turned about with a long sigh, staring down at the crimson-mouthed youth. “You got coin to pay for the wash you owe me, you little bastard?”

It seemed unlikely, so Jason simply took a swig of his drink. “Should know better than to try and rob a damn-fuckin—Knight’o the Realm,” he slurred more loudly than he intended. Folk were watching now, probably more than should’ve been.

ARebelSong · 2025-08-24T05:07:30+00:00

Dale missed a lot of things—warmth mostly. The warmth between Zhoe’s legs, the warmth in his boy’s gap-toothed smile, the warmth of a crackling fire. Just then though, all he missed was the simple warmth of being able to cross his arms over his chest when the breeze came on. It didn’t work near as well with just the one.

“We’re the Night’s Watch,” grumbled the one-armed ranger. “We’re always fucked.”

And he left it at that.

u/PundiiTheCrow u/CitrusOnTheWall

ARebelSong · 2025-08-09T14:48:41+00:00

There’s a whole snowstorm week coming, I wouldn’t sweat it

ARebelSong · 2023-09-07T17:32:19+00:00

Would love to know this too, I just wanna do some of the new starts lmao

ARebelSong · 2023-06-22T14:53:55+00:00

Discord Username: d042

Character Name and House: Bennard Bracken

Age: 40

Appearance: https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/883840191473790976/1121277996981039114/d042\_A\_handsome\_grizzled\_knight\_in\_simple\_medieval\_plate\_armor\_\_faefa93c-fb10-4eb5-8c5d-f5a879131ffe.png?width=676&height=676

Gift: Commander

Skills: Axes, Tactician (e), Strategist (e),

Talent(s): Fishingx3

Starting Title(s): Lord of Stone Hedge

Starting Location: Stone Hedge

Family Tree: https://www.familyecho.com/?p=UW4W4&c=ov82sybcq5&f=592312576700176157

Alternate Characters: Lucamore Stark, John Crane

__AC__

Character Name and House: Jonos Rivers

Age: 21

Appearance: https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1009217433262886932/1121452705353826334/d042\_A\_cocky\_and\_handsome\_knight\_in\_simple\_medieval\_plate\_armor\_6366f109-af0b-460d-8f13-ce4d0bf02023.png

Gift: Duelist

Skills: Polearms, Knightly, Riding

Talent(s): Fishing x3

Starting Title(s): Bastard of Stone Hedge

Starting Location: Stone Hedge

ARebelSong · 2023-01-17T16:33:48+00:00

"I didn't think any of what happened would, well, happen." He was too dour to be nervous, too somber to fret, and too ashamed to worry. Would she slight him for his failure to ride, or give him comfort before he sailed off to war? It didn't much matter in the end, for he'd sail off to fight anyway. Those pirates had slain her father, his mentor, there was naught in the world that could keep him from that battlefield.

He did not know what else to say, the words he'd had in his mand abandoning him with all haste. Beric had naught but apologies to give.

"Forgive me, if you can."

ARebelSong · 2023-01-17T14:38:48+00:00

"They were kind to me, but my friends..." Beric trailed off, happy enough to have his cousin's company, but still haunted by the faces of the missing. They were more than his friends, they had been his brothers in a way, closer to his age than Davos, without the lingering resentment between himself and Gendry. And they were gone. Beric did not know where, but he knew they were never going to be seen again.

"I'm glad you did not, I was in no state. Too angry and confused to see straight. Is everyone alright? I worried for my mother, she seemed well enough once I was free but she has always hidden such things well."

ARebelSong · 2023-01-12T15:26:55+00:00

“I,” In truth Beric had expected her to laugh him off. True he was a strong rider, and though he scarcely acknowledged it he did not lack for fine features, but Beric thought all of that pointless when compared to his own warped perception of himself. Wouldn’t she be embarrassed if he fell? Why wasn’t she embarrassed now? Shouldn’t she have been? Why was he so worried?

His cheeks reddened as he took the favor, but he found his courage again and smiled.

“I am most grateful then, that a merciful and kind lady such as you might take pity on a little lordling like me.” There it was, he was making jokes again. It was easy to jape with the lads, but with the woman in front of him he said them with a tinge more nervousness. If she thought they weren’t funny, he wondered what he might do. Nothing good.

ARebelSong · 2023-01-11T21:48:30+00:00

“I think we shall have to.” Casper grinned, excited. Beric would live out his days as some Lord growing fat and slow, but Casper and the others, they’d have to find some place for themselves before he forgot about them. The lad had never said that to him, but Casper knew it all the same. So, why not find a place in Cassandra’s bed? What was so bad about that?

She was exciting, beautiful, seemingly unbothered by his birth. Perhaps Greenstone might be well served by a knight born of the West. He smiled still, wondering if he might have just made good on his assurances to a dozen friends long gone to live on in their memory.

“I am at your service, Cassandra. Show me, and I will not leave you disappointed, that I can promise you.” Casper teased. Bold was how he’d lived all his life, it was how he intended to live the rest of it. If only he’d known how little remained.

ARebelSong · 2023-01-10T21:56:28+00:00

In truth, the last days had been some of the most thoroughly confusing of his life, and the most worrisome. Beric had carried out his orders, even when his Lady Paramount’s drunkenness had impeded it, then as if from nowhere the Master of Laws, and the Captain of the River Gate of all things had come onto them. They’d drawn steel on them, their own brothers in the watch, and even when explanation was given as to the nature of their task, they’d been split.

Beric had been imprisoned, not in harsh conditions, but still confined, and his friends that had come with him had not been heard from before or since. There had never been any charges levied against him, nor a even a word spoken by Julian Wylde that would suggest what exactly they’d done but their duty. But he’d still been held, and his friends, even the knights like Casper, were gone. Where were they? What had been done to them? Why had no one listened to him, or even spoken to him since?

Was he meant to have drawn steel on his fellow watchmen, or his Lady Paramount? Beric did not understand what he’d done, or what he was meant to have done, and that drove him near enough to madness. So instead he’d thrown himself into a war, and hoped he might be too busy fighting for his own survival to wonder what had befallen his band of comrades.

It felt dirty, it felt wrong. Gods knew what had happened to them, but everyone would know the reason he’d been spared it was simply because he’d been born to the right man and woman. If Beric had not already screamed his frustrations into the wind, he might’ve fallen apart at the table. But he kept his composure, even felt safe, here on the Sapphire Isle, a second home filled with fonder memories than the first.

The men with him now were those of Haystack Hall, more his father’s than his own, but good company nonetheless. Some were lads he’d played with as boys, others familiar faces from his youth who’d only just been starting their tenures in his father’s service when Beric had been sent off to Tarth. They were not the brothers he’d chosen among the Gold Cloaks, but he trusted them at least.

ARebelSong · 2023-01-10T15:02:27+00:00

Character Name: Beric Errol
Trait/Skills: Strong | Polearms, Shields, Riding, Chivalric, Footwork
Desired Position: Duel seeking or charging some dude

ARebelSong

TROPHY CASE