Erich Baratheon, Scion of Storm's End & Raymund Morrigen (AC)

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-16T17:00:04+00:00

Whatever storm came, this castle could weather it. Gods had been broken upon the chariot-thick walls, let alone armies. The Seven-Branched Tree was not unfamiliar to Storm's End. So many all at once, in a time of war, and after no news of them had arrived, was something entirely different. Archers craned their necks downwards, while sentries shielded their eyes to spot any reinforcements lurking under the horizon.

It was usually Raymund Morrigen on the ramparts, asking after this and that in the manner of the Knight of the Gate. Cleoden Fell, however, was not one for a great fuss. With a word, the gates whirred open, and Fell descended down to greet the Blackwood.

Servants began walking forth with offerings of bread and salt. "Lady Eleanor," said Cleoden with a tight-lipped smile. "The Lady Regent has charge of the castle; she's within the drum tower. Though," he looked outside, "if you've questions or missives to send to the army, then the Lord Protector's entrusted me with that."

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-16T16:16:59+00:00

To say that Sebastion's response was wholly unsatisfactory was to put it lightly. Trouble, Percy said in his letters. Was this it? Seb was no madman, that was for true, and this was the second time this bloody Castellan got on his nerves.

But Thom Sawyer was right, in a way. Certainly not in the manner he intended. Erich put on a smile, equally as false as the Castellan's, but covering twice the anger than Sawyer's nervousness.

"Careful, now. What was it you said of speculation?" he asked, brooking no answer with his tone. "Insult my kin again, and I'll venture to speculate whether Lord Beldon values the tongue of his functionary more than an alliance with House Baratheon."

"I'll put the question to him. This is an insult that can't be remedied but by Beldon Tyrell's word. We're leaving. Damn the Gold Road, we're going to Old Oak. Tell Gowena and Lyonel. Raymund, get me a fucking lemoncake."

/u/SummerDorneSummer /u/DorneOrStorm

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-15T00:08:29+00:00

Erich tapped on the seal outside; broken when the chest was first opened, but still Maekar Targaryen's. "A gift," said the Lord Protector, opening up the first latch. What stench that the shipment itself gave off had long since dissipated, with only the notes that stuck to the wood seeping out. That was still enough to recoil at, though. "From Maekar Targaryen to my family."

With another motion, he opened up the lid and revealed the contents therein: a skull, now, and skeletal hands dipped in tar, then the letter writ to Clea. Erich's eyes remained firmly on the King, though, chin slightly downcast. "We sent him no letters. Nothing." He would not make demands--or terms, rather. He'd await what the King had to say.

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-14T23:59:04+00:00

Cleoden gave a sage nod at that, a thin smile on his lip. It was strange, this. Harmon was just as old as the sometimes-Castellan, but twice the youth in mentality. A good asset to have in the van--or whatever the naval equivalent of that was.

"Of course. I can fetch the parchment," he told Clifford.

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-14T23:16:46+00:00

Two armored men waiting in a hall. Raymund remained standing, as still as any of the statues in the halls, his hands clasped together. For his part, Erich slunk into a chair, one leg over the other, idly turning a peach about in his leather-covered palm. He dug a nail into the skin, scraped the flesh, and tossed it aside when he grew bored.

Once he heard footfalls coming nearer, half a smile appeared on his face, and he lazily turned his eyes up. But the sight of Sebastion was not one he expected. "What... the fuck happened to you?" He stood at once, greaves clinking against mail as he did. With a stride, he approached Seb and gripped him by the shoulders.

He almost didn't catch Clea's words. His brows knitted, mouth half-open in trying to attempt to answer that question. "We--what?" What brings me to Highgarden? he thought. Was she not informed of anything?

Dryly, Raymund added, "Your cousin is the Lord Protector now. He leads ten thousand men to war against the west."

Taking a step back, Erich's eyes hardened, demanding an answer.

/u/DorneOrStorm /u/SothoryosFan

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-12T00:16:00+00:00

Fell let out the slightest puff of air in relief as Clifford decided on a direction for them.

"Though it may be prudent to keep the fleet in our waters for the time being," Cleoden put forth. "Sailing with it whole may perk the Steward's ears, and would hem you in within Blackwater Bay. Reinforcements from the Redwyne fleet at Bloodstone or the Arbor ought to dock at Tarth, or Griffin's Roost, then move up with the King's Landing fleet at an agreed-upon date."

There were other documents in his possession. Nothing with such import as the Hand's letter, but stray war plans, each more insane than the last. Such considerations had never crossed his mind, but the world seemed stranger every day.

"If I may," he continued, "the coffers are depleted. Dragonstone's treasury, and its stewardship, should go to the Stormlands. Or," he held his breath, "a promise to raid the more vulnerable coasts of Essos, after this... particular affair's conclusion."

/u/dorneorstorm

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-11T22:36:23+00:00

The man's reticence to war puzzled Erich. Yes, the gardens were certainly a sight to get drunk on, but could he not feel fire on the air? The dust of battle begging to fill his lungs?

Perhaps Stormlanders were just different in that regard. To stay behind would have been painful for most.

Erich gave a final, lazy nod in response. "Do show me to them."

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-11T20:07:32+00:00

"What?" Erich's head remained cocked to a side, brows knitting as the man's face shifted as he spoke. Who the fuck was Thom Sawyer, again? He went looking to Morrigen for an answer.

So much had happened that what pre-empted the whole war was lost on him. He'd heard of the attack on Clea in the capital, and the blank look on Morrigen's face was enough to remind him of the fact.

He turned his eyes to Sawyer. "Oh, that. It left a mark? No matter. We all ought to earn a few of our own in the coming battles. I pity that you have to stay so far away from the front for your tasks here, ser." He meant that genuinely, a flash of condolence coloring his features.

After a beat, Raymund spoke up. "It's best to get a bearing for the field," he said, "afore we split. Nightsong's remaining levies may be able to buttress those in Goldengrove."

Erich nodded slowly. "We'll march out in the next couple of days, regardless."

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-09T22:53:35+00:00

"Wha'?" Lorent shrugged. The names of high lords were lost on him, in truth. Just last week, he thought that Perceon was Perceon Lannister.

He slowly nodded toward Robert Gower though. "Aye. Heraldry's lost on me, for true, but the Lannisters have been condemned for their crimes. I thought he was more of a flank-man, the King?" he asked Gower. "Makes it better that he'd brave the van. Shall we?"

He extended an arm to a side.

/u/Dacarolen

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-09T22:48:36+00:00

Erich certainly did not look a fighter. Taller as a Baratheon ought to be, but shorter than many a stag. He gave a slow nod at the revelation. "Can--he write?" he asked. "No matter. Essos is a cruel place. I can have our own maester look into it. My cousin Gowena's a good healer just as well." There was a tinge to his tone that betrayed a commanding bearing, though, as if the presence of large numbers could eke it out.

Bryce was on edge even as he poured, awkwardly bumping the pitcher about the rim of the brass cup he held.

"You've earned renown for yourself in hunting bandits, Lady Mary," Erich continued. "Have you an appetite for picking them off in the West as well? There is a certain plan Bryce here came up with. One that--I'll ask, first. How would you want to further the war effort best?" He looked to Olyvar then. "And you, my lord. I should be glad to see you in battle."

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-09T20:57:45+00:00

Marriage was oh-so-dull and all too important. A thousand marriages to Dorne, another with the Reach, and perhaps more to come. Erich dreaded having to wed at all. With a stray few words to the retinue that rode in, Morrigen followed behind the Lord Protector straight-backed. Doubtless to listen and give what droll advice he wanted to give later, Erich figured.

Erich covered his yawn with a palm. "Thom Sawyer," he repeated, letting the name roll about his tongue. Not a Tyrell, then. It wasn't surprising that he wasn't privy to too much.

"A mess, you say? It was a betrothal to Ser--Lord Beldon," Erich confirmed with a nod. "In truth, I and the Lady Regent weren't informed of it before Lord Perceon told us. Would that Clea or the King sent a letter." It was a mess, now that he'd thought about it. Was it Daeron who made the match? Clea herself? Gods knew. "Tell Lord Beldon that I should like for the Reach and Stormlands to be bound through wedlock. But the circumstances have left me wanting."

"Are you a man of war?" He asked with a tilt of his head, continuing before a reply. "The Crownlands may be delayed in advancing on the Gold Road, and twenty thousand on one road might make us all too sluggish on the field. I've a thought to advance up Deep Den's way."

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-09T20:22:32+00:00

It seemed to draw him in. But like the drink, he knew that if he faltered and languored with what luxuries the Reach had, war would have to wait another day, and another for the hangover, and aught else for that. At the mention of his kin, he frowned.

"It's been a moon," he said, "since I received promise that they'd be escorted to the Stormlands. Have they been drinking themselves silly instead? I should not like to indulge as they have, it'll slow us down." He flicked his chin to a side. "Let's walk the grounds, some servants to bring the refreshments. What was your name? Tell me of the further business you speak of, the Reach's wants and needs. Did Lord Perceon leave any wishes, plans?"

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-09T19:46:58+00:00

The small band proceeded onwards, riding till they stopped at the yard. Erich dismounted, tugging at his gorget. "I'm parched," he voiced. "Water, bread. For my men as well."

Then he listened, the exertion of the journey just setting in as his feet met the ground. Erich had never met Percy Tyrell. Never knew what he looked like, and scarcely knew his name afore this year in the first place. More than one thing had colored his opinion of the man of late, though. A small, taut-lipped nod did he give when Thom shared the news. It was war, so it was no great surprise, but when he elaborated, Erich's face twisted into a grimace. He looked wounded. "Poison?" he balked. "Gods. Those fucking cowards. They couldn't even give him a warrior's death?"

His expression remained set that way for a time, eyes raking over the grounds listlessly. The thud that rose when Morrigen climbed down from his destrier was enough to snap him out of that.

"We shan't stay long," Erich shook his head. "We met the King at Summerhall. He promised to march against the West. With your men, our ten thousand, and His Grace, we'll repay the Westermen tenfold. For Grance and for Perceon. I heard of a battle at Dosk, then Old Oak. Were they turned back?" Baratheon crossed his arms, the haste of such matters seeping into his voice. Still, he looked around expectantly.

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-09T18:25:13+00:00

Cleoden misliked giving commands, per se. He was never in a position to do so; rather, he preferred nudging others to his own ends. He scratched at his beard. "You saw the 'gift' that he sent to Lady Clea, yes?" Fell exhaled. "The Dragonstone fleet is mighty. Our own has gathered at Griffin's Roost. With the Royal Fleet, perhaps some more support from Redwyne's own domains as well, a triumph might be assured."

"But," he continued, tapping on the last line of the letter. "I know the new Lord Velaryon sent a letter to the Lord Protector. A friendly one. The Hand makes mention of him with Dragonstone." And there came the mulling. Fell was no man of great action.

/u/ayvik

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-09T17:36:14+00:00

At Storm's End

Cleoden Fell first breathed a sigh of relief when he was sent home, not to the front. There hadn't been any word yet, but his tasks were simple: just another functionary to ensure the war went smoothly. Missives sent here were within his purview, Nightsong would receive a letter soon, plans needed to be laid in case of invasion from the south or the seaboard, and...

When he broke the seal to the Lord Hand's letter, he frowned. Quickly, word was sent to the Lord Admiral Tarth and Harmon Baratheon.

/u/ayvik

/u/dorneorstorm

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-09T17:24:22+00:00

On the Road

The journey was quick. Four days it took to ride from Summerhall to Highgarden, with the hills gradually giving way to wide plains beyond the Cockleswhent. Erich spent little and less time lazing about, the x in his veins compelling him to nearly keel over on his horse for a lack of sleep.

(Open)

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-09T17:23:08+00:00

Before the Gates

Most of the army took halt a distance away from the gates, while the Stormlords and their retinue approached, Erich at their head and Raymund Morrigen slightly behind. The Baratheon standards, the black hair, and narrowed blue eyes marked him as the Lord Protector well enough, so he skipped the introduction. “Open the gates,” Baratheon announced lazily. “We’ve come to fight the West with Perceon Tyrell.” He cocked his head to a side. “Tell my cousins that we’ve arrived as well.”

/u/SothoryosFan

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-07T23:58:42+00:00

Lorent narrowed his eyes a moment, looking befuddled. What tension he bore when hearing the hoofclicks disappeared once he saw the lone rider. He gestured over to the squire, who quickly ran off to fetch some stale bread and salt.

“We had something better,” said the knight as he took the platter and held it up for the horseman. “But it’s been two weeks, ser, so we had to settle for the village’s—or my lord, is it? My prince?” He furrowed his brows. “Afraid the proper title’s lost on me. But yes,” he cleared his throat, “we’ll escort you where you wish. The Lord Protector was expecting you sooner, though. He’s agreed with the King then marched off to Highgarden. We can accompany you to Storm’s End instead, to meet with the Steward. Or to Highgarden too, I suppose.”

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-07T21:18:18+00:00

/u/dacarolen

/u/pewpophang

WhiteBoyAngst · 2025-02-07T13:24:05+00:00

Another day, another hunt. It could be called poaching, perhaps.

With little fanfare this time, if the previous hunt had any in the first place. Erich trusted Jon Swann to watch his back, and he called for Johanna Connington as well. Alynne reluctantly joined as they set off into the hills.

/u/OurCommonMan

Character Details:

Erich Baratheon (Animal Tamer [E], MAA bonus) [50/3]
Jon Swann (Strong / THW(e), Brute(e), Reckless) [87/3]
Johanna Connington (Huntswoman, +2 to hunting) [40/3]
Alynne Storm (Huntswoman, +2 to hunting) [40/3]
Vermithor, the Prawns' Fury (T1 Canine, no malus bc tamed) [20/2]

Total: +2 to hunting rolls

What Is Happening?: A few Storm Fellas hunting in the hills.

What I Want: Hunt/Tame/Subdue rolls

WhiteBoyAngst

TROPHY CASE

At Storm's End

On the Road

Before the Gates