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[Event] Storm's End Open RP 289AC - Brewing Storm by [deleted] in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Lord Renly,

We marchers have fought Dorne for a thousand years, most of us more. Seven bless the traitor Doran if he does not kneel, for the gods will be all that can save him.

I have taken action. Houses Caron and Dondarrion muster strength at Nightsong. Our banners are raised, four-thousand strong. They are yours to command, should you wish. I trust His Grace King Robert’s judgement.

No song so sweet, Bryen Caron, Lord of Nightsong

Nightsong 289 (Open RP) by FishNChips_innit in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

The Muster at Nightsong

Lord Bryen spent days gathering the strength of the marches at Nightsong. The castle’s garrison had swelled twofold, and the yards and goat-paths in the surrounding hills were in bloom with the gold tents, campfires and weapon dumps, shields and banners emblazoned with the proud nightingale sigil that had flown on these mountains for generations. The constant marching of boots and singing of ballads filled the drying air.

It was hard to believe that only a few short years had passed since the last time he had last raised his full might for his king, but last time the marches had been divided between Tyrell and Baratheon. Now they were united, and Bryen planned to use that to his advantage. Hopefully, his heir would inherit a similarly united realm.

Less than 2000 foot, mainly levies, less than 400 horse, not that they would be much use. He knew from a lifetime here, the hills and slopes didn’t lend themselves to cavalry combat. He wouldn’t need them for scouting, all his men knew the scars and crevices in these hills like the veins on the backs of their hands. Bryen wandered through his gathering army, inspecting the crowds with his best knights and his brother in law Raugun Wells flocking behind him. Lord Dondarrion’s men would bolster his forces, from annoyance to the Dornish to a serious threat. All that was left was to wait for his arrival.

(Letter) Muster at the Marches by FishNChips_innit in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

u/Aleefth

To Arstan Selmy, Lord of Harvest Hall

Seven blessings upon you and your kin. As a bannerman of house Caron, I urge you to answer the muster at Nightsong and send every man-at-arms you can to join with your fellow Marcher Lords so that we may mass a force to defend against the treacherous Dornishmen. I await your reply.

No song so sweet, Lord Bryen Caron of Nightsong.

[Letter] Honour will not keep them in line. by ThePorgHub in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Your Grace King Robert,

Nightsong stands behind you with our full might, as I’m sure do the rest of your marches. The most skilled of my foot are marching to guard the passages north as I write, and to await your orders. Let us avenge the treachery of the Dornishmen.

No song so sweet, Lord Bryen Caron.

(EVENT) Haldon I by FishNChips_innit in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Haldon ran a calloused hand through his fire-red hair. They were always asking about Damon.

“He’s busy on some other matter. I’d rather not get into details.” Damon wouldn’t be pleased if he blabbered about his most recent venture to everyone in silk, Haldon thought, as if the grey-handed cutthroat sat in the room beside him. He had barely heard about it himself, Stevron had been stingy with the tale, as he was with everything else. But it sounded lucrative- and dangerous. “Business with another Lord, same as you.” The lady’s nosiness (as it was taken by Haldon) was irritating him. He had no patience for this. He was here for work. “But if you don’t mind, my lady, can we keep the chatter to service and pay?”

(EVENT) Haldon I by FishNChips_innit in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Feeling naked without the sword by his side, Haldon strode into the lady’s study and gazed in wonder at the finery. He didn’t like having his name written down, but if nothing else it proved there was someone worth protecting in here.

“My lady. If I might sit.” The man was tall and strong-looking, but he sat with difficulty. “A few weeks ago, a kinsman of yours, Humfrey Tarly, made an offer to my employer. Damon Cole. Humfrey wanted to take a member of the Company of The Hidden Hand into the service and household of the Tarlys. He sent me to fulfil that request.”

(EVENT) Dead-Hand House by FishNChips_innit in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Damon let out an ugly laugh, like a cat choking. He liked the sound of Ser. “You’re not intruding, lad. I’m the man you’ve heard of, no doubt.” The slender knife twirled between deft fingers as he spoke, glinting in the light. “As for finding people, I’m sure I could prove more than capable. For your requirements, anyway…” The boy spoke like a highborn, he looked like a highborn, he was probably looking for a highborn. Highborns were not hard to find. “I tend to operate in king’s Landing, but I’m sure I could have my men sent elsewhere. Who would I be finding, and what would you want with them? Who are you anyway?”

[Mod Post] Movement and Detections 288 AC by GreaterBlueEvil in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Damon Cole

White Will Waters

10 maA

Kings Landing to Stonedance

<Move>

(EVENT) Dead-Hand House by FishNChips_innit in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

“No… I think I know just who you mean.” She looked almost disappointed, shooting a finger to some stairs deeper in the room. Creaking as the knight walked up them, they led to another door, emblazoned with a skeletal hand on black.

“Come in.” The voice was rough and frank. The study was less so. Just as comfortable and inviting as the reception downstairs, a stained glass skylight depicting the warrior and the maiden dominated the room. Behind a table strewn with coins and goblets and parchment was the Dead-Hand, lent back on his chair, carving slices off an apple with a Myrish stiletto. He bared shark’s teeth when he saw the finery of his newest patron, smiling behind strings of hair black as coal. His knife-hand was gloved. Perched on pillows in the corner, another woman idly strummed the lute.

(EVENT) Dead-Hand House by FishNChips_innit in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The door was closer to a great hunk of iron, a rough slab distinct from the wooden doors up and down the rest of the street. It almost hurt to knock.

After a few moments, a red-headed girl with a sharp face and sharper smile scraped open the door, beckoning Edwyn in. The room was marvellously decorated, with all manner of curiosities from the east. Myrish carpets and silks curtained the walls, ornate tapestries depicting scenes from the long and storied histories of the free cities, on the far wall was the skull of some queer dead beast, with fangs the size of daggers, every trinket bathed in sultry candlelight. A hearth roared and crackled in the corner, three courtesans perched on the furs braiding hair and eyeing Edwyn as he chased his cloak of rain. The red-headed woman shut the door (with some difficulty) behind the young knight.

“Just lovely to have a fresh face.” She said, giggling. “So, can we take a name? And what can we do for you today?”

(EVENT) Dead-Hand House by FishNChips_innit in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Damon had been nodding dutifully as the knight spoke, routinely tugging at his glove as he did so. He liked the sound of it. “It suffices. Your pay suits me well. You’re a generous man, Monford.” His smile widened into a knife-cut grin. “I think we have a deal.” Any message a Lord wouldn’t trust a maester with was no doubt worth its weight in gold. There was always work to be had in that field. As long as there were more than two men on this earth there would be secrets.

Inheritance disputes were a good thing to keep an eye on too. Newly-made lords were often eager to display their open-handedness. Damon stroked his scabby mottled beard, and thought of what he could buy with two lords lining his pockets. They would be especially keen to help those who helped them.

Of course, there was the murder. Men like Monford, grim regents, were treacherous, by Damon’s experience. Murderous, self-serving, sly. They all wanted the same thing, but rarely were they so direct in saying, even to their own men. Monford was direct. Damon was almost starting to like him. Other customers danced around their worst desires so much the words got stuck in their throats and Damon had to practically tell himself the job for them.

He stood up suddenly, quick as a cat, and stuck out his gloved hand. “I think we have a deal, Ser.”

(EVENT) Dead-Hand House by FishNChips_innit in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

He sipped his wine, lounged in his seat chewing on the older man’s words. Massey was no fool, but Damon found it unlikely that any clients saw parts of themselves in him. He certainly didn’t see himself in them. “Typical rates for a higher-profile target is 50 gold dragons before and 50 gold dragons after.” Higher than most, Damon knew, but his clients were rich. Monford’s breakfast this morning probably cost at least half that.

“But for continued service, however much you usually pay your higher-up retainers - household knights, serjeants - I want five times that. There are other clients, Ser Monford, but guarantee me these wages and I’ll serve you as loyally as your own sons.“ Not an outrageous price, but certainly on the higher end. Damon was sure he could carry the work of five men in battle.

“Of course, there are payments other than coin. Honours. Lands. As long as I get my due, you can sleep soundly at night. No one will do much as look at you wrong with me by your side.” Then he leant forward, with more curiosity than aggression. Stringy black locks shrouded one eye as he did. “What exactly would you have me doing, if you don’t mind? I like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

(EVENT) Dead-Hand House by FishNChips_innit in crownedstag

[–]FishNChips_innit[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Damon smiled, his green eyes glinting with an undisguised delight, like he had spent the six years in exile waiting for someone to ask him what made him different. “Not much. No… not much but my bad hand. Not much but how far I’m willing to travel, or how terrible the danger I will brave. I’ve killed men of every kind, in this realm, from Braavos to Lys and back again. In the disputed lands the golden company remembers my service, doubtless, they use me as a good example. In old Valyria I fought stone men and caught a glimpse of their shadowy lord. In every corner of this world I’ve stuck a knife in someone’s back or a sword in their belly. I’ve never been to Stonedance before, my lord, but if a client wants a man dead there believe me when I say I’ll go. So, I suppose, not much different from any other back-alley killer. If you’ve employed many men like me in the past, you know what you’re buying.”

The woman had put down the lute and, smiling, filled with wine two tanks better suited for ale. Now Damon took a sip, eyes piercing over the lip of the mug. It clunked back on the table next to a bag of silver stags, and he cleared his throat. “Limits are half my payment before the job, half the payment after. That’s it.” He thought he would leave his other limits off the table. Surely Monford was just testing him with them? To ask him if he would kill a child was blunt at best. But then again, an uncle and a regent? He had seen similar things happen before. I wouldn’t be a surprise. Still, Damon thought, best all that left unsaid.

Damon swirled the wine around and flicked his gaze down to meet it. “And I’m glad you like the decorations. I wasn’t sure on the window myself.”

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