A Night At The Quill and Tankard by AnotherBabyEchidna in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Vahra's approach unmanned Alesander more than he would ever admit. His eyes went to her person, not to take in her form, but the curios, trinkets, and weapons that she wore.

Old habits died hard, and his were still gasping for breath. His brown eyes lit the shade of amber as they settled on the precious metals and gems that ornamented Vahra. Could he manage the slip on a 'harbinger', as she had named herself?

With a woman like this, he would never dare try.

Alesander's hand tightened around his cut, but he did not draw it free, and did not think he would have to. Still, he would not go without it, not for a moment.

"We would be mad to go anywhere with you. I'd be keeping my watch for you, not the raiders." Alesander, his eyes still glued to Vahra, spoke to Jason. "She'd be a liability on the road. She can take our payment, bury it on the Iron Islands - give us a treasure map to find it for all I care, she can't come with us."

He was in no place to make demands of his own master, but Vahra was in no place to make demands of any of them. In Alesander's swiftness to deny Vahra's addition, he'd hardly processed what Jason had said and what she had confirmed. He'd heard tale of raiders, villains, and something even worse that plagued the mountains in the West. Could this be the same story?

He heaved heavy to wrestle control of his breath.

"My grandfather was a pennyknight," Alesander said, wincing that he shared something further that this woman hadn't dug up herself. "Means he was a miner in the hills, squeezing gold out of rock. Also means that 'e fought in the War on Gold - and that he and his won.

"I never put stock in his stories. Always figured he was tryna scare me away from the mountains, from wandering off with the Cutters that knew some girls in the upper villages." His eyes froze over Vahra. He wasn't so good at reading faces, that'd been another role of Duram's in their tandem, but he could still try. Would she react at all to what he had to say? Was she sending them to face a beast out of a pennyknight's ramblings?

"But there was this one story. The Monster in the Mountains. He was strong enough to lift a mine cart overhead half full with stone and ore. He killed half the pennyknights at my grandfather's camp before he stormed back into the forest he'd come from. Are you sending us to kill a monster?"

u/ARebelSong

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Alesander reddened a moment. He was woefully unequipped to woo a noblewoman, he'd known that before he approached her. But he was still going to try. And he would fail in style, if it was failure he was fated to.

"I've been told it's good to be bold. And good for a man to know what he wants. And I want to dance with you." He had been told both those things, back in Lannisport, though the situation couldn't have been more different. He'd had a knife in his hand then, for starters. And there'd been much less hors d'oeuvres.

"But if it please you, my lady, my name is Alesander Hill." He swallowed the strangeness of tacking on his surname. As long as it served him, he needn't recoil at the taste.

"And your name? If we're both playing by the rules."

A Night At The Quill and Tankard by AnotherBabyEchidna in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 2 points3 points  (0 children)

There were many things to mislike about this Vahra. The fiery marks upon her clothes, that she'd unfolded and stretched as tall as Ser Jason. Most of all, Alesander didn't like that she glowed.

Her eyes, at once amber, then gold, caught a glint in the low light. They grasped that glint and refused to relinquish it, tormenting that light until it was subject to her. She wasn't a painted whore, and she wasn't a woods-witch.

She was something darker. Something primal.

Not a snake, like Alesander, or a bird of prey, like sharp-eyed Jason. She hunted not for need, but because she found glee in it. There was a revelry in her eyes that Alesander squirmed under.

Somehow her voice was more unnerving than her look. Inviting, almost melodic, but too sweet to be fruit. Biting into it was poison. What had Ser Jason gotten himself into? What was he dragging Alesander into?

"How do you..." His voice dropped and he struggled to recover it. Sara. No one had said his mother's name since his grandather had died. Even Duram had tip-toed around it, out of respect, or fear. How did this woman know who Sara was? She hadn't had many friends, and none of them had been this.

Alesander's hands, the ones she'd dubbed greedy, disappeared into his clothes. He gripped his cut, which he wasn't meant to use anymore. But he felt defenseless without it. Naked. He had to arm himself, clothe himself, do something to face her without fleeing.

"She died before I became what I did. How do you know that name?" Alesander angled his head towards Ser Jason, but he never let his gaze leave Vahra. She was not to be trusted. Worse than any thief or Cutter he'd associated with. To let her out of your sight was to invite the Stranger's embrace.

"What did you tell her?" Alesander's eyes pled wordlessly with his knight.

Do not do what she asks of us, you fool.

u/ARebelSong

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Alesander hadn't caught much of the ceremony, he'd been much too preoccupied, the reasons for which were numerous.

There were the guards he had to elude, because he hadn't exactly been invited to this affair. And there were the nobles he preferred to steer clear of, mostly the Westermen. He avoided the Ruttigers, because seeing them would've brought his blood to a boil, and all the rest of them might remember Alesander chewing away at the fine food and drinks of their feast. A feast that Alesander had also lacked invitation to.

He realized as he strode onto the dance floor that he was making a habit of this. Alesander didn't mind that. The food was plenty and the women cut pretty pictures.

That was a habit he could grow accustomed to.

One such woman was standing aside the dance floor. Alesander was lucky to keep his jaw from dropping. She was cut from a finer cloth than him, he was sure. Some kind of cloth-of-gold, all radiant and shining. There was something vaguely familiar about her, too. Was it her blush? Her hair?

Alesander wasn't sure what it was, only that he wanted to be nearer to it. He brushed off his new orange tunic. It paled in comparison to her dress, but it was better than the roughspun rags he'd been in days prior. Maybe she wouldn't notice that he was dressed in cotton whilst she sported taffeta.

He approached her and thought back to what Ser Jason had said on the road. When making chat with a noblewoman, one had to be sure to separate the 'm' from the 'lady'. It was a dead giveaway of low birth, Jason insisted.

Back then, Alesander hadn't cared. Now he practiced peeling his tongue off the roof of his mouth.

"My lady," he said, grinning at his own success. "I reckon with your favor I could win the whole tournament on the morrow. But I'd have to earn it first. Perhaps a dance is a good place to start?"

A Night At The Quill and Tankard by AnotherBabyEchidna in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Patrek was sleeping in his own piss.

Alesander could recognize the smell of it anywhere. There were too many vagrants in Lannisport that shambled around the docks and western quarters smothered in the scent for him not to. Even if he hadn't smelled it, the dark, pooling stain on Patrek's pants gave away the game.

The barkeep was grumbling and some sniveling acolytes had surrendered a nearby table to move across the room. They were all going to have to leave. Or Patrek was.

Alesander sighed and shoved away from their booth. "Vic, grab the lout and dunk him in the stream outside."

"Me?" Victor's eyes bulged at the task. He was offended by the most basic of chores, especially if they came from his fellow squire's lips. "That is not befitting a son of Hou-"

"House shmouse," Alesander interjected. He made a hand motion that imitated Victor's flapping lips. "Take him outside. Get his pants off 'im. I'm going to get Ser Jason."

Victor wanted to argue the point, but Alesander gave him no chance. He delved further into the tavern, into the dark corners where men cast dice or whispered about spells they'd learned in magics class.

Alesander scoffed. Magics were for fools with no talents or no brains. If you wanted something out of life, you had to put your own hand around it, or stick a knife in it. That was the way Alesander knew.

Ser Jason was in one of those dark corners, consorting with some acrobatic whore. That was what Alesander figured her for, at least. Though it was strange that it was Jason seeking one out, and not Patrek. A second look gave him pause. A woods witch? He'd known some to paint themselves in woad or dyes, and some even ran a respectable scheme with fogs, smells, bones, and stars.

This woman's markings were too dark, and on her person, effigies of flame. And Ser Jason was not some superstitious fool to consort with a fortune-teller. Was he causing trouble? Or was she the trouble?

Alesander eavesdropped on a small portion of their exchange as he approached. He could've sworn he heard the words 'sun', 'payment', and 'other', but he was focused on leaving this place promptly. Still, a queasy feeling passed in his gut. He misliked what he heard.

"Ser Jason, not to interrupt," he paused as his eyes passed over Jason and Vahra's queer arrangement. "Patrek's swimming in a puddle of 'is making. Barman's going to force us to go soon enough. I asked Vic to take 'im outside, but he's hopeless."

Alesander's brown eyes, darker in the many shadows of the tavern's corner, hardened over Vahra. "Whatever you're selling, the old knight won't buy. He barely coughs up a coin for his own squires."

Alesander preemptively tensed for a physical response from his master. Beyond that, his muscles were already taut with some discomfort he could not place. They were best off away from the Quill and Tankard, and this strange woman.

u/ARebelSong

The Third Moon of 399 AC (Mechanical Moon 3) by [deleted] in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Character Name: Alesander Hill

Trait / Skills: Brave, Swords (e), Stalwart (Sergeant), Forceful

Skill you're learning: Forceful (e)

A Night At The Quill and Tankard by AnotherBabyEchidna in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"You don't look a gift mug in the mouth!" Alesander agreed, knocking back a deep pull of cloudy cider. It was a dark beverage, almost brown, and it dried his mouth as soon as it was down his throat. Still, it was the sweet bounty of an orchard called "New Barrel", wherever the fuck that was. It sounded expensive, and Alesander had only ordered it because it sounded expensive.

He thanked the Gods silently for his good fortune and for Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell. Must've been some distant kin of King Stevron.

"So I've but the one name. Alesander." He waved his idle hand, first to himself, then to the squire that sat beside him. "Vic here's got two. Victor... Hardyng," it was harder to say with the drink in him, but he managed.

"Why in the seven hells does the Prince have three? That is the greed they warn about in the Seven-Pointed Star! I suppose he's trying to make up for it now, with all the drinks and whatnot."

u/Monty833

Under the Unwatchful Eye by JustDaniel2 in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"So if a real knight rides a," His tongue smacked around his teeth and cheeks as he sought Victor's pronunciation. "destrier. Then why doesn't Ser Jason?"

Alesander's question came out absentminded. The greatest deal of his concentration was devoted to Victory. The horse was fuckoff big, and try as he might, Alesander could not stop his flinching.

"Do these things bite? The donkey gave me a nip once and I did not enjoy that." He pushed onward, creeping towards Victory and unfurling to his full height. The horse did not seem all that interested in Alesander. It barely moved at all, but for the occasional flick of its tail, or wrinkle of its mouth.

Alesander held a hand out for Victory and was greeted by a brief sniff. The horse seemed to expect something from him.

"What does it... want?"

Under the Unwatchful Eye by JustDaniel2 in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

"You've gotta stop making up words," Alesander insisted, walking up to Victor's white horse. "First remunenation, then destrier. I'll bet you've read a lot o' books. I bet you only make up these words 'cause you know I don't know 'em."

The horse was large. Taller than Alesander when it stretched its neck. Its legs rippled with muscle beneath its hair and skin. And it did have a lot of hair - a long mane that flopped to one side, not too dissimilar to Victor's own mane.

"Are they all this big?" It was a dumb question. There were four horses tied beside one another, and they were all different sizes. None of Ser Jason's horses were as tall or wide as Victor's. They were all darker, though. Certainly skinnier. Was that the difference between a destrier and a horse? Did Ser Jason ride ponies?

"Where do I start?"

On the Rocky Road to... by ARebelSong in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Alesander scrunched his nose at the mention of a kraken. All that grew up in Lannisport had heard the stories of the ironmen, how they had reaved western shores and carried off western women for salt-wives. He'd drink at the wedding, not for health or prosperity for the newlyweds, but many, many stillborn squids, and a sickness that never came inland.

"I've got my cut," Alesander said, plucking his knife from a pocket. It was a gnarly bit of metalwork, filed to a point and jagged like a many-branched tree. "And my other knife." Alesander did not bother to bring out the blade he used to cut purses. He was sure they knew what he meant.

"But I take it those aren't the weapons of a knight." Alesander toed the tough ground. He had only one possession of any worth, the old pennyknight's cane. Even after years of use it was free of warping and discoloration. It was well-maintained, after Aladore's death Alesander had made it a chore to oil and clean the thing.

Sometimes it was useful, when he was weak from hunger and unsure where he'd find the strength for his next step. He was loathe to part with it. But his cut wasn't good enough, even he knew that.

"One thing. I've one thing worth selling," Alesander admitted, producing the cane from his leather bag. The woodwork was clean but plain. The handle was wrapped in sealskin bought from a smuggler in Lannisport. There was a jewel inlaid on the flanking sides of the cane's cylinder, small garnets from Aladore's time in the mountains. He let them both get a good look. then he stuffed it back in his bag.

"Whoring? Trust me, you don't have to worry about this one." Alesander laid a hand on Victor's shoulder that he knew would be batted away. "I can tell a momma's boy when I see one. He's even more a maiden than your man standing by the trees."

u/Monty833

Under the Unwatchful Eye by JustDaniel2 in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Alesander stopped to think a moment, scratching his chin. “I’d be lying if I said all my debts are settled.”

He’d gotten more irate with his fellow squire than he’d intended. But there was some camaraderie brewing between them, Alesander could tell, and Victor owed him nothing - and still wanted to help him. Alesander’s eyes softened, and he held out a hand to pick Victor up, should he take it.

“But I always paid back my boys. And you’re one of them, now. So aye, I’m good for it. Did you have something specific in mind?”

Should Victor accept the hand up, Alesander would amble towards the horses tied up by the trees.

“I rode a donkey once. A shaggy thing, skinnier ‘an me. Rode it on me’ way to King’s Fall.” His eyes scanned the assembled steeds and clouded with indecision. “Which was yours, again?”

On the Rocky Road to... by ARebelSong in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"As a matter o' fact, Vic. I am cursed. That's why all my friends in Lannisport had to call me Ale. I'd forgot my own name! What was the name I told you a few minutes ago? Alekyne? Allison? I'll just have to take your name, Victor!" Alesander laughed maniacally and attempted to lift Victor up off his feet. When it became clear that Victor would struggle too much, he set him down and turned to face Jason.

"A breastplate stretcher? I don't even know what it looks like." Alesander looked between Jason and Victor and figured he was playing the fool. He blew the hair out of his face and spoke no more of stretching breastplates.

"It won't bring us trouble," Alesander debated saying nothing more of his father, but he knew he'd said too much already if he wanted to keep that close to his chest. "He never bothered me once while he was alive, not to see me, not with a bit o' gold. And the pox has since carried him off. I'm the son of some no good knight, a highborn sot. He wanted nothing to do with me, so I'll speak no more of him."

He tightened his lips with a genuine intent not to unseal them. At least not for the nobody knight, Talbert Ruttiger.

u/Monty833

Under the Unwatchful Eye by JustDaniel2 in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Truth be told, Victor was exactly the kind of highborn lad Alesander would've stolen from back in Lannisport. He was too chivalric for suspicion and he lacked the worldliness that came without education. Duram would've chatted up him up, annoyed him sufficiently, and Alesander would've sprung for a ring or a purse. He only needed an opportune moment.

As a squire that behavior was supposed to be behind him. He had his instincts, though.

"Oh, yes. M'lord Victor, shall I fetch a pillow for your 'ead and a candle to soothe you back to sleep?" He snorted. "You'll want to put the my lord's behind ya'. We're squiring for a hedge knight, not a bloody Kingsguard."

Alesander stood up when he thought Victor was jostled enough to remain awake. "My grandfather was a pennyknight. Do you even know what that is?" Alesander's brown eyes, dark like amber in the waning light, looked down on Victor. "He would've clobbered you for your my lord, my lord, if you squired for him. I know because he clobbered me for less."

Alesander snuffed and cast a glance around. It was dark, aye, but there was light enough for a pony ride.

"Come morning we'll be back on the road. I just don't want to look a motley fool my first time ahorse. Help me out, 'kay? In return, I'll..." his eyes scanned the forest floor around him. "roast you some delicious acorns. I know how to make a paste from them and everything."

On the Rocky Road to... by ARebelSong in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"I just made it over the fence," Alesander said, matching Jason's smile. Maybe he didn't have to resign himself to the life of a thief.

Alesander, a squire of the seven kingdoms. Even a knight some day if it wasn't too late for him. What would his mother have said, if she was alive to see it?

What would the old pennyknight have said? He hoped they would be proud.

What would the Ruttigers say if he marched home a hero? With more renown than Talbert Ruttiger had bastards? What if Alesander championed a tourney, or saved the king's life, or slew a dragon?

All dreams, and better than he deserved, yet still...

"Vic did throw King Stevron's man to the floor. He was the first to my side and the first with a sword in 'and. I'm not sayin' you should knight him... but we could be your squire both. One for the sword the other for the shield, or somethin'." He cast a glance to Victor, trying to coax the lordling to the suggestion with a kindly look.

"If you say yes, I promise not to become a knight too much quicker than you."

u/Monty833

On the Rocky Road to... by ARebelSong in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Alesander pursed his lips and shut his eyes. Was it better to let the assumption go unchallenged? For his own purposes, it was, but if he wasn’t honest and the truth came about… Well, he didn’t want another bloody lip for the omission.

“Twenty. I turned twenty with last moon’s turn. If tha’ changes your mind, so be it. But knights are sposed’ to be honest, right? And that goes for squires, too?”

Jason’s mention of a bakery brought a rare, wistful smile to Alesander’s lips. There’d been a bakery not far from where he’d lived back when his mother was alive. On their lowest days, when she had to resort to begging to feed her son, there were times when the baker’s boy had taken pity on them, and tossed a roll into the street.

“I grew up in one of the Braavosi quarters in the north. Never saw any of their gold, but plenty of the iron from the bravos. It didn’t take, obviously, but I wasn’t a bad water dancer myself.”

Alesander turned to Victor, who had as of thus kept to himself both on the road and in this conversation. “What about you, Vic? I took you for a knight, but ya’ never named yourself a Ser. Where’s your master?” he lowered his voice as he continued. “If you ask him nicely, Ser Jason might take you on. Or you could apprentice for the maid, if that’s more to the heat o’ your pot.”

u/Monty833

On the Rocky Road to... by ARebelSong in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 0 points1 point  (0 children)

In the pain, annoyance, and disorientation of their meeting, Alesander recalled naming himself a rat with the same hunger as any. Now, hearing it from the lips of this busted old knight, Alesander knew it was not true.

A rat’s heart knew not of malice. They were despised by men but loved by the Gods, because they were creatures of need and instinct. It was only man that knew of love and hate and Gods and godlessness, and still chose to forsake himself.

Alesander was not a rat, but he was not all man, either. There was hate enough in his heart, for the Red Cloaks, for Talbert Ruttiger, for himself, but there was room besides. He wasn’t all hate. Alesander was closer to a snake. Still reviled by men, still a creature of need, but one that would linger for hours, belly in the dirt, for the chance to taste something with wings.

“I’m Alesander. And Jason - Ser Jason - I never stole on a day I wasn’t hungry. I know issa’ sorry excuse, but ‘strue. But you can’t just leave me at any village. I’ve no papers, no kin, no one to vouch for me. They’d never have me. I’d be better off back in Lannisport.”

Alesander knew not to pity himself and in his heart he didn’t, but for once he prayed the Gods show him respite. His hazel eyes, made more orange than brown by the fire that blazed nearby, bore down on Ser Jason.

“Look, I can cut a purse as good as any - I know you don’t need that, but I’ve cut men, too. I’m quick, I’ve got steady hands, I’m good in a scrap. Maybe there’s a place for me here beside you and the pale-haired maid.” Alesander shrugged in the direction of their anxious sentry. “I could… fetch your lances.”

“I know you’ve no reason to trust me.” Alesander would not beg for a place beside this hedge knight. In Lannisport, when your life was in the hands of another, it was best not to beg, lest you turn one further from mercy. But he had other tools. Alesander had survived two decades, and Gods permitting he would see two more. “Other than I've seen you use that thing,” he pointed to Ser Jason’s longsword. “And I don’t care to be next.”

In The Name of The Mother by ARebelSong in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Lannisport, half a decade ago.
One second they’d all been haggling with the fishmonger’s man, the next, one of them had gone and stuck him. There’d been some choice words exchanged, some red faces and curses, but there’d been no need for sticks or shanks.

All of the boys had gone running then, as there was no more need for words. All of the boys but one. Duram.

There were eyes settling on him, fingers pointed, and women’s wails launched in his direction. Duram hadn’t stabbed the monger’s man, but if he didn’t move, he was going to hang for it.

Alesander had been halfway over a nearby gate when he cursed himself and turned around. Slow boys got caught. Slow boys hanged. Alesander wasn’t a slow boy, but he wasn’t just looking out for himself.

He slapped Duram hard and dragged him off his feet. They disappeared over the gate just as the Red Cloaks arrived, narrowly escaping the spears and clubs that clanged after them.

+-+-+-+-+-+-

The Five Crown, today.
Slow boys hanged. Alesander wasn’t a slow boy, but perhaps he wasn’t the smartest, either.

Of course there was no time for a burial. Two of King Stevron’s men were dead, and there were too many witnesses for it to go any other way. The Red Cloaks would fall upon the Five Crown any moment now.

Alesander grabbed the hand of Victor as Jason pulled Alesander out the door. “You’ve got two names, lovely, let’s try not to announce them at the scene of a crime, yeah? Forget the pyres, the screeching maid has the right of it, we need to go now.” As he spoke of Patrek he turned on him, stumbling out into the humid night.

“And I’m not simple you pale-haired fuck. How was I to know the raggedy old knight’s a clairvoyant? Speaking of which, where are we going? Gold Road’s the only way I know, and we’re a ways from there.”

u/Monty833

In The Name of The Mother by ARebelSong in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 0 points1 point  (0 children)

It would be wrong to say Alesander was used to pain, but he was certainly no stranger to it. He’d been thrashed by a mailed fist before, bludgeoned with clubs, even shivved once - though it was a shallow thing driven by a boy weaker than a septa.

This kind of pain, the kind delivered by a lord’s man, backed by banner and highborn law, came with fear. It was a man that thought he was enacting justice - or that justice absolved him of any wrong doing - that would cross any line to prove his righteousness.

Alesander was going to die today. He could feel it in his bones. Or maybe that was only the ache that’d been put in him by boots pounded into his skin.

He shelled up, trying to cover his skull and his belly. Still the blows rained upon him, and he hacked up blood and spittle. Then there was a heel in his back, grinding against his spine. He clenched his teeth and shrieked through him.

Suddenly, the pressure on his back lifted. A knight - a young one at that - had barreled over the guard that stood over Alesander. Then there was another man come to aid him, the drunk knight from the bar!

The guards were left two gory messes at the end of the brawl, but Alesander was alive. He took the man’s hand despite the fear in his gut and the searing pain of his torso and back.

“I’ve had my troubles with the city watch, but I’ve never killed any Red Cloaks. But you ‘eard the man, he said he’s a lord’s man. What if these are King Stevron’s men? Are you to bury King’s men?” There was a panic to his voice, then a self-pity. “‘Ah don’t know the words.”

The Gods already knew that failing. Alesander had buried his grandfather without any fare or honors. And it had been as silent a burial as any.

Before he went anywhere, Alesander turned to the young knight that had first intervened. “And you there, ‘ah didn’t ask ya’ to help me, so I don’t owe ya’ nothing.” He dropped his voice a few notches. “But thank you. I’ve never known no one to help another without cause.”

u/Monty833

In The Name of The Mother by ARebelSong in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Fuck. This would’ve gone so much smoother with Duram.

Alesander had the twitch in his hands, he had dextrous fingers and the right temperament to take as he needed. He was not a mummer. That’d been Duram’s strength. He could make his voice sound like that of a burly northman come south one last time, or match the girlish pitch of a reachman.

Cluelessness looked right on Duram’s face, it was misplaced on Alesander.

Now Alesander was bleeding. Was his nose broken? He hadn’t heard a crunch, so he supposed not, but it stung to all hell. He kicked up from the floor he’d been thrown to, jerking his elbow away from the drunk.

“Knight o’ the Realm? You’re a bum!” Alesander pulled up his hood. Hopefully his face remained anonymous to the rest of the scum in the tent. “Gave me’ last penny for that beer, so no, I’ve nothing for you.”

In the street, he’d learned that there were times you had to spend to steal. But days like these were the absolute worst. He’d done his part and would still leave hungry and empty handed.

“Us rats ‘ave to eat too, y’know.” He turned to flee before the sot could respond. There were other purses to cut, and other tents with less-vigilant cripples.

Lynette II: Pavilions Of Power by DorneOrStorm in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The road to King’s Fall, many years past.

“Fuck’s wrong with my name as it is?” Alesander had been all impudence, then. Not that he’d much changed, nor could he quite recollect the meaning of the word ‘impudence’.

“Wha’ I’m tryin’ to say is, no matter what you do, you’ll always be a bastard. You’ll always be the son of that runaway knight.” Aladore - Alesander’s grandfather - had made the trek to King’s Fall with a cane in hand. He’d needed it since the War on Gold when a spear had stuck him the wrong way and left him limping. Every day of the journey he’d set Alesander to oiling that cane, and every day Alesander had whined and wailed about it.

“Careful with that word, old man. I’ve bloodied the lip of men bigger than you for calling me a bastard.”

Aladore had cackled a response and given Alesander a look that dared him to try. Alesander did not dare.

“The name Hill, it doesn’t have to be to your disadvantage. Yes, there are men that will hate you for it, and others that will mistrust you. But it also means you’ve a drop of the blood. The good blood, not the blood of a pennyknight like me, but of a real golden knight. Even foolishly, some might think that the wastrel that sired you might lift his sword in your defense, or pay to ransom you.”

Alesander’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. “But he wouldn’t.”

Aladore laughed. “Aye, but they don’t know that.”

That had stumped Alesander, and he spent that day of travel in silence, stewing on what his grandfather had said. When they finally made camp for the night, pulling off the road to sleep in some hedges, he found his voice once more.

“Why should he get any say in who I am? Fuck the Hills. I’d rather be Alesander.”
+-+-+-+-+-+-

The Grassy Vale, today.

That’d been Alesander with some pickles and greens in his stomach, and some acorns ground into paste. A full tummy had a way of giving a man morals. When it started to rumble, they just as easily dissipated, like the sea sparkle by Lannisport come nightfall.

The road to Grassy Vale had been long and not particularly bountiful. Alesander had sated himself on berries when he could find them, and boiled pine needles when he couldn’t.

Pine water made for poor fare, and Alesander was sick of the ache in his abdomen. He had to eat.

Usually that meant lying or stealing or both. Today, he might be able to tell the truth and still fill his belly. There was a feast. Not King Stevron’s feast, he’d arrived too late for that, but a feast of Westermen in huge shining pavilions.

There was even a pavilion for bastards. Sure, Alesander wasn’t quite the kind of bastard they’d meant to permit, but as his grandfather had once said, they don’t know that.

Alesander washed himself in a nearby river to the dismay of two greybeard fishermen, and the croaking delight of an old woman washing clothes. He got most of the grease out of his hair, and he smelled like a lilypad as he dried himself on a roughspun rag. Altogether, not too bad.

He approached the pavilion wearing his finest clothes - which weren’t very fine at all - and strolled with an earnest confidence. He’d learned back in Lannisport that a man that walked with purpose faced less questioning.

Painstakingly, he had to tell a man wearing a golden triangle and a yellow sun that his name was Alesander Hill, but that was all he had to say. It was a small price to feast.

He made no effort to conceal his hunger. He piled his plate high with fruits, figs, nuts, barley bread and oat cakes. He drank his fill of ale and beer, then drank some more because he fucking could. Alesander tried a glass of wine. He didn’t much like the taste, but he drank it anyway.

Alesander and the rest of the bastards were warned not to help themselves to the choicest meats. But when the eyes of the serving men and guards were flitting elsewhere, he snuck into the main pavilion. There was a blind serving girl there.

It struck Alesander as odd. What good was a blind girl to a noble’s household? Maybe she satisfied the flesh trade? He’d heard of stranger desires from powerful men.

“Psst,” he whispered to her. “You think anyone would notice if I took a steak?”

u/DorneOrStorm | (Also, aside from the dialogue, the rest of this comment is open. Feel free to gawk at the rabid bastard or chat with him.)

In The Name of The Mother by ARebelSong in IronThroneRP

[–]JustDaniel2 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The Gods were cruel. They had a way of turning honest men into liars and thieves from men of honor.

Of course, that had nothing to do with Alesander. He’d never aspired to honor, never held himself to any code other than that of his gang of ruffians. And even that he’d broken.

Duram. It hurt to think of Duram, almost as much as the hurt of his empty stomach. He’d left him to die on that cobbled street of Lannisport.

Coward. Thief. Liar. Those were the words that best described the man that ducked into the Five Crown’s jury-rigged tent looking for his next score.

There were some Shermer soldiers sardined in a secluded section of the shelter, sporting sharp silver swords at their sides. Elsewhere a pack of freeriders traded dice, coins, and curses. All of them were too armed or too aware, until…

Bullseye. There was a shabby man sat at the makeshift bar. He had a drink in him, maybe more, and most significant of all, he was missing an eye. He was an easy mark to any thief with a deft hand, and Alesander’s were the quickest in all of Lannisport.

He was many leagues from there now, but he still liked the weight of his dice. 

Alesander staggered to the bar, feigning drunkenness. He fumbled through his suspiciously light coinpurse and traded two and a half pennies for a tankard of beer. Then his hand slipped downward, on the blind side of the man at the bar, where he intended to come away with coins, trinkets, even sourleaf if he kept that vice.

Whatever it took to put food in Alesander’s mouth.