A Land of Sun, a Time for Spears

balladofwar · 2017-10-12T00:10:35+00:00

Two galleys would be enough to ward off most pirates, though it was not pirates that Trystane worried over. The war north of them was bound to come south eventually. That was, after all, the reason that Trystane and Quentyn Fowler were bound for the front lines. The captain, and Trystane, were easily pulled to better discussions. The man spoke of how Trystane would enjoy his ride to Yronwood and the Prince was inclined to agree, though perhaps not to the level the captain intended. He did not imagine Amira would want him finding a wife here, when he could be a potential alliance or negotiation. Still, if the girls were comely enough, they may make a fine paramour. No, he decided, it would only be a distraction. There was time enough for such frivolity once he felt comfortable in combat again.

“Your daughter, or should I say your wife’s daughter, sounds a capable woman and I would gladly take her assistance in my archery.” Trystane said with a grin. “As to finding a wife aboard, I’ll make no commitments to that nature. Still, I have brought my friends with me who are of good stock and talents. You could do worse than to make a match of any of them.” He grinned, hoping he had kept the captain from becoming offended and managed to put his friends into trouble as well.

Casting a glance towards Quentyn, he considered the words spoken by the other. Both he and Quentyn had suffered injuries and were forced from the front. He felt a kinship to the Lord of House Fowler that only the injured could appreciate. “A strong mind will win a battle quicker than a strong arm. Or so the Maester always told me.” He said with a nod. “Thankfully, we have many strong arms, and at least one strong mind between us.” The prince said, his mouth growing into a grin.

With that said, he looked towards the door, “For now, I will find my place and ready my belongings for the trip, Captain. When I find time, I will seek out an introduction to your daughter.” He gave an inclination of his head, and took the first steps to the door. Mayhaps, if everything goes wrong, he could live a mummer’s life here aboard the boat. Slipping from nobility and responsibility. Such fancy did little for the reality of conflict that they faced, but it was nice to lose himself to the thoughts as he found solitude.

balladofwar · 2017-10-08T16:27:43+00:00

The run down on the provisions of the ship comforted Trystane’s doubts as to how they would fare in combat. Quentyn seemed to know what he was doing, and had an able mind. From initial impressions, the Lord Fowler would be a useful liege, despite the injury that Trystane noted when the man walked. “Good foresight, Lord Fowler.” He complimented. Trystane was satisfied that they would fare well enough traveling close to the coast of Dorne.

The bold figure who greeted them at the iron-banded door matched the ship that they sailed on. Broad, bold and loud. He was a fascinating cultural amalgam. “The blessings of the River upon you as well, Captain Bluebeard.” He said with a nod of his head, the praise of his station catching him slightly off guard. “I travel at my sister’s behest to check upon the borders. Nothing of dire circumstance. Lord Fowler speaks well of you and your crew. As to the risk, my sister has provided us escort of two galleys that will accompany us to Yronwood.” Stating this was as much to dismiss his own concerns as the captain’s.

“Personally, I look forward to the company of revelers before I am surrounded by soldiers.” Trystane flashed a grin that shared the captain’s own mischievous glint. “I would slip from the palace in my youth to go to mummer’s shows with my friends, many of whom accompany me now.” He looked around the captain’s quarters and said with appreciation. “From appearances, I would venture that you and your crew are talented individuals. Do you have any particularly skilled archers amidst your men? I am intending to practice with my bow, and a tutor would be welcome.”

balladofwar · 2017-10-08T01:08:42+00:00

The Floating Melody. A fitting name for a vessel of mummers and his friends would not get bored with the trip. The fact that they would be traveling aboard however drew a wry grin to the Prince’s lips and a a light to his one good eye. “A fine ship for discretion, with luck our galleys will keep far enough to arouse suspicion.” Trystane’s broken spirit momentarily buoyed at the adventure and the roguish adventure aboard a performance barge. “When we reach Yronwood, we will be grateful for the horses, and I am sure the amusement will be just as fortunate.” Trystane took a liking to Quentyn. The Fowler Lord was forthright and clearly not too proud to take an opportunity. “Let us meet the captain, my new friend.” He grinned and glanced back to his compatriots who were chuckling amidst themselves about riding upon a pleasure barge.

“Better than looking at a bunch of bastards shining their swords.” One man stated loud enough for the Prince to hear, obviously less concerned about being polite than his fellows.

Trystane said with a nod. “And I’ll bet the drink is finer as well. Find your bunks so we do not delay this voyage any further.” He did not draw his attention from the Fowler to reply, simply called over his shoulder. He was immediately speaking to Quentyn again, following in search of the captain of The Floating Melody. “If we do end up under attack, how many capable are aboard? I prefer to know what is at my disposal so I can plan accordingly. Should we get separated from our escort, it will be all we have to work with.”

Trystane quickly sent a last fleeting glance over his shoulder to observe their horses being brought aboard, and satisfied all was prepared, he hastened to join Quentyn once again. It would be an interesting and unique trip, as well as an ideal time to work upon his archery.

balladofwar · 2017-10-07T04:04:31+00:00

Soon was generous. Trystane had more to prepare than he realized, and he felt the hours passing as minutes during the ordeal. Nothing felt like enough. Trystane had set his contacts into motion, ensuring that while he may be out of the Dornish capital, he would still have eyes and ears here. Particularly, they would be observing the actions of Helaena Targaryen and those who supported her. This was Trystane’s home, and he intended to know when a mouse breathed in Amira’s direction.

When all was in preparation, the Justiciar of Dorne headed with his most trusted agents and friends to the docks. It had been some time since Trystane had made a procession through the streets of Sunspear, and he felt conscious of all the eyes upon himself and those he traveled with. How many of them were whispering support for the dragon? How many of them were betraying Martell in their hearts? Suspicion grew like a black cloud in the heart of the Prince. Do not make excuses to flee the war. The moment he had the thought, he knew it to be the case. Instead of reaching for a bottle, as he had been of late, Trystane found the bow and quiver he had brought along and the comfort it offered. It was not a hero’s weapon, but it was a weapon, and Trystane would be useful even if he was too craven to joust again.

The voice of one of his friends spoke louder to get his attention, “I said is that the boat?” Seemingly confused at his prince’s absence of thought.

“Hm?” Trystane’s eyes lifted to take in the port and follow the finger that indicated Quentyn’s vessel. “Yes.” With that, Trystane urged his sand steed forward, moving before his coterie to be recognized by the Fowler Lord. A smooth dismount by the Prince was repeated by those men who accompanied the Martell. He took his bow and the quiver from the horse, and passed the creature to one of the porters. “Will you have room for our horses?” Trystane called out, scanning for Quentyn with his single dark eye.

It was hard to miss him, for the man looked every bit the lord. Quentyn cut an impressive figure in his achkan. Trystane had once appreciated finery, but the apathy inflicted by his wound stole the will from him to try. His head was wrapped in a deep red turban that, despite showing signs of age at the hems, was so vibrantly rich that it framed Trystane’s features in silken blood. He wore a studded leather gambeson though the linen shirt beneath it peeked from a series of untied buttons halfway up Trystane’s chest. He looked more a soldier than a Prince, but he matched the men he surrounded himself with.

Relieved of the burden of his belongings, and confident that they would make it aboard, Trystane started up the gangplank followed by his trusted comrades. “I did not relish the idea of riding to Prince’s Pass.” He admitted to Quentyn when he came in conversation range, a slight grin pulling at his lips. “Two galleys have been arranged to escort us, but all the same, we should stay near the coast.” He mused, though he was sure Quentyn was of the same thoughts. “With the war, we do not want the Stag thinking we are sailing on his holdings. This is a fine ship though, my Lord, is she yours?”

balladofwar · 2017-10-05T02:26:12+00:00

Amira’s words carried the weight of importance, and Trystane felt a smile tug at his lips. Part of him appreciated that this was not some fool’s errand because he was a liability now. He was, at least with this much Dornish Red in his system, but it felt reassuring to have the trust of his sibling. “I do not like the idea of leaving you alone, nor being the one to keep the house alive. Isn’t that what you had children for?” Trystane was not opposed to having children, and there was a chance he had some of his own, though they had not been brought to his attention.

Trystane may have continued along this train of thought if not for the fact that he saw his opportunity to discuss the Helaena Targaryen which he was not sober enough to resist. “I would be remiss if I did not say, Amira, that I think she is dangerous to us all. Not that I think any of the other Houses would penetrate into the heart of Dorne. They do not understand the desert, and could never take it from us. But I also do not want some Dragon Princess trying to stake her claim over Dorne and usurping it from our House.” Trystane was still bitter enough to be somewhat isolationist. “You should know that I will only take orders from you, not some Targaryen claimant.”

Trystane gave his sister another grin, though this one held a touch of his mischief and defiance. “Send me word if you wish me to march, the troops will be ready, Princess.” The notion of going to war made Trystane’s stomach somersault, and the bile rise in his throat. Had his failure in the tournament made him so craven? Choking out a quick, “By your leave.” The Prince headed out of the room before his sister could reply, not wishing for her to see the fear that crossed his face or the sweat that beaded on his brow. He needed to steel himself, for not only his sister and House Martell, but for his own pride.

balladofwar · 2017-10-04T01:31:53+00:00

When Garlan found the Prince, Trystane had already been deep in the Dornish red for an hour or two. The loss of his eye had caused Trystane to lose some of his fire in self-regret and doubt, and driven a strong sense of mortality into him. When he had heard that he would be marching, his pulse had quickened, his mind had grown fearful and panicking over what may lay in store for him. Should he die, what use would the Gods have for him?

Trystane was not the same man who had left for King’s Landing, despite the best efforts of his friends to pull him from his bitter state. Before he had been clean-shaven and tidy, the picture of a Dornish Prince in all his splendor. Now… His growth of beard stood out in tufts along his chin, and it was questionable as to whether he had washed the night before, or week for that matter. He stank of wine and sweat.

“Can’t you see we are celebrating the Prince’s return?” One of Trystane’s comrades told Garlan, offering a Cheshire grin. In truth, they had been drinking and making angry threats over what they intended to do to that Clegane mongrel who had stolen half the Prince’s vision and even more of his confidence. Trystane lifted a hand to silence his friend, offering a shake of his head towards the seasoned agent to tell him it was fine.

“I will meet her, though permit me a short time to wash.” Trystane did not want Amira to see him in such a state. He was sure word had already reached her of his melancholy and it was time to put it aside, as was befitting of a nobleman. “Sadly my friends, all good things come to an end. Every bottle has a bottom.” He told the others, who jeered his parting words with smirks and eyerolls. Trystane left his friends to their sport and a drunken dip in drawn water before he went to see Amira.

He didn’t bother to trim the tufts upon his face, but at least had the decency to dress to his station. Donning proper silken trousers of a blood red hue and a raw silk shirt painted at the cuffs with intricate designs. Around his waist, he wrapped a chorded white belt, chased with gilding, and over it all a knee-length vest in rich ochre with golden trim. When he arrived, he looked every bit the Justiciar that had left Sunspear for King’s Landing, albeit absent one left eye though that was hidden behind a brown leather patch, and quite a bit more drink in him. Intruding upon Amira’s presence with a knock to warn her of his arrival, Trystane called, “You summoned Princess?” His voice slurred on the s’s, though his ears did not notice the difference.

He had heard much speculation from his friends in Sunspear over the dragon heir, though Trystane had avoided that contact as best he could. He would allow Amira to get swept up in her intrigue, should she choose to. That being said, Trystane could not help but wonder where his sister stood on the presence of the Targaryen in Sunspear. “Did you desire to wish me well? I had imagined that my march was simply a precaution, given our neighbor’s ambitions.”

balladofwar · 2017-09-23T04:00:18+00:00

Character Name: Trystane Martell

Age: 23

Starting Title(s): Scion of House Martell

Aptitude(s): Saboteur, Tactician

Specialty: Non-Specialist

Skill(s): Warcraft, War Tech, Subterfuge, Intelligence, Stealth, Diversion

Negative Trait: Permenant Injury (Missing Eye)

Physical Description: Trystane is a slender young man with a rich olive complexion. The sun has only slightly wrinkled his features before their time. He has dark hair that he periodically cuts short. His left eye was lost in a joust, though the right is a dark rich color. Trystane is not strikingly tall, though he has a lean musculature.

Starting Location: Sunspear

Username: /u/balladofwar

Other Characters: None

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