Warrick
Warrick wrenched his arm away from Mericus’ grip, and through natural reaction, he pushed the perpetrator to the ground. The man … morefell clumsily, but his showed distraught and disappointment when he gazed back at him. Warrick could have sworn the man he called his brother was ready to tear up, but he remained dry eyed.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” Warrick muttered, turning his attention to where he last saw the hooded child who cautiously creeped through the alleys. He was not there. Warrick growled, turning his attention back to Mericus. “Don’t follow me.” He warned, unsheathing Honour from his back, and pursuing the alleyway he had last seen the boy.
The stripping painted walls were damp, and salty from the harbour. Warrick took quick silent steps, a trait seemingly rare for bigger men like himself, yet heard nothing but the sounds of the markets in this distance.
The surroundings had grown darker as Warrick approached deepe… [view original content]
Great part! I like Warrick, the paranoid veteran brute
[Follow your suspicions had head to the Great Hall] Tbh, my reason is just that I don't see there being much to lose with going to the Great Hall. Sure, a seasoned commander could be needed at the gates, but we don't even know if there will actually be a battle or not.
Warrick
Warrick wrenched his arm away from Mericus’ grip, and through natural reaction, he pushed the perpetrator to the ground. The man … morefell clumsily, but his showed distraught and disappointment when he gazed back at him. Warrick could have sworn the man he called his brother was ready to tear up, but he remained dry eyed.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” Warrick muttered, turning his attention to where he last saw the hooded child who cautiously creeped through the alleys. He was not there. Warrick growled, turning his attention back to Mericus. “Don’t follow me.” He warned, unsheathing Honour from his back, and pursuing the alleyway he had last seen the boy.
The stripping painted walls were damp, and salty from the harbour. Warrick took quick silent steps, a trait seemingly rare for bigger men like himself, yet heard nothing but the sounds of the markets in this distance.
The surroundings had grown darker as Warrick approached deepe… [view original content]
[Head to Cracklaw Point] I'm going with this one because I think a confrontation between R'hllor worshippers and Faith of Seas followers could be interesting But they could all be interesting really, so I'm fine if this one doesn't win
Nathan
He lowered his radiating blade, staring into the eyes of the woman before him. Tears streamed down her eyes, her hands trembling a… mores she desperately tried to cover her face. Nathan sighed, turning his gaze to the septon he had slaughtered, and the tapestries which were now beginning to burn.
“R’hllor have mercy.” Nathan remarked a final time, in silence, to no one in particular. He turned his gaze to the young septa, extending his hand. “Up.” He commanded, and the girl willingly accepted his hand.
The sept was nothing more but a burning shrine by the time Nathan and the girl had escaped. Commoners and guards had gathered with a collective of water buckets, all in attempt to save the holy building of their false religion.
The onlookers barely noticed Nathan and his escapee companion as they passed through the building crowds, making it easy to pass through unnoticed. Nathan spotted a number of guards, yet their attention was … [view original content]
Well, before I forgot. It would appear that Tylar will side with Maxwell and rally the forces. An interesting set of votes, which should lead to an interesting outcome.
Tylar
A soft drift of air blew through his hair as he exited his uncle’s tent. The Lannister convoy had grown into an army of tents, each… more filled with more men than Tylar could be bothered to count. The protection for the eldest. Tylar thought to himself shamefully, the role he had been born into was not the role he had wanted to live, yet duty compelled him to go on.
With swift steps, Tylar made his way to his younger brother’s tent. He received admired nods from familiar faces, mostly men he had sparred with in the yards. Tylar paid them the mind he could, but most of it worked to compose an apology for his brother, or just to think of what he would say. It was him who started this, was Tylar’s initial reaction to the matter. Part of him wondered why he chose his arrogant brother over other matters of importance.
As his thoughts clouded his mind, his body clumsily bumped into someone, a woman. Tylar snapped out of his thoughts, beco… [view original content]
[Follow your suspicions had head to the Great Hall] It seems like Warrick keeping Emilee safe here would probably be the best bet. With the Lannister army and Lantell guards outside, the Banefort's should be no trouble for them. Great part, Warrick is just as imagined!
Warrick
Warrick wrenched his arm away from Mericus’ grip, and through natural reaction, he pushed the perpetrator to the ground. The man … morefell clumsily, but his showed distraught and disappointment when he gazed back at him. Warrick could have sworn the man he called his brother was ready to tear up, but he remained dry eyed.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” Warrick muttered, turning his attention to where he last saw the hooded child who cautiously creeped through the alleys. He was not there. Warrick growled, turning his attention back to Mericus. “Don’t follow me.” He warned, unsheathing Honour from his back, and pursuing the alleyway he had last seen the boy.
The stripping painted walls were damp, and salty from the harbour. Warrick took quick silent steps, a trait seemingly rare for bigger men like himself, yet heard nothing but the sounds of the markets in this distance.
The surroundings had grown darker as Warrick approached deepe… [view original content]
Warrick
Warrick wrenched his arm away from Mericus’ grip, and through natural reaction, he pushed the perpetrator to the ground. The man … morefell clumsily, but his showed distraught and disappointment when he gazed back at him. Warrick could have sworn the man he called his brother was ready to tear up, but he remained dry eyed.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” Warrick muttered, turning his attention to where he last saw the hooded child who cautiously creeped through the alleys. He was not there. Warrick growled, turning his attention back to Mericus. “Don’t follow me.” He warned, unsheathing Honour from his back, and pursuing the alleyway he had last seen the boy.
The stripping painted walls were damp, and salty from the harbour. Warrick took quick silent steps, a trait seemingly rare for bigger men like himself, yet heard nothing but the sounds of the markets in this distance.
The surroundings had grown darker as Warrick approached deepe… [view original content]
Nathan
He lowered his radiating blade, staring into the eyes of the woman before him. Tears streamed down her eyes, her hands trembling a… mores she desperately tried to cover her face. Nathan sighed, turning his gaze to the septon he had slaughtered, and the tapestries which were now beginning to burn.
“R’hllor have mercy.” Nathan remarked a final time, in silence, to no one in particular. He turned his gaze to the young septa, extending his hand. “Up.” He commanded, and the girl willingly accepted his hand.
The sept was nothing more but a burning shrine by the time Nathan and the girl had escaped. Commoners and guards had gathered with a collective of water buckets, all in attempt to save the holy building of their false religion.
The onlookers barely noticed Nathan and his escapee companion as they passed through the building crowds, making it easy to pass through unnoticed. Nathan spotted a number of guards, yet their attention was … [view original content]
Well, been a couple of months, but I think this vote is pretty damn closed! Nathan will suggest heading to the Riverlands. Should be an interesting choice, which we shall be able to elaborate further on later!
Well, I figure you guys should be enlightened on some news in my life. Firstly I'd like to apologise for my disappearance for the past (nearly) two months. I've had a stressful time working through re-sits for tests, as well as getting on top of assignments, and finally I've had my external exams these past three weeks. Fortunately, I finished today! Yeah, I was so overly joyed that I came home and decided to write some of the story! Then kinda crashed on the couch... Though hey, I ain't gonna disappoint you with that. It's not long, but I managed to write out the new Samira part, so I won't keep you guys waiting much longer there. So, without further ado, here's a recap!
The last we saw of Samira, she was on her way to Maidenpool to seek refuge with the Andal spy, Dalia. On her long boat trip, she came to terms with the rower, Dallop, and set up a make-shift spy network out of the rowing boys. When arriving at Maidenpool, she was faced with the decision to get some long deserved rest, or to continue to finding Dalia. You lot chose to go and find Dalia, and as Samira is pretty fucking tired (like me), well... I'll let you guys read! Enjoy
Nathan
He lowered his radiating blade, staring into the eyes of the woman before him. Tears streamed down her eyes, her hands trembling a… mores she desperately tried to cover her face. Nathan sighed, turning his gaze to the septon he had slaughtered, and the tapestries which were now beginning to burn.
“R’hllor have mercy.” Nathan remarked a final time, in silence, to no one in particular. He turned his gaze to the young septa, extending his hand. “Up.” He commanded, and the girl willingly accepted his hand.
The sept was nothing more but a burning shrine by the time Nathan and the girl had escaped. Commoners and guards had gathered with a collective of water buckets, all in attempt to save the holy building of their false religion.
The onlookers barely noticed Nathan and his escapee companion as they passed through the building crowds, making it easy to pass through unnoticed. Nathan spotted a number of guards, yet their attention was … [view original content]
Her feet trudged through the muddy road, her legs aching and weary from her travels. She longed to rest, but she knew that other matters were more pressing than her self-comfort. As the days had turned into weeks, she had grown more and more paranoid, and even if performances to the fools around her was convincible as stable, she was beginning to reach breaking point.
Constantly she was checking over her shoulder, scanning her surroundings, seeking those who might pursue her. Many ignored her gaze, and those who were unfortunate enough to meet it were quick to cower or back down. Her eyes were menacing, and were it not for her pleasing appearance than perhaps those who met her gaze would be shitting themselves. At least she hoped, alas she continued to watch over her shoulder.
The roadside merchants had begun to pack away their produce, the red sun had set behind the pink walls of the city, leaving a thick orange spotlight in areas which weren’t obscured in the dark shadows or clouded with the smoke of incense and cooking pots. The stench of rotting fish and burning coals entered her nostrils, leaving a foul presence. She wondered how much more she could withstand before her previous meal would add onto the bile and defecate on the side of the path.
Being the least of her problems, her eyes scoured across the faces that loomed in the dark, as well as the light. Bearded fishfolk boxed their stock of clams and seasoned their catches with salt, while wives began to disassemble the stalls. All eyes seemed distracted, preoccupied… Safe. Samira turned her gaze forward of her, eying each of those who passed her with caution. Her hand clenched the dagger secured to her belt with such tension that her fingers began to ache.
It was not long until she had reached gates of the Cackling Fool, which separated the impoverished pink district from the luscious city and castle which Maidenpool was renowned for. Had Samira been better rested, she might have stared at the city with admirance, but instead she saw nothing but a city holding filth which were beneath her. She let out a huff of hair, rubbing her dirty hands against her eyes as she desperately tried to fight away the sleep. She tiredly approached the gates.
Two guards patrolled the gateway, one poking his dagger in the mud as he sat on his short wooden stool, while the other was leant against the wall with his arms crossed, a smug expression on his face. Few passed through the entrance itself, and for the most part Samira only noticed a few people exiting at a time. She sighed, beginning to climb the muddy stone steps to the gateway. She spotted the guard leaning against the wall turn his gaze to her, a smirk building up on his smug face.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He challenged, resting his hand on the hilt of his sheathed short sword. Samira rolled her eyes, paying him no attention, and continued forward. It was clear this response was not the kind the guard was used to. The man unsheathed his sword, stepping in her way. Samira raised her gaze, eying the guard.
He stood tall, and Samira’s eyes met with his white tabard, gilded and with a red salmon in the centre. He wore gambeson beneath this, and bronze shoulder pads and bracers. Unlike his comrade, he was without a helm, and his greasy black hair was exposed for all to see. His lips were hidden behind his bushy black beard. “I asked you a question. You’d better answer before you get it, bitch.” He growled, his watch partner rising from his stool. Samira sighed.
“Just passing through.” She muttered, lowering her gaze to his leather boots. She notices the man chuckle, his chest rising. “No, you’re not.” He sheathed his sword, grinning as he placed his hands under her chin. “Pretty one, isn’t she?” He commented, his comrade nodding in agreeance. Samira rolled her eyes, pushing his hand away. She was in no mood for the games of men.
“She’s feistier then what we’ve usually had.” The comrade noted, and the guard in front of her agreed. “I like them feisty.” He stated, and without warning he pulled Samira down to her knees with one hand, reaching down into his pants with the other. Samira desperately tried to free herself from the man’s grip. The guard’s comrade burst into laughter.
“Take it like a real woman, bitch.” He spat, his saliva landing in her hair. The guard had already pulled his manhood out by the time her attention had turned back to him, the foul stench of the unwashed man made her want to barf. She held herself back, her hand gravitating to her belt.
“Last chance, fucker.” She groaned, holding back with all the depleted energy she had left. The guard chuckled, placing both of his dirty hands at the back of her head. “I’m going to enjoy you thoroughly.” He stated, turning his gaze to his comrade. “Hope you like sloppy seconds.” He teased. Samira’s hand unsheathed the dagger from her belt. Not fucking likely.
The sound of his laughter drowned out as her dagger plunged in between his legs, and a choking gasp quickly erupted into a confused and agonised scream. Blood sprayed onto her face, and gods know whatever else as she freed the dagger and struck again, and again. The comrade stared in shock, not with his senses. When Samira was finished, she freed her weapon and rose as the man came tumbling down.
She turned her gaze to the man remaining, who was beginning to tremble, his mouth gasping open as he watched in disbelief. Samira smirked, twirling the bloody dagger in her hands. The man’s eyes shifted to her, fearful. “What? Too feisty?” She grinned, taking a step closer to him. Before he could reply, Samira thrusted the steel into his throat, bloody draining down her hand. His response was but a gurgle, blood streaming out of his mouth and down his white tabard, until the life left his eyes and he fell to the ground.
For a moment, Samira just stood, staring at nothing as the blood of another man gently trickled down the side of her face. Her grin had died down into a smirk, and after a few minutes she came to the sudden realisation of what she had just done. She looked down at the two corpses, then back at her bloody dagger. She wiped her face with her bloody hands, causing more of a mess than cleaning it. She shook her head, wiping her hands on her travelling clothes, and then entering the city.
-
The Japing Kitchens was filled with steam, and the sound of hammers bashing meat and pots at the boil were deafening. Samira walked through the path between the long rows of stone tables, the cooks and assistants working hard at their specific jobs. Her feet left muddy steps as she walked, her eyes scouring around the kitchen. It was to no use, the vapour made it difficult to identify one person from another. Samira groaned, rolling her eyes.
She turned and grabbed the first person she saw, a small girl with tied back blonde hair and dark brown eyes. The instant she saw Samira she raised her hands to her mouth in shock, Samira let out a heavy sigh, placing her hand over her mouth before she could scream.
“I’m looking for Dalia.” Samira said with a barely audible tone, yet she had a feeling the girl was listening very carefully. “Take me to her?” Samira kindly asked, and the girl quickly nodded, her hands shaking. Samira smiled, moving her hand away. She noticed she had gotten blood on the girl’s face, and her apron.
The girl darted off, and Samira found herself struggling to keep up. They darted through a variety of different rooms, until they stopped at a small storage room with barrels and crates of food supplies. She pointed at a girl rummaging through a crate of potatoes. Her dark brown hair was tied back into a pony tail, and she wore daggy black clothing. Samira nodded to the cook’s assistant, who quickly raced off.
Samira unsheathed her dagger, still coated in blood. Her footsteps squished when making contact with the damp stone floor, and she made no attempt to be quiet about it. She grabbed Dalia’s hair by the tail and pulled her head back, placing the sharpened bloody steel against her throat.
“Scream and you can kiss your potatoes goodnight.” Samira warned, and the girl’s eyes widened. After a moment, she nodded, and Samira hesitantly removed the blade. Dalia stood up, rubbing her neck.
“Who the hell are you?” She muttered with a half gone voice, bent over as if she were with a sore back. Samira rolled her eyes. “Don’t pretend with me, Dalia. I need a safe haven, you’ve got one. Take me there.” She ordered, and Dalia stood herself upright, clearing her throat.
“You still haven’t answered the question.” She growled, pulling back her hair. She had a large mole on her cheek, and her eyes were a dark green. Samira sighed, digging the blade of her dagger into her hand. “Samira. I was posted in the North, things went south and so did I. The Courier said I could find refuge here.” She received a small nod in response. Dalia stretched out her back and let out a soft sigh.
“A spy then. Alright, if you want my refuge then I’ll be needing your weapons. You won’t be needing them where we’re going.” Samira felt herself tensing up to Dalia’s request, but she knew that she needed the help. She thought about the bronze daggers she had concealed onto her thighs, perhaps she could get away with them…
[Hand over only the steel dagger] [Hand over all your weapons]
Warrick
Warrick wrenched his arm away from Mericus’ grip, and through natural reaction, he pushed the perpetrator to the ground. The man … morefell clumsily, but his showed distraught and disappointment when he gazed back at him. Warrick could have sworn the man he called his brother was ready to tear up, but he remained dry eyed.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” Warrick muttered, turning his attention to where he last saw the hooded child who cautiously creeped through the alleys. He was not there. Warrick growled, turning his attention back to Mericus. “Don’t follow me.” He warned, unsheathing Honour from his back, and pursuing the alleyway he had last seen the boy.
The stripping painted walls were damp, and salty from the harbour. Warrick took quick silent steps, a trait seemingly rare for bigger men like himself, yet heard nothing but the sounds of the markets in this distance.
The surroundings had grown darker as Warrick approached deepe… [view original content]
Good to see you back and congratulations, Stigz! I am quite impressed that there is already a new part to read, good job! You really miseed that, it's visible. I am happy to see the story to be back, really! :-)
As for the part.. Samira is such a badass. I am surprised that noone noticed what happened to the guards though... or someone perhaps did, from the shadows? Anyway, [Hand over only the steel dagger]. I guess it's good to still have something with her, just in case. What if this asking for weapons is just to disarm her, after realizing that she is dangerous in a state they met her?
Samira
Her feet trudged through the muddy road, her legs aching and weary from her travels. She longed to rest, but she knew that other m… moreatters were more pressing than her self-comfort. As the days had turned into weeks, she had grown more and more paranoid, and even if performances to the fools around her was convincible as stable, she was beginning to reach breaking point.
Constantly she was checking over her shoulder, scanning her surroundings, seeking those who might pursue her. Many ignored her gaze, and those who were unfortunate enough to meet it were quick to cower or back down. Her eyes were menacing, and were it not for her pleasing appearance than perhaps those who met her gaze would be shitting themselves. At least she hoped, alas she continued to watch over her shoulder.
The roadside merchants had begun to pack away their produce, the red sun had set behind the pink walls of the city, leaving a thick orange spotlight in … [view original content]
Samira
Her feet trudged through the muddy road, her legs aching and weary from her travels. She longed to rest, but she knew that other m… moreatters were more pressing than her self-comfort. As the days had turned into weeks, she had grown more and more paranoid, and even if performances to the fools around her was convincible as stable, she was beginning to reach breaking point.
Constantly she was checking over her shoulder, scanning her surroundings, seeking those who might pursue her. Many ignored her gaze, and those who were unfortunate enough to meet it were quick to cower or back down. Her eyes were menacing, and were it not for her pleasing appearance than perhaps those who met her gaze would be shitting themselves. At least she hoped, alas she continued to watch over her shoulder.
The roadside merchants had begun to pack away their produce, the red sun had set behind the pink walls of the city, leaving a thick orange spotlight in … [view original content]
Hell yes, welcome back! This story in my feed is a sight for sore eyes I am very happy you finished your exams and I hope they all went well for you. And don't worry about disappearing for so long. I know how you feel, I barely get to do most stuff these days. It's a good thing to hear that you've succeeded at that for now.
And I am glad that one of my favourite stories is back at last! It was a great part as well. Feels like forever that we had a Samira part, but she kicked so much ass here that I instantly reconnected. Great job, I am so excited for the future parts
[Hand over only the steel dagger]
Yeah, I agree with what Mathea and Wildling have said already. An extra weapon could be more than handy in her current situation. And even if they find out that she still has weapons, I am sure she can somehow talk herself out of that situation. After all, if Dalia is on her side, then she might be understanding that Samira does not fully trust her. And if she isn't on her side and simply plans to disarm her, then she has even more of a reason to keep at least something to defend herself. One way or the other, this sounds like the better option.
Samira
Her feet trudged through the muddy road, her legs aching and weary from her travels. She longed to rest, but she knew that other m… moreatters were more pressing than her self-comfort. As the days had turned into weeks, she had grown more and more paranoid, and even if performances to the fools around her was convincible as stable, she was beginning to reach breaking point.
Constantly she was checking over her shoulder, scanning her surroundings, seeking those who might pursue her. Many ignored her gaze, and those who were unfortunate enough to meet it were quick to cower or back down. Her eyes were menacing, and were it not for her pleasing appearance than perhaps those who met her gaze would be shitting themselves. At least she hoped, alas she continued to watch over her shoulder.
The roadside merchants had begun to pack away their produce, the red sun had set behind the pink walls of the city, leaving a thick orange spotlight in … [view original content]
Samira
Her feet trudged through the muddy road, her legs aching and weary from her travels. She longed to rest, but she knew that other m… moreatters were more pressing than her self-comfort. As the days had turned into weeks, she had grown more and more paranoid, and even if performances to the fools around her was convincible as stable, she was beginning to reach breaking point.
Constantly she was checking over her shoulder, scanning her surroundings, seeking those who might pursue her. Many ignored her gaze, and those who were unfortunate enough to meet it were quick to cower or back down. Her eyes were menacing, and were it not for her pleasing appearance than perhaps those who met her gaze would be shitting themselves. At least she hoped, alas she continued to watch over her shoulder.
The roadside merchants had begun to pack away their produce, the red sun had set behind the pink walls of the city, leaving a thick orange spotlight in … [view original content]
Hey guys, so I'm not going to close the most recent part just yet, as I'd like to wait for the others ( @alikir34 and @MicroAce ) to hopefully vote Although, I have completed the newest part (which I started on a few months back and never concluded), so I'll post that directly. It's a Darren part, and if you don't recall what was happening with him the last we saw him, then here's a small recap!
So, last we saw of Darren Tyrner, he was returning from a meeting with King Qyle Corbray when he saw plumes of smoke erupting in the distances. Tracking this fire down, he was quick to learn that his home had been to set alight, and inside was the letter he had not yet read from his sister in Andalos. Foolishly, he charged in to retrieve the letter, and found it to not be on the desk where he had left it. He escaped only with his sword and shielded, and tucked into his sword's scabbard was a hidden note. It informed him to go to a tavern he visited frequently and ask for a room key, and importantly to come alone. When faced with the decision to either bring this news to King Qyle or his son Marvion, you guys chose to do neither and instead follow the letter's instructions and attend alone. This part continues from there.
An everlasting heat left an uncomfortable warmth in his burnt hands. Darren stood before tavern he regularly visited, the tavern where he was to meet the culprits who burned down his home. The dusk light left a taunting darkness in the shadows of the tavern, where watchful eyes glared out at the sleepless knight.
Darren had found no sleep that night. He watched as his home crumbled to the ground, engulfed in flames, while others watched from afar. He had avoided the city guard, and stayed reasonably concealed in the darkness of the night. Though day’s break had been more difficult for him.
The city hadn’t gone into lockdown as Darren expected, but the guard had been increased. Investigations had been conducted around the large pile of ash and rubble that had once been Darren’s home, and search teams had been formed to look for him. Darren was somewhat surprised of the importance he had played to Qyle, considering he had put together so much to find him. He longed to reveal himself, but he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to see his sister.
He took one last glimpse at the note in his hands, the ink on the singed paper had began to smudge from Darren’s sweaty palms, yet the message remained clear. He was unarmed, alone, and ready to cooperate. Now all that remained was for him to enter the tavern, which was feat that proved more difficult than it seemed. His legs had locked him into place, and he was genuinely worried for what he would find at the end of the path laid out for him.
Darren took a deep breath, tucking the note into his back pocket. Lowering his head, Darren hesitantly entered took cautious steps towards the tavern, the heavy gazes of eyes weighing down on him. His burnt hand nudged the tavern door forward, a golden glow emitting from inside. Darren hadn’t felt such hesitation in his life, and after a final moment of consideration, he entered.
The tavern was reasonably empty, with only a few early-starters at the counter, as well as some early diners. One which stood out to Darren was a woman with a blonde tied back ponytail. Darren kept his head down and approached with caution, and the bartender caught his presence in the corner of his eye. A small smirk formed on his lips, followed by a soft chuckle.
“Darren, where’ve you been?” He grinned, pulling a tankard off the shelf. He placed it under the tap of the keg, filling it to the brim with golden mead, which he presented on the bench. Darren took the drink, sculling it in a matter of seconds, before turning his attention back to the man behind the counter. “What can I do for you?” He asked with his thick Tyroshi accent, stroking his dyed orange beard.
“I need a room.” Darren replied, as instructed, and he could see a touch of confusion in the man’s dark brown eyes. “Mine burnt down last night.” He further elaborated, and the bartender nodded sympathetically.
“Of course, my apologies.” He turned his gaze to below the counter, reaching down and grabbing an iron key. He slid it across to Darren, a weak smile forming on his lips. “Up the stairs, around the corner, first on the left. No charge.” Darren nodded to the man in appreciation, taking the key. His tired legs started to make their way for the stairs, before Darren stopped himself, turning his gaze back to the bartender.
“Have you seen a girl come through here recently? Light blonde hair, touch of silver. Lilac eyes?” He asked, and the bartender’s face screwed up, as if he was trying to recall the last person he’d seen with that description. After a short moment, he shook his head. “Can’t say I have. You expecting her around here?” Darren shook his head. “Though if you see her, could you please inform me.” Darren waved his key at the Tyroshi. “You’ll know where to find me.” Darren hinted, hoping the man caught on to his plea.
Darren made his way to the stairwell, his eyes wandering around the tavern. For a moment, he met eye contact with the blonde woman at her table, before she broke the glance. Darren shook his head, clearing his thoughts as if he were to enter a fight. Perhaps he was going to, with the vagueness of the letter it could have meant anything. He grabbed the wooden railing, climbing the steps that led him upstairs.
Following the barman’s instructions, Darren found his room along the aisle of a dozen others. He slotted his key into the hole, and surely enough the door unlocked. He took a step inside the dark room, remaining still as he tried to spot out any sort of danger. It was no use, the light from the corridor desensitised his vision. He shut the door.
Darkness clouded his vision, and the anticipation for his eyes to adjust was unnerving to say the least. As it slowly did, Darren started spotting figures around the room. One most prominent, shaped almost like man. Darren squinted, trying to make out a shape, but by the time he had identified it, it was too late.
The hit was hard, and caught him off guard. Light suddenly emitted in the room, and Darren saw the figures unmasked from the darkness. Standing over him was a large brute of a man, bald and ugly. His blue eyes were the only grace his face allowed him, as the rest of his face was covered in scars and a particularly ugly birthmark. Across the room from them was a face that Darren briefly recognised. A gaunt face with large ears, and light blue eyes. His long black hair tied back.
“Enjoy your drink?” The cocky grin of Jorrhen was unsettling, though Darren smirked in reply. “I prefer ale.” Darren groaned, tensing up for another hit, yet to his surprise Jorrhen had seemed to have touched up on his anger management since their last meeting. His grin remained, yet it was outstretched and unnatural. “Of course you do. Jegg, I believe you’ve been wanting to repay a favour to our favourite knight?” Jorrhen’s grin lowered to a cocky smirk, and the giant agreed with a nod.
The giant took hold of Darren’s neck, and the strength of the man caught Darren by surprise. Jegg bashed Darren’s helpless body against the wall multiple times, knocking the sense out of him, before throwing him to the ground. Darren landed on his stomach, still feeling his head spin. He started to pull himself up, though a brutish kick caught Darren between the legs. A yelp of agony followed.
“Who’s smiling now?” Jorrhen taunted with a haughty laugh, though Darren focused on the pain at hand. It felt like his stomach was climbing through his throat, and before he knew it the ale he had just had came out with a mixture of bile and other bodily contents. The room filled with laughter, and as much as Darren wanted to rise and fight, the pain held him down. All he could manage was a groan, which was enough to gain the attention of Jorrhen.
“This is just too much fun!” Jorrhen quipped in delight, rubbing his hands together. Darren tried to find his feet, though as he finally began to rise the mass of the brute brought him back to the floor. Jorrhen chuckled, kneeling down beside Darren. “How’s your head?” He asked, as if there was some genuine concern mixed in with his cocky attitude. Darren fought the urge to bring up more bile, the foul taste tainting the insides of his mouth.
“Fuck you.” Darren muttered, and Jorrhen’s grin died down to a seemingly disappointed frown. “Shame, thought you might have gotten the idea by now.” He turned his attention to Jegg, letting out a heavy sigh. “Help him understand, Jegg.” The brute nodded, and without a word Darren felt the thick fingers of the sweating man run through his hair, tightly grasping his head and smashing him against the floorboards.
Darren felt blood trickle out his nostrils, dripping into the mix of his bodily fluids he had just brought up earlier. Yet, it wasn’t the bloody injuries doing him serious harm, but the continuous blows to the head. It felt as if something was buried deep into his skull, and was only now trying to break out. Even worse was the fact that he was beginning to faze in and out of his consciousness.
“You know, what’s an even bigger shame is that you won’t remember any of this.” Jorrhen sighed, relaxing his legs and sitting beside him. Darren winced, looking at the gaunt faced man with confusion. “What? You didn’t truly think I would have allowed you to have an untainted drink in my bar, did you? Yes, that bar tender is with me, I have many allies here, some which you trust deeply I presume.” Darren found himself at a loss for words, and he knew that each word was going to count at this stage.
“My sister…” He started, and Jorrhen’s grin returned. “Not here, of course. Though believe me, I have eyes everywhere, and many of them are staring at her. In fact, my father may find some entertainment with her while we work on this mission of ours.” Darren felt the anger coursing through his veins, though it was too no avail, the brute continued to pin him down.
“From now on, you work for me. You will receive my orders through letters, and if you dare to disobey me, then your sister will die. If you try to seek help, your sister will die. Hell, if you look at me the wrong way, your sister will die. Understand?” Darren glared at the gaunt man, and Jorrhen grinned in return. “You see, that’s not the way to start. Jegg.”
Darren felt his head bash against the floorboard again, now it really affected him, his vision began to blur and the room started to spin. Jorrhen’s voice began to fade in and out, muffled and hardly audible. Darren lost his strength, and coughed up more bile and blood as a consequence. Jorrhen sighed, lifting Darren’s head, he nodded it up and down. “Yes, I understand master.” Jorrhen answered for him, then released him. “Good! We’ll keep in touch, now get some rest, you’ll be working hard for me soon enough.” Jorrhen turned his attention to Jegg, giving him a final nod.
It felt as if the room was non-existent with the final blow. All grips of reality had been lost, the only thing that was certain was the flooding darkness which clouded Darren’s already faltering vision. The pain seemed to dull, as did all senses. One thought continued to spin around Darren’s head faster than the world had spun around him earlier. Kira, and then all was black.
Darren
An everlasting heat left an uncomfortable warmth in his burnt hands. Darren stood before tavern he regularly visited, the tavern w… morehere he was to meet the culprits who burned down his home. The dusk light left a taunting darkness in the shadows of the tavern, where watchful eyes glared out at the sleepless knight.
Darren had found no sleep that night. He watched as his home crumbled to the ground, engulfed in flames, while others watched from afar. He had avoided the city guard, and stayed reasonably concealed in the darkness of the night. Though day’s break had been more difficult for him.
The city hadn’t gone into lockdown as Darren expected, but the guard had been increased. Investigations had been conducted around the large pile of ash and rubble that had once been Darren’s home, and search teams had been formed to look for him. Darren was somewhat surprised of the importance he had played to Qyle, considering he had put to… [view original content]
Oh shit Darren just met Gryff fucking Whitehill, if Gryff would be even more of an irredeemable and pathetic prick. I mean, a part of me is glad that Jorrhen (or his father, more likely) apparently hasn't captured Kira yet, because holy hell, that would have been horrible. At the same time, I believe him when he says that he will be able to capture her whenever he wants. Still, this gives me hope that she'll manage to evade his men, or that his father (who sounds certainly like an intelligent man) won't bother to cater to the whims of his retarded disgrace of a son. It's not a very big hope though, but still, it's better than nothing. I'm just curious whom else is working for that guy and I wouldn't be surprised if it is someone close to the king as well. I am concerned about whatever that shitty prick wants Darren to do, because it will likely get him into even more trouble.
On a different note: Another part already makes me very happy. With every part that comes, I notice just how much I have missed to see this story in my feed regularly, because it is just so awesome and keeps getting more awesome
Darren
An everlasting heat left an uncomfortable warmth in his burnt hands. Darren stood before tavern he regularly visited, the tavern w… morehere he was to meet the culprits who burned down his home. The dusk light left a taunting darkness in the shadows of the tavern, where watchful eyes glared out at the sleepless knight.
Darren had found no sleep that night. He watched as his home crumbled to the ground, engulfed in flames, while others watched from afar. He had avoided the city guard, and stayed reasonably concealed in the darkness of the night. Though day’s break had been more difficult for him.
The city hadn’t gone into lockdown as Darren expected, but the guard had been increased. Investigations had been conducted around the large pile of ash and rubble that had once been Darren’s home, and search teams had been formed to look for him. Darren was somewhat surprised of the importance he had played to Qyle, considering he had put to… [view original content]
Samira
Her feet trudged through the muddy road, her legs aching and weary from her travels. She longed to rest, but she knew that other m… moreatters were more pressing than her self-comfort. As the days had turned into weeks, she had grown more and more paranoid, and even if performances to the fools around her was convincible as stable, she was beginning to reach breaking point.
Constantly she was checking over her shoulder, scanning her surroundings, seeking those who might pursue her. Many ignored her gaze, and those who were unfortunate enough to meet it were quick to cower or back down. Her eyes were menacing, and were it not for her pleasing appearance than perhaps those who met her gaze would be shitting themselves. At least she hoped, alas she continued to watch over her shoulder.
The roadside merchants had begun to pack away their produce, the red sun had set behind the pink walls of the city, leaving a thick orange spotlight in … [view original content]
So I'll close this vote. Samira will choose to hand over only the steel dagger. I can see why you guys chose this one, and we'll see where that leads, but firstly I have finished the next part which goes to Kira!
The last we saw Kira was in her very first part, and we encountered her working her daily life as a seamstress, and being introduced to a girl named Tayla. She acquired a mutual friendship with the girl, but it was not enough to agree to sup with her family. Kira started for her home, yet she felt as if she was being followed as she did. She made a quick detour to her close friend's workshop: Florentio, an inventor. After this she returned home, and fell into a slumber which would only be rudely disrupted in the midst of the night by the sound of footsteps. Deciding to investigate, you were left with the choice to arm Kira with a dagger or not. You chose to do so, and that is where this new part starts off!
Samira
Her feet trudged through the muddy road, her legs aching and weary from her travels. She longed to rest, but she knew that other m… moreatters were more pressing than her self-comfort. As the days had turned into weeks, she had grown more and more paranoid, and even if performances to the fools around her was convincible as stable, she was beginning to reach breaking point.
Constantly she was checking over her shoulder, scanning her surroundings, seeking those who might pursue her. Many ignored her gaze, and those who were unfortunate enough to meet it were quick to cower or back down. Her eyes were menacing, and were it not for her pleasing appearance than perhaps those who met her gaze would be shitting themselves. At least she hoped, alas she continued to watch over her shoulder.
The roadside merchants had begun to pack away their produce, the red sun had set behind the pink walls of the city, leaving a thick orange spotlight in … [view original content]
Kira sucked in a deep breath, gulping as she secured her free hand around the hilt of the dagger. She had hoped to feel safer with it, yet instead she felt a wave of anxiety smother her, strangling her. A lump was thick in her throat, and there was little she could do but breathe, and slowly approach her bedroom door with silent steps.
Her shaking hand placed the candle down on the bench top beside her door, hesitantly gravitating towards the wooden knob. She was beginning to sweat, a large overreaction for what was likely Zola chasing down a mouse or attending to other pest-like matters. She secured her hand on the iron knob, twisting it until she heard the lock release. She cringed at how loud it sound, and even worse at how much the door creaked as it swung open.
Picking up the dying candlelight, she entered her living room. The moonlight dimly lit the room, and truly the candle was giving little assistance to her vision, yet it gave her a sense of relief which she was desperately in need for. Her eyes scanned around the room, though it was of little use, the room was pitch black.
She sighed, placing down the candle on her kitchen table. She turned her attention to the windows at the far end of her room, cracked half open, allowing the natural light to flow in. A warm breeze flew in, tickling her skin. She approached the windows with caution, the dagger clenched tightly in her hand. When reaching the window sill, she peered out of her apartment, searching for any activity. Nothing. What was there to expect at this time of the hour? She took in one last breath of fresh air, before reaching for the window to shut it. It suddenly went dark.
Kira spun around, her eyes widening as her eyes darted around the ink black room which had become so foreign to her. Kira found her hands beginning to tremble, her grip loosening around the hilt of her dagger. She secured the grip with a second hand, pointing the blade in front of her.
“Hello?” She gulped, barely managed with the seemingly growing lump. There was no reply, only the soft breeze that blew through her hair. Then she heard it, the noise that had drawn her out of her sleep and into this room, footsteps. She took a step back, nearly stumbling. “Who’s there?!” She yelled, extending her arms out further.
The steps grew closer, but they were quiet, soft. Kira felt her chest start beat at an incredible rate, her gown trapping heat to her body. She kept retreating, until she was against the window, the steps still approaching her. The border of light and darkness was dim and faded as the moon was slowly covered by clouds. Kira took a deep breath, a new shadow immersing itself in what little light there was.
She exhaled in relief, feeling her shoulders slump back and her knees weaken until she was on her all fours. Zola walked over, purring as she rubbed against Kira’s cheek. Were it a normal time, Kira would have pushed the stray cat away, though in these times she was in need of the creature’s company. She stroked its grimy fur with her free hand, letting out a weak smile. Quickly, other emotions and urges started to enter her mind, and she began to find she was longing for a snack.
She pulled herself together, lifting herself up and loosening her gown. The warm breeze was particularly nice on her bare skin, and somewhat refreshing. She began to take control of her heavy breathing, slipping the dagger away into her deep pockets and approaching the kitchen. She felt her way across the table, reaching for where she had left the candle which must have extinguished from the breeze. After a short moment, her hands secured around the rusty iron holder, and she reached for the candle. Something fell.
Kira turned her focus to Zola, still licking her paws in the moonlight. Then the steps re-emerged, and before she knew it, two large hands were upon her. One had tightly secured around her neck, while another caressed her thigh. A sick laugh followed, and her eyes adjusted to the filthy gaze of a man. Kira barely thought before she reacted, her closing into a tight fist and striking at the man’s jaw. Just as Darren had taught her. For the slight moment of shock, Kira was released, and she quickly tried to scramble towards the light.
Her hands and knees rubbed against the splintering floorboards, chafing and cutting through her skin. She was making a fleeting start, until she felt the tail of her gown clamp underneath the man’s foot. The sudden stop sent her to the ground. Before there was any time to react, the man was on the ground with her, spinning her over and ripping off her gown. She was left nude, the brutish figure taking full advantage of her.
Kira lifted her hand in attempt to strike again, though this time her attempt was flawed with the brute’s hindsight. He caught her by the wrist, grabbing her free arm while he was at it and locking them both above her head with one hand. His free hand groped one of her breasts, squeezing with such intensity that she screamed in agony. The sickening laughter returned, and she felt his drooling tongue start to course over her bare skin. Kira desperately tried to free her arms, but it was to no avail. The man’s wet tongue slid over her breast and up her neck, reaching her cheek. Kira felt her legs, the most movable of all her body.
Without a second thought, Kira lunged her knee into the man’s groin, and a following groan followed as he tumbled off her. Kira felt the pain start to relieve as her chest was freed, and she quickly scrambled away. Her eyes darted across the floor, feeling for where her gown was. She heard the man mutter some curses under his breath, slowly bringing himself to his feet. Kira frantically felt around her, bloodying her hands on the splintered wood. When she finally felt the soft silk in her hands, hand took hold of her, pulling her up by her hair.
She screamed, clenching onto the gown with all her strength. A second blow caught her in the gut, and the breath flooded out of her with no ambition to return, leaving her winded as a result. The man chuckled, dropping her to the floor and reaching into his pants. “Fucking dumb bitch. Roman’s going to love you, but not until I’m done with you.” He grinned, kneeling down and pulling her in. Kira’s hands fumbled through the pockets of the gown, until her hand secured around the hilt of her dagger.
Without another moment of hesitation, she lunged her gown-covered blade into the man’s chest, piercing through his loose shirt and a few inches into his flesh. A yelp of pain erupted from him as he took a moment to comprehend what had just occurred. Leaving no room for a counter, Kira unsheathed her blood-tipped dagger and thrusted it into his neck.
His eyes widened, and for a moment he just stared passed her with confusion. Kira let go of the blade in shock, realising what she had just done, she backed away. The man’s hands reached the dagger, trying to cover the bleeding wound. Kira watched as he began to cough, blood pouring out his mouth. He tried to yell, but all that came was an unsettling gurgle as he began to choke. His eyes finally turned to her, a change of expression in them. Fear, confusion, disbelief. He tried to stand, and immediately Kira crawled back. He secured his footing, only to crumble down after trying to stand. His blood flowed freely onto the floorboards.
Kira stared with disbelief and shock, her whole body trembling as she held her arms. Her breast ached, and her stomach was churning as she tried to hold in her bodily fluids. She would have just sat there if it had not been for the sounds of more voices, and louder steps racing up the stairs that led to her apartment. Kira gulped, a sudden chill of panic settling over her. She reached for her gown, covering herself before turning to the window. She had to escape.
She pulled herself up, making haste to the open window. Her legs had weakened on her, and she continued to stumble with each attempt. The steps grew closer, the voices growing louder. Come on! She wanted to scream at herself, fearful for her life. She pulled herself up through the window, sliding her body through clumsily. She slid out, barely managing to hold herself from falling down the side of the building. She tried to sit herself down and assess a safe way to climb down, until she heard the door of her apartment smash open. She turned around, seeing half a dozen men enter, all their eyes on the man Kira had just killed. I have to go, now! She yelled internally, and her body gave her no chance to find a safe way to the ground.
She hit the muddy ground with a thud, her body aching as she landed, she swore she heard something crack. She barely had the energy to pull herself off the ground, yet the shouting voices were enough of a motivator as any. She took hold of a wooden post, steadying herself, before she tried to run. Her leg instantly failed her, bringing her crumbling down to the ground. She screamed.
“Get that fucking bitch!” A voice ordered from her upstairs apartment, echoing through the small alleyway. Kira desperately worked at getting back on her feet. She limped with great difficulty, each step becoming harder than the next. White eyes peered out at her from the darkness, concealed in their homes and stalls. Kira move as fast as her injuries would allow her, though she knew in her current state there was no way she could outrun them, her best bet was to try and lose them.
She took a sharp turn into a tight alleyway between two mudbrick walled homes. Climbing over the trash and defecate that had been dumped from the upper windows, Kira reached a second alleyway. This one being slightly wider, with a long straight path, she started to run, to the best of her abilities. She maintained a surprisingly quick speed, yet it agonised her leg immensely. She quickly hobbled, trying to evade the distancing shouts as best as she could. She turned another corner, and another.
Reaching a final turn, she found herself stumble when she found someone around the other side of it. She crashed directly into the man, stumbling backwards as she did. She landed on her hind, yelping in pain as her leg cracked again. Two weapons unsheathed, and she looked up to see two tall muscular figures that seemed to be guarding the man Kira had bumped into. He was a large man, with a considerably large belly.
While it was the last thing on her mind, Kira could instantly tell she had made a mistake running into this man, he was from a higher district than her, with lapping gold chains and jewels on his clothing. Her eyes flickered up to his face, the face that was revealed to her was fat, with light blue eyes and big ears. His ears were large, and his facial hair consisted of a brown goatee. His hand instantly raised, halting his men.
“Help her up.” He ordered, his voice struck with worry and concern. His two towering guards followed his command to the letter, gently lifting Kira to her feet. Kira bit her lip as she added weight to her leg, she instantly leant on one of the guards for support. “You’re hurt.” The man observed, studying her leg. “What’s happened?”
Kira gritted her teeth, the sounds of shouting re-emerging from the alley’s she had ran through. They would find her if she did not keep moving, but how much longer could she last? She turned her gaze to the large man in front of her, studying his face momentarily. She did not know what to think, none of the smallfolk got along with the nobility in Andalos, though she was not sure if she could last much longer.
Kira
Kira sucked in a deep breath, gulping as she secured her free hand around the hilt of the dagger. She had hoped to feel safer with i… moret, yet instead she felt a wave of anxiety smother her, strangling her. A lump was thick in her throat, and there was little she could do but breathe, and slowly approach her bedroom door with silent steps.
Her shaking hand placed the candle down on the bench top beside her door, hesitantly gravitating towards the wooden knob. She was beginning to sweat, a large overreaction for what was likely Zola chasing down a mouse or attending to other pest-like matters. She secured her hand on the iron knob, twisting it until she heard the lock release. She cringed at how loud it sound, and even worse at how much the door creaked as it swung open.
Picking up the dying candlelight, she entered her living room. The moonlight dimly lit the room, and truly the candle was giving little assistance to her vision, yet… [view original content]
Kira
Kira sucked in a deep breath, gulping as she secured her free hand around the hilt of the dagger. She had hoped to feel safer with i… moret, yet instead she felt a wave of anxiety smother her, strangling her. A lump was thick in her throat, and there was little she could do but breathe, and slowly approach her bedroom door with silent steps.
Her shaking hand placed the candle down on the bench top beside her door, hesitantly gravitating towards the wooden knob. She was beginning to sweat, a large overreaction for what was likely Zola chasing down a mouse or attending to other pest-like matters. She secured her hand on the iron knob, twisting it until she heard the lock release. She cringed at how loud it sound, and even worse at how much the door creaked as it swung open.
Picking up the dying candlelight, she entered her living room. The moonlight dimly lit the room, and truly the candle was giving little assistance to her vision, yet… [view original content]
Shit... shitshitshit I know who that is and this makes me so damn conflicted. Judging by his description, this guy is clearly Lorrhen, father of Jorrhen and therefore someone with an interest in capturing her. That is, if he is truly supportive of his son's unnecessary actions. You don't get to be the richest man in Andalos by being a petty shit. Still, there is the possibility that he is behind this attack in the first place, to capture her and to increase his son's control over Darren. But even then, I am not sure if running away is the better choice. I mean, Kira clearly damaged her leg in some way, she can't run for long and if someone captures her, I might even prefer Lorrhen himself, as he seems at least too cultivated to rape and potentially murder her, like these other guys are planning to do. And she can't escape them with her leg and all, whereas staying here would at least ensure that these guys won't get her. Argh, I don't know what to choose! I will have to think about this for a bit longer, though right now, I lean more in favour of asking for help, even if this is clearly not a good option. Then again, running is by far the more risky option, with the chance to lead to a better outcome, but the even higher chance to lead to something much worse. At least that's what I'm afraid of. It might very well be that Lorrhen is a petty fuckturd who tortures young women for shits and giggles, but then again, the people that pursue her are more likely to be like that than the richest man in Andalos, who is more likely to be a pragmatist.
Update: Alright, having thought about it for a while, I have come to the conclusion that [Ask for help] might be the marginally less horrible option. This guy, Lorrhen, if he wants to capture Kira, he can easily do so, because of her damaged leg, so running away likely won't achieve much. At the worst, these guys get her first and Lorrhen won't intervene while they have their way with her. If he does not want to capture her, then she has nothing to fear from him and his presence alone might be enough to scare her pursuers away. So, maybe surrendering to him will ensure his protection at least from these guys, while running away from him just seems like it will have far too little chances of success, as opposed to the insanely huge chance of getting raped and murdered.
Kira
Kira sucked in a deep breath, gulping as she secured her free hand around the hilt of the dagger. She had hoped to feel safer with i… moret, yet instead she felt a wave of anxiety smother her, strangling her. A lump was thick in her throat, and there was little she could do but breathe, and slowly approach her bedroom door with silent steps.
Her shaking hand placed the candle down on the bench top beside her door, hesitantly gravitating towards the wooden knob. She was beginning to sweat, a large overreaction for what was likely Zola chasing down a mouse or attending to other pest-like matters. She secured her hand on the iron knob, twisting it until she heard the lock release. She cringed at how loud it sound, and even worse at how much the door creaked as it swung open.
Picking up the dying candlelight, she entered her living room. The moonlight dimly lit the room, and truly the candle was giving little assistance to her vision, yet… [view original content]
Kira
Kira sucked in a deep breath, gulping as she secured her free hand around the hilt of the dagger. She had hoped to feel safer with i… moret, yet instead she felt a wave of anxiety smother her, strangling her. A lump was thick in her throat, and there was little she could do but breathe, and slowly approach her bedroom door with silent steps.
Her shaking hand placed the candle down on the bench top beside her door, hesitantly gravitating towards the wooden knob. She was beginning to sweat, a large overreaction for what was likely Zola chasing down a mouse or attending to other pest-like matters. She secured her hand on the iron knob, twisting it until she heard the lock release. She cringed at how loud it sound, and even worse at how much the door creaked as it swung open.
Picking up the dying candlelight, she entered her living room. The moonlight dimly lit the room, and truly the candle was giving little assistance to her vision, yet… [view original content]
Hey guys, so I'm not going to close the voting just yet (as we're on a tie!), so I'll be waiting hopefully on @alikir34 or @MicroAce to close it. Though for a bit of further news, I'd like to announce that for the next three weeks I will be embarking on a cruise around the Pacific Islands, and concluding in New Zealand. I will be taking a laptop, in which I have installed all of the components essential for me to write if I have the time in the duration of my trip, though what I may not have at all times is reception, which of course is detrimental if I wish to post parts
At any rate, the next part is Alara's, and I think the other Caron PoV's will follow on after her, and then Torv and Steffon (that's about as far into the story future as I can remember ). Anyway, I apologise to those that I have no replied to yet, and if anyone here is still waiting on something from me, I dearly hope you can wait a little longer. I'll be trying to work on characters while I'm away as well, but as I said, I may be restricted due to the reception in the pacific.
So I hope you guys all have a safe break this Christmas, continuing to do the things you love to do on these wonderful forums. I'll try my best to keep up to date with the stories I'm following, but my apologies if I can't participate in the voting!
Hello guys, I'm back, and I believe I have an apology to make It would appear that the promise I made to do some writing during my holiday ultimately failed, as I ended up socialising the entire time with a great bunch of teenagers which completely occupied my utmost attention. However, since I've gotten back I've had a little break and thought I'd get back into some writing before year's end
So firstly, it would appear there have been some changes in the votes for the last part, and a new choice has taken the lead. Since it's nearly been two months and it hasn't changed much for a few weeks, I think it's safe to close this vote Kira will ask for help, which should surely lead to some interesting results for her next part. At any rate, I have finished the next part, and it would appear we're back on a Caron streak, starting with Alara.
Last time we saw Alara she had reunited with her old sellsword buddy from the Valyrian Freehold, Dromon Tarth. The two had spent the night drinking together, and ultimately Dromon took to the next step and asked her out for dinner the next day. Alara accepted, and the two departed shortly after. That was when Alara found herself trying to break up a fight between her friend Athena, and the scheming Rechar Greenwood. The fight was ultimately broken up by Prince Tobas Bolton, the last remaining son of King Rogar Bolton. With that, Alara was introduced to a new character, Bautistant: a young leader of a small sellsword company from the Stormlands. Alara brought him to the King's attention, and then found herself settling down with a few sellswords to drink and chat with while waiting for Theon and Bautistant to finish. The group discussion started up with an argument in religion, and during this Alara spotted some shady activity in the shadows. Ultimately, you guys chose to have Alara take the safer option and try to break apart the argument instead of pursuing the shady business she saw.
So with that long recap, allow me to post the new Alara part! Enjoy
She bit her lip, turning her attention away from the scene she had witnessed in the tents. Likely a fallen soldier from the battle, or an Andal spy, she tried to convince herself, yet she was as terrible as they came with self-deception. Instead, she tried to take her mind off the matter, turning her attention back to the sparking up group.
“Bugger that, Kas. You’re a beautiful girl, fantastic on the battlefield, but fuck me you’re so blinded with your views. More so than this foreign girl’s blind god.” Chet blurted bitterly, receiving a chuckle from the drunken Simon Holt. Lillith shot Chet a worrying glare.
“Watch one’s tongue, ginger.” She spat, rising to her feet. Chet rolled his eyes, pulling out a rag from his pouch and wiping the dull edge of his blade. Kasia crossed her arms, frowning.
“Maybe if you were less uptight about your faith, you might learn a thing or two.” Kasia muttered, making Chet rise his gaze to hers. “What are you saying, Kas? I’ve too much pride for what I stand for? That I don’t listen?” He let out a short mocking laugh and rolled his eyes. Kasia nodded.
“Maybe if you did, you mightn’t have finished so fucking soon. Bloody amateur.” Alara spotted a strong red blush rise in Chet’s cheeks, instantly shifting his gaze away from hers. Lillith fingered the hilt of her dagger.
“You are all naive, believing in these false gods. A girl would rather throw herself into the Narrow Sea than listen to your nonsense gibberish.” She blurted, now crossing her arms. Kasia smirked, pulling herself up. “I might give you that chance very soon if you keep it up.” The two locked gazes, and Alara knew full well where this would escalate if no one intervened. “Enough!”
The laughing eyes of the archer turned to her with amusement, while Chet’s eyes widened from the sudden unexpected startle. The suspense slowly grew weaker between the two, until Lillith broke full contact.
“Don’t you start, faithless child.” She muttered, resting her hands on the hilts of her daggers. Alara shook her head. “Would you just stop? Who are you impressing, who is actually watching this with interest?” For a moment, Lillith looked lost for words, until Alara heard her mocking snigger.
“Boash watches with interest.” She claimed, smirking. Alara rolled her eyes. “A bold claim for a god who is supposedly blind.” She muttered, and almost instantly the pride that was presented by the foreigner seemed to shatter. “That’s beside the point though, I mean, look at us. Arguing over something that can never truly be justified. I’ve seen a lot of this kind of stuff in my short lifetime, and it all ends out the same. A war starts, and it doesn’t end until one side feels stronger than the other. Are any of you feeling stronger?” Alara shifted her gaze around the group, watching as their unsure eyes did the same. She sighed, lowering her gaze.
“Then what do you believe in?” Kasia sparked up, leaving Lillith and returning to her seat. Alara shrugged. “As I said, nothing I suppose.” Kasia shook her head. “I’m not taking that for an answer. Everyone believes in something, whether that be faith or not, I want to know what you believe in.” Alara found herself at a loss for words, she turned her eyes to the other members of the group now, who looked at her intently. She shrugged, lowering her eyes.
“My mother raised me in the way of the old gods, and my father raised me with the back of his hand. I never found comfort with the gods that were supposedly looking over us, but I found it with my brothers and sister. So I suppose I believe in humans.” Alara watched as the gazes around her quickly grew confused, except for one, which she least expected. Lillith sat herself down, staring at her with careful eyes.
“A girl insults this one’s god, yet redeems herself with a satisfying answer. A girl believes in the actions of others, rather than the words of scripture?” Alara found herself having a difficult time to comprehend the foreigner’s way of speaking, yet she nodded. “Then a girl is deemed admirable in this one’s eyes. Eyes that see more than Boash.” She smirked, and for a moment the group was silent, trying to determine whether Lillith had just made a joke or not.
The sound of a sheathed blade rubbing against plated leggings, along with the clearing of a man’s throat grabbed the attention of their group. Alara turned to see three individuals, two which she did not recognise, but one which every man and woman in the camp knew. Theon flashed her a smile, one hand on the pommel of his bronze blade, the other resting by his side. Alara nodded in return.
“Gentlemen, ladies.” He announced, his voice strong with confidence. “I apologise if I’ve interrupted you.” Simon Holt was the first to rise to his feet, and then clumsily remember to fall to his knee. “No interruption is made, Your Grace.” Simon replied calmly, yet Alara could hear the slur in his tone from his excessive drinking. Theon smirked and pulled the man to his feet, then turning his gaze to Alara.
“Alara, may I borrow you for a moment?” He asked, brushing the dirt from Holt’s gear. Alara rose from her seat. “You may.” She replied. Alara gave a nod to Lillith as she walked passed, joining Theon by his side. She looked into his light grey eyes, verging almost on silver, and they were somewhat alluring to her. He smiled, his black beard with the occasional silver hair glinting in the torchlight as his lips moved. Alara found herself raising an eyebrow, she had never quite realised how handsome the man was.
His age had treated him well, baring him few wrinkles and dimples, and while he appeared to be a rather skinny and gaunt man, it was clear that he was stronger than he looked. His short black hair was unkempt, being unattended to in these recent times, yet it suited him. Atop his head rested a silver crown, worked into the shape of a direwolf at the head. It suddenly dawned on her that she had been staring far too long, she awkwardly shifted her eyes across him until they stumbled across his sword.
“What happened to Ice?” She asked, staring at the dull bronze shortsword that dangled by his waist. Theon’s eyes shifted down to his new weapon, and his hand awkwardly slipped off the pommel. Theon took a moment to come up with an answer, and ultimately made it short and simple. “I put her with safe hands.” He said, the words seeming somewhat strangled and hard to believe. He shrugged and shook his head. “Will you walk with me?” He asked, extending his arm. Without any comprehension, Alara looped her arm through his, and the two started their stroll.
-
The rocky shoreline of the eastern coast stretched for miles, decorated with old fallen pines which had long died and left a haunting appearance to the beaches. Yet it was hardly the trees which unsettled Alara, but the displayed heads of the invaders, which bloodied the stones and called to death. Maggots and worms coursed through the dry blood, slowly feasting away, while ravens and crows fought over the rotting flesh and fattening worms.
Alara felt revolted, but held her head high, and she saw the reason Theon had brought her here. Over a dozen of the Andal ships had been repaired, all donned with the Stark crest. Theon freed his arm from hers, crossing them over and releasing a heavy sigh.
“Ironic, isn’t it? We repair these ships, only for most of them to be destroyed when we arrive at their homeland.” Alara took a step closer to him, feeling a crunch beneath her feet, she looked down to see broken bones mixed with the stones and twigs. She quickly shifted her attention to the King.
Theon turned his eyes to Alara, a weak smile appeared on his lips. “I’m glad you’re coming with me, we’ll need strong warriors over there. We were fortunate the Stormlander boy and his sellswords arrived when he did. The more warriors we gain the better.” Alara sighed.
“The sooner we leave these haunted lands the better.” Theon’s smile formed a small grin, he turned his full attention to her, taking her hands. Alara found herself looking into his attractive grey eyes. They entranced her, which she found strange.
Without warning, and certainly unexpected, Theon leant down and pressed his lips against her own. Alara raised her eyebrows, caught off guard and in the moment, before she pulled herself away. She felt stunned, awkward and embarrassed. Thoughts rushed into her head, all opposing each other.
Theon’s hand left hers, and lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. He smiled, which was slightly comforting to her odd experience. His eyes stared into her own with curiosity. “Was that your first?” He asked, and Alara shook her head, feeling lost for words.
“Your wife…” She mumbled, she was astonished with how weak she felt. Theon released her other hand and shook his head. “A woman who cares more for her suckling teen than anything else. I bare no love for her.” Alara remained silent, her gaze lowered. Theon turned his eyes back to her, raising her chin once again.
“I know I must look like an old man in your eyes…” He started, and Alara immediately shook her head. “No, it’s not that.” She interrupted, and received a curious look. “Then perhaps I could interest you with dinner.” He suggested, and Alara felt a rush of emotions surge through her. Almost all of her emotions cried out to say yes, except one. One which reminded her of a promise she made. Dromon.
She had promised him for dinner along the Weeping Water, and instantly she felt like eyes were watching her. Glaring at her. She felt small, vulnerable, yet there was something comforting about being in Theon’s presence. She had also felt it with Dromon.
[Refuse Theon’s offer – Stay true to your promise] [Accept Theon’s offer – Break your promise]
Ayayayay, welcome back I am so happy this story has returned at last. And I hope your vacation has been great! Just as great as this part, which is awesome Of course I always like Alara parts, but this one felt even better than before. The talk at the beginning, nice, but then Theon. Oh man, I haven't seen it coming, but it makes total sense now that I think about it. They don't call him the Hungry Wolf for nothing, and it makes sense that it doesn't just stand for his lust for battle. Alara's been great in this part, but man, that choice is hard. In the end, I'm choosing the option I've been leaning for from the very first time I saw these options, which is:
[Refuse Theon’s offer – Stay true to your promise]
Okay... this is not an easy choice, but ultimately, I feel like it is time to start thinking of Alara's future. And what kind of a future would she have at Theon's side? The mistress of a king, technically his bastard mistress, bearing the bastard children of a king old enough to be her father. I know she's got serious daddy issues, but let's not make it even worse. Because the thing is, while Theon might offer some temporary comfort, I can't see anything coming out of it. She surely won't become the next Stark queen by his side. On top of that, I don't want her to remain by Theon's side forever, fighting his wars for the rest of her life, because that has the chance to drastically shorten her life, considering just how much war this man is going to fight. I would even prefer if she'd leave south instead of joining him for Andalos, but at least that seems to be a plan set in stone, though I don't want anything else to hold her back when the time comes and she gets a chance to go south. Down south is her family, down south is her future. I know, refusing a king isn't that great either, but I know that if anything, a Stark king should understand how important it is to stay true to a promise that was made and she promised this evening to someone else already. Not counting the fact that Dromon is a far better match, she gave her word that she'd meet him for dinner. Breaking her promise just to get together with Theon would be a serious dickmove. No doubt that Theon won't be happy about it, but he is a Stark and that means he should at least understand this decision.
Alara
She bit her lip, turning her attention away from the scene she had witnessed in the tents. Likely a fallen soldier from the battle,… more or an Andal spy, she tried to convince herself, yet she was as terrible as they came with self-deception. Instead, she tried to take her mind off the matter, turning her attention back to the sparking up group.
“Bugger that, Kas. You’re a beautiful girl, fantastic on the battlefield, but fuck me you’re so blinded with your views. More so than this foreign girl’s blind god.” Chet blurted bitterly, receiving a chuckle from the drunken Simon Holt. Lillith shot Chet a worrying glare.
“Watch one’s tongue, ginger.” She spat, rising to her feet. Chet rolled his eyes, pulling out a rag from his pouch and wiping the dull edge of his blade. Kasia crossed her arms, frowning.
“Maybe if you were less uptight about your faith, you might learn a thing or two.” Kasia muttered, making Chet rise his gaze to hers.… [view original content]
Welcome back, lad! Another great part for Alara, and the end with Theon totally caught me off guard. The Hungry Wolf certainly is an interesting character, and I'm looking forward to see what will come of this storyline.
[Refuse Theon’s offer – Stay true to your promise] However, I think it will do no good in the long run for Alara to start anything with Theon. And I'm sure he understands, he seems like a good man.
Alara
She bit her lip, turning her attention away from the scene she had witnessed in the tents. Likely a fallen soldier from the battle,… more or an Andal spy, she tried to convince herself, yet she was as terrible as they came with self-deception. Instead, she tried to take her mind off the matter, turning her attention back to the sparking up group.
“Bugger that, Kas. You’re a beautiful girl, fantastic on the battlefield, but fuck me you’re so blinded with your views. More so than this foreign girl’s blind god.” Chet blurted bitterly, receiving a chuckle from the drunken Simon Holt. Lillith shot Chet a worrying glare.
“Watch one’s tongue, ginger.” She spat, rising to her feet. Chet rolled his eyes, pulling out a rag from his pouch and wiping the dull edge of his blade. Kasia crossed her arms, frowning.
“Maybe if you were less uptight about your faith, you might learn a thing or two.” Kasia muttered, making Chet rise his gaze to hers.… [view original content]
[Refuse Theon’s offer – Stay true to your promise] While it would be an interesting route to take for the time being, I am not sure that Alara getting involved with Theon would be any good for her in the long run. I also agree that Theon would most likely understand Alara's choice here.
Alara
She bit her lip, turning her attention away from the scene she had witnessed in the tents. Likely a fallen soldier from the battle,… more or an Andal spy, she tried to convince herself, yet she was as terrible as they came with self-deception. Instead, she tried to take her mind off the matter, turning her attention back to the sparking up group.
“Bugger that, Kas. You’re a beautiful girl, fantastic on the battlefield, but fuck me you’re so blinded with your views. More so than this foreign girl’s blind god.” Chet blurted bitterly, receiving a chuckle from the drunken Simon Holt. Lillith shot Chet a worrying glare.
“Watch one’s tongue, ginger.” She spat, rising to her feet. Chet rolled his eyes, pulling out a rag from his pouch and wiping the dull edge of his blade. Kasia crossed her arms, frowning.
“Maybe if you were less uptight about your faith, you might learn a thing or two.” Kasia muttered, making Chet rise his gaze to hers.… [view original content]
Alara
She bit her lip, turning her attention away from the scene she had witnessed in the tents. Likely a fallen soldier from the battle,… more or an Andal spy, she tried to convince herself, yet she was as terrible as they came with self-deception. Instead, she tried to take her mind off the matter, turning her attention back to the sparking up group.
“Bugger that, Kas. You’re a beautiful girl, fantastic on the battlefield, but fuck me you’re so blinded with your views. More so than this foreign girl’s blind god.” Chet blurted bitterly, receiving a chuckle from the drunken Simon Holt. Lillith shot Chet a worrying glare.
“Watch one’s tongue, ginger.” She spat, rising to her feet. Chet rolled his eyes, pulling out a rag from his pouch and wiping the dull edge of his blade. Kasia crossed her arms, frowning.
“Maybe if you were less uptight about your faith, you might learn a thing or two.” Kasia muttered, making Chet rise his gaze to hers.… [view original content]
Darkness corrupted the lands, blinding those who were cursed, and consuming those who dared wander too far. A cruel fate, to that which was cursed onto the unfaithful, condemned to Death’s realm. Here there was nothing, which was a blessing welcomed with open arms, for when there was something it would sure result in more pain.
Memories. Regrets. Mistakes. These were the Dead Man’s curse, to watch over and over for an eternity. A punishment for the unfaithful, a warning to those who were too naive while a part of the living. Memories which would tease with happiness, then torture with pain and agony until a Dead Man would beg Death for oblivion.
The Dead Man felt Death’s curse approaching, his other senses heightened with the loss of his vision in this land of never-ending darkness. The power of sight was a fear for all those in this realm, there was no chance to forget, no chance to rest. The Dead Man felt his bones chill over with its presence. He could smell the smoke from the makeshift fire, the sizzling stew above the flames. He could feel his mouth beginning to water, taste the flavours in his mouth. Yet what was truly terrifying, was now he could see.
The Dead Man saw former version of himself. He stood alone, tall and formidable, staring at a wall of ice. His long black hair and beard blew in the wind, his torso bloody from cuts and scratches. In his hands he held a Warhammer, the bloody tip dripping into the fresh snow. Surrounding him were eleven wildling corpses, of which he had singe handedly struck down each without any aid. That day had brought him and his family pride. His mentor, Mors Orgrin, had personally gifted him with a reward handed down from King Theon’s own armoury on that day.
The Dead Man shed a tear of what he thought was happiness, until suddenly everything changed. He watched in terror as his worst memories came to unfold in front of his eyes. Dozens of wildlings cutting down Stark soldiers, among them his mentor, Mors Orgrin. Another scene shift. He knelt beside his wife, still and cold, a swell in her belly.
“Lyra!” He called, frantically shaking her corpse, tears streaming down his eyes. “Lyra… Please.” He begged, his hands shaking as he felt her belly. Suffering, Death took the Dead Man to his final memory.
The grinning Edrick, the younger brother of Harmond’s wife. The Dead Man shook his head, pleading to see no more. Death, cruel and sadistic, ignored his pleads, and brought him to a final crumble. The Dead Man faded, staring through his tears as he watched the sadist Arnold Dint cut the flesh off young Edrick.
Death took his soul, but the scene continued the play, continued to change. The others watched with horror, as the history of Arnold Dint played out in front of their eyes. The sickening, sheep flaying child, with a certain glint in his eyes. Turning in his parents to Bolton’s, after foiling their plan to poison Bolton soldiers in their household.
Taken back to the Dreadfort, and raised to live the title of being the best flayer after the Bolton’s themselves. The Dead watched in horror as the young Arnold Dint, now a man of nineteen years, approached the home of an elderly lady. The woman answered the door with a young child by her feet, an inquisitive look in her eye. Arnold studied the two.
“So this is the son of the Queen. Torvin Bolton?” He asked, and watched as the child looked up at him with studying eyes. The grandmother quickly ushered the child away, and when the child was out of sight, Arnold plunged a dagger into her back. Slicing her into tiny pieces, he then went to retrieve the child.
Time seemed to flash, and all the Dead watched and witnessed as Arnold dulled the boy’s senses with the medicine that healers used on the seriously injured. Making the child obedient, up until the point where he was not, and Arnold Dint was found by Dormund and Ryden with a hammer through his skull.
A Dead Man stood forward, spotting himself among the others, challenging Death. The scene flickered, and Dormund and Ryden were sparring as children in the courts of the Frost Keep. He watched as Ryden struck him down over and over, the Frost brothers cheering while the disappointed glares shot from Rogar’s eyes. The Dead Man smiled, recalling the shame his father put on him.
Angered, Death flickered to the funeral of his mother, watching as she was feasted upon by the King’s hounds. A Dead Man nodded, having accepted her passing long ago. Finally, Death played his final card. They found themselves in the throne room of the Dreadfort. Ryden charging at Dormund for the life of his family, brawling before Rogar like animals, until Ryden could not bring himself to carry out Rogar’s order. The Dead Man watched as Ryden’s throat was slit by Rogar, his corpse falling beside the stunned Dormund. Yet, the Dead Man did not flinch, infuriating Death further.
“WHY!” Dormund screamed, as Rogar climbed on top of him with the bloody dagger. “You’re no son of mine.” He growled, before plunging the blood soaked dagger into his throat. Watching as he gurgled on his own blood, the Dead Man grinned. I will not break.
Suddenly, the image the Dead Man stared into began to shatter, to break apart. The ground he stood on began to shudder beneath him, and a deep growl of anger surged through the darkness and choked the air. The Dead Man smirked, ready for his fate.
Light, brighter than anything he’d ever seen, shut out the darkness, shut out Death. The Dead Man covered his eyes, the blinding light was unbearable, yet there was an urge to look at it. If this is fate. He reconciled, before pulling away his hand and staring directly into the brightness, feeling himself begin to fade.
-
His eyes pulled themselves wide open, his lungs gasping for air. He stared at the ceiling, a dull grey, but moist and dripping with water. He sucked in air frantically, as if he had been suffocated this entire time. His hands tensed around the frame of whatever he was lying on, his chest pumping radically.
A woman stood over him, padding him down with a wet rag. Tall with a slim build, her blonde hair was tied back. She was covered in filthy grey robes. Her blue eyes lowered down to his when she noticed him staring at her.
“Easy now.” She smiled, caressing his cheek. He shook his head, his hand shooting up and securing a tight grip around her wrist. He felt stronger, yet drained of energy. “Where am I?!” He blurted, demanding an answer. His grip fell loose, releasing her arm from captivity.
“You need to rest.” She stated, grabbing for a small wooden cup with a white liquid pouring over the brim. “Drink.” She ordered, placing the cup to his lips. “What is it?” He asked, and she shook her head.
“Drink!” She commanded, half pouring the liquid down his throat while he still had his mouth open. Almost instantly he felt himself beginning to fade. She placed the cup down and smiled, almost in disbelief. “Welcome back to the living, Dormund.”
What in the... Dormund! Holy shit, it's been so long. That is one hell of a crazy twist! But not the only one, as I see. Torvin Bolton? Like in, that dimly witted Torv guy? Gosh, so many twists and revelations. Dormund is not dead anymore. Torv is a Torvin and a Bolton. What a damn nice part that was, I applaud you!
That said, the beginning of the part slightly confused me. Were that really Dormund's memories, or someone else's? And could that mean that it's not him who returned, but someone else in Dormund's body? Speaking of, that woman who saved him, I wonder who she is. My money's on the creepy nympho-witch from one of the first Steffon parts. She roughly fit the description we got here, if I'm not mistaken. That brings up the question, just what exactly is she? That wasn't the magic of a red priestess, I think, but whom else can raise the dead? And besides, why would she save him? The only reason I could think of is that she wishes to somehow take control over House Bolton, since Dormund is the secondborn of King Rogar and after the death of his older brother next in line. If something happens to his younger brother at King Theon's side as well, then Dormund would be free to take the Dreadfort for himself. And if he is somehow under the control of the witch, which I expect him to be, then she would control the next Lord Bolton. That would be a bad thing, if not for the fact that Rogar and his men (especially that piece of turd, Rechar) are among the worst shitpiles I can think of. It still is a shady thing and though I am not unhappy to see Dormund again, the implications behind all of this make me rather nervous.
The Dead Man
Darkness corrupted the lands, blinding those who were cursed, and consuming those who dared wander too far. A cruel fate, to… more that which was cursed onto the unfaithful, condemned to Death’s realm. Here there was nothing, which was a blessing welcomed with open arms, for when there was something it would sure result in more pain.
Memories. Regrets. Mistakes. These were the Dead Man’s curse, to watch over and over for an eternity. A punishment for the unfaithful, a warning to those who were too naive while a part of the living. Memories which would tease with happiness, then torture with pain and agony until a Dead Man would beg Death for oblivion.
The Dead Man felt Death’s curse approaching, his other senses heightened with the loss of his vision in this land of never-ending darkness. The power of sight was a fear for all those in this realm, there was no chance to forget, no chance to rest. The Dead Man felt his bones chi… [view original content]
Indeed, it was one hell of a part which I loved every bit of writing, and was meant for the end of this chapter but I ended up bringing it in sooner. So yes, there are a few big reveals in this part, as well as a lot of confusing and probably some not so well explained moments. You see, I have a lot of regrets from the beginning of the story, killing off so many great characters before I could really show their potential. Harmond Hornwill, Arnold Dint, Ryden Frost, Nalia Cale and a great vast amount of others. The memories of the first Dead Man are Harmond's, and we witness him breaking to Death, and his soul being harvested from his realm. Not very original, I know Though while these memories are not Dormund, it is important now to recognise that they are indeed there, that Dormund has witnessed them and that they are now a part of him. It will cause a lot of confusion, but the easiest way I can put it is that it is Dormund who's back, but also a little bit more, which is rather terrifying if you think about it. A lot more of the answers you seek will be answered in Dormund's next part, which may come very soon depending on the speed that you reply to my recent PM
What in the... Dormund! Holy shit, it's been so long. That is one hell of a crazy twist! But not the only one, as I see. Torvin Bolton? Like… more in, that dimly witted Torv guy? Gosh, so many twists and revelations. Dormund is not dead anymore. Torv is a Torvin and a Bolton. What a damn nice part that was, I applaud you!
That said, the beginning of the part slightly confused me. Were that really Dormund's memories, or someone else's? And could that mean that it's not him who returned, but someone else in Dormund's body? Speaking of, that woman who saved him, I wonder who she is. My money's on the creepy nympho-witch from one of the first Steffon parts. She roughly fit the description we got here, if I'm not mistaken. That brings up the question, just what exactly is she? That wasn't the magic of a red priestess, I think, but whom else can raise the dead? And besides, why would she save him? The only reason I could think of is that she wishes to s… [view original content]
I think now I understand it a bit better, thanks for clarifying it. I actually already got the impression that the first paragraphs of this part are from Harmond's memories and not from Dormund, glad my suspicions were correct. And I was highly confused by Dint's memories, but now that makes sense as well, a lot of it. I haven't seen any of Nalia, but since you mention a vast amount of others, I guess her memories were among those Dormund took in without actually seeing them in this part. It is unsettling, but at the same time, it might mean that he knows some very useful things. All of these people, they definitely knew useful things, even sadistic pieces of shit like Arnold Dint. And Nalia... hm, I wonder if Dormund will be the one who has a confrontation with Rechar then. So far, I thought that either Steffon would get his hands on that weasel, or that he once more gets into a fight with Alara which he doesn't survive this time, but now, Dormund with a piece of Nalia's memories could be a good bet as well, maybe even the most fitting. Ah, you just managed to make me even more intrigued to what Dormund is up to now, why he was revived and why he was revived with the memories of so many dead people, or if this part was even intentional, by that person that saved him.
And you have received a PM, at least about the thing you need for the next part. The rest should follow tomorrow. Ah, I greatly look forward for the things to come
Indeed, it was one hell of a part which I loved every bit of writing, and was meant for the end of this chapter but I ended up bringing it i… moren sooner. So yes, there are a few big reveals in this part, as well as a lot of confusing and probably some not so well explained moments. You see, I have a lot of regrets from the beginning of the story, killing off so many great characters before I could really show their potential. Harmond Hornwill, Arnold Dint, Ryden Frost, Nalia Cale and a great vast amount of others. The memories of the first Dead Man are Harmond's, and we witness him breaking to Death, and his soul being harvested from his realm. Not very original, I know Though while these memories are not Dormund, it is important now to recognise that they are indeed there, that Dormund has witnessed them and that they are now a part of him. It will cause a lot of confusion, but the easiest way I can put it is that it is Dormund who's back, but … [view original content]
“Mmm.” Bethany expressed with pleasure, resting her arms against the walls of the wooden tub. Steam had flooded the stone room, making the temperature humid and comforting for Bethany’s preference. She rested her head against the edge of the tub, as Maddelyn softly brushed her fingers through the knots that had formed since her last brushing.
“Relaxed?” Maddelyn asked, gently working her way through Bethany’s tangled mess of hair. Bethany smiled and nodded, feeling herself tug Maddelyn’s fingers as she did so. “Immensely so. Thank you, Maddy.”
“You know, I was curious.” Maddelyn started, before halting herself. Bethany turned her eyes to Maddelyn, who seemed to have gone still. “Curious of what?” Bethany prompted, seemingly pulling her cousin out of her trance.
“Gareth.” She hesitantly said, and Bethany raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a crush on your cousin, do you?” Maddelyn’s eyes widened, her cheeks beginning to blush and a delay in her response, which only solidified Bethany’s brief theory. “No, I…” Bethany smiled and shook her head, turning back around.
“Gareth, my sweet brother and your cousin. What of him?” Bethany felt Maddelyn attend to her hair again. “Will he be riding with your father to Storm’s End, or returning to Nightsong?” Bethany rolled her eyes and shrugged.
“According to father, neither. He’s keeping him here, as well as mother and myself.” Bethany said with a touch of disappointment in her tone. “Oh?” Maddelyn piped up, sounding shocked but certainly not upset with the result. Bethany sighed.
“So how is Uncle Gendel treating you? It would seem to me that he has given little concern to finding you a husband.” Bethany pointed out, and Maddelyn simply shrugged. “Father has been distant for a few years now, ever since he was married to that Peake girl. They say he has a son on the way.” Bethany frowned, tapping her fingers against the wooden sides of the tub.
“You don’t seem to speak to highly of Gendel’s new wife.” Bethany commented, and Maddelyn shrugged. “I feel like I’m being forgotten, Beth.” Maddelyn finally revealed, releasing her hair. Bethany turned around, looking her in those honey eyes.
“You’re not, Maddy.” Bethany assured her, but her cousin looked unconvinced. “Father pays me little mind, Aunt Gladys is often training or never available, and while Grandfather has always been kind to me, his sudden sickness has left me with no one to rely on. No one to talk to.” Maddelyn expression saddened, though it quickly seemed to erase and switch to something more dutiful. “Forgive me, I should finish your hair.” Bethany shook her head.
“Maddy, I will always be here for you, no matter what happens. If you ever want to talk, or just need someone to be with, I’m never far away.” A small smile erupted on Maddelyn’s luscious lips, yet her eyes still held a heavy gaze. Bethany smiled at her, before pulling herself from the tub and letting the water drip from her skin.
“I think we’d best not keep Grandfather waiting much longer, gods forbid he may even forget he called for me.” Maddelyn’s smile widened a tad, enough to please Bethany for her efforts. “Would you go retrieve some towels for me?” Bethany kindly asked, and Maddelyn nodded in return.
“I’ll also bring you some fragrant oils I made mention of earlier, I think the lavender will go nice with you.” Bethany smiled at the girl, and then she was gone. She sighed, pulling herself out of the tub. The humidity was unbearable out of the water, and Bethany began to regret putting her poor cousin through such torment in bathing her.
She made her way to the desk, where a basin of water sat, along with a hand mirror. Bethany picked up the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her hair was still a wet mess, and Bethany knew she could not wear it out in her fashioned locks until it dried. A simple ponytail will have to suffice for now, she thought, looking at it with a frown. Then she saw movement.
Bethany spun around, instinctively clutching an arm to her breasts and lowering the mirror to obscure her crutch. In front of her she saw a young man, perhaps younger than herself, with short messy blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes. He stared with a grin.
“Well, I never thought I’d see myself between a Caron’s legs.” He jested, staring at his reflection with obsessive eyes. Bethany stared daggers in his direction, yet they barely pierced his attention. “Get. Out.” She ordered, and the man laughed.
“Show me a little something, and perhaps I’ll leave.” He smirked, raising his eyes to her arm covering her breasts. Bethany rolled her eyes, disgusted. “You immature twit, leave!” She yelled, and the man grinned.
“Why should I? I often come down here to think.” He lowered his eyes back to the mirror. “And reflect.” He smirked, his hand reaching for her arm. Bethany had heard enough, and for the sick astonishment he received when Bethany released her breasts, he received a terrifying strike from the back of her hand.
Caught off guard from the hit, Bethany struck again, this time thrusting her foot between his legs. With a squall, he tumbled to his knees in agony. With that, Bethany proceeded to attack him with the hand mirror, until she finally sent him thundering out of the room.
Bethany let her anger out in a horrifying burst, screaming at the top of her lungs as she tossed the mirror across the room. The steamy mist obscured her vision, yet she heard the glass shatter as it made contact with the stone wall. With that, she crumbled to the ground, curling up into a ball.
-
The Great Hall was dimly lit, the natural light obscured with the tinted pane windows. Bethany ascended the row of steps, until she met the seat of House Dondarrion, and the man who sat there was remarkably different to the last time she had seen him.
Lord Edric sat with a cruelly uncomfortable posture to him, leaving him hunched down, with little movement. His seat had been raised, giving him an advantage over those who entered, so that he may be able to see them with ease. Edric’s old eyes wandered the throne room aimlessly, until they fell upon Bethany.
“Meghan!” Edric called, a warm greeting smile widened his old lips. Bethany smiled in return, yet sadness seemed to weigh heavy in her eyes. “Bethany.” She corrected, and she watched as her grandfather’s eyes widened.
“Bethany? My my, how beautiful you have become. Come closer, so I may see your eyes.” Bethany followed her Grandfather’s request without hesitation, and a warm smile returned to his old lips. “Of course you’re Bethy.” He concluded, stroking her cheek. “Only my granddaughter could possess such beautiful green eyes.” He complimented, and Bethany allowed herself to blush.
“You too are looking…” Bethany felt the words she wanted to speak seem to escape her grasp. Edric had changed dramatically since she last saw him. While he had always had burns and scarring, he had always been bald when she saw him. Now, Edric’s hair had grown out into a dirty grey mess, growing only in patches, where scarring and burns claim the rest. A thick grey stubble now ran across his face, and generally he was much skinnier than when she had last seen him. There was also a foul odour to him.
“Not much good meat left on this old carcass, eh?” He joked, but Bethany smiled and shook her head. “Your eyes are a saviour to your wicked handsome looks.” Bethany added, and Edric chuckled. “Save me the pity, dear child, it’s not why I called you here.” Bethany nodded.
“Then why did you summon me?” She asked, and Edric looked at her with confusion in his eyes. “Hmm?” Bethany raised an eyebrow. “Why did you call me here?” She restated, and for a moment Edric just stared with confusion riddled in his gaze, until finally there was a spark which started up in him again.
“I had something to tell you, something important.” He teased, smirking at her. Bethany rolled her eyes and smiled. “And what might that be?” Bethany asked, and Edric grinned. “Well you always loved my stories as a child, and even after that. So perhaps I might interest you in another, before I…” Bethany could see there was something pressing on Edric’s conscience, something dire.
“What is it, Grandfather?” She asked, placing her hand on his. His lip quivered, and a tear began to build up in his eye. He sighed, giving her a weak smile, and wiping away the tear.
“When I was a young man, I was foolish. Much like your father was, and your brother is. I don’t quite…” He struggled for a moment, like he’d lost thought of what he was saying. “I don’t quite… Understand.” He finally stated, and Bethany sympathetically shook her head. “Understand what?”
“I was foolish, I acted out of my own ambitions, and because of that the kingdom suffered. I don’t understand why the gods have chosen to relieve me of the memories I cherished dearly, and leave me with those that haunt my sleep. So I…” He stopped, yet this time it was something else. “I want to tell you this before I lose it, perhaps then you may be able to learn from my mistakes.” Bethany nodded, urging him to continue.
“There was a time when I was not like this, not scarred and old. A time where I was once strong, and supposedly gallant and noble, or so I am told. While I never quite remembered in full when I was struck by that lightning bolt, I do recall what happened after. I met a woman, she saved me.”
“She nursed my wounds for months, and during that time we fell in love. To this day I still regret that I never brought her back to Blackhaven with me, or the son we had together.” Bethany raised her eyebrows. “You had a bastard?” She asked, and Edric shook his head. “I had a son. I had a life where I was not bound to the laws of duty and land. I had a son, the one born from thunder, and now I have come to terms with my curse. I failed my one chance to start anew, to father a son and love a wife. No, instead I returned to a kingdom I failed, married out of politics, and failed to be a loving husband and father. Now I must live with this, but you should not.” Bethany found herself confused, yet she listened eagerly.
“What do you mean?” She asked, and Edric frowned. “Marry out of love, sweet Bethy.” He begged. “Don’t let yourself be another man’s wife. Be there world, be there reason to live, don’t make the same mistakes I did.” Bethany could see the tears welling up in her Grandfather’s, so distant, eyes. Unsure of what else to do, Bethany wrapped her arms around him, holding him as he wept. “Promise me.”
Bethany pulled herself away, looking Edric in his weary wet eyes. She frowned, yet there was also sympathy in her expression. She knew, in this time, she would have no choice over whom she married. That decision was her father’s, and the fact that she was not already married into House Tarly was a form of crude luck.
“I will try.” She answered weakly, with a smile that matched the strength of her response. Edric nodded gently, rubbing the tears from his eyes. “You will attend the feast tonight, yes?” Bethany nodded. “Good, it will be better then.” He said grimly, and Bethany looked at him curiously, before realising what he meant.
“I…” Bethany started, before she heard the main doors of the Great Hall swing open with a thundering creak. “Father.” A woman’s voice announced. Bethany turned her eyes to the entrance, and there stood her aunt, Gladys.
She was donned in dark riding leathers, a bronze sword hanging from her belt. Her light brown hair was tied back into a bun, revealing her amber eyes which were near identical to Meghan’s. They flicked across to Bethany, and her lips formed a warm smile. “Beth.” She bowed graciously, and Bethany nodded in return. Gladys’ eyes then returned to her father.
“Uncle Gilbret has begun marching the Swann forces to Storm’s End. We will ride by sunrise.” She announced, and received a small nod from Edric. “Very well.” His eyes slowly turned to Bethany, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Best you find a dress for tonight, eh?” He smiled, and Bethany matched the expression, yet it masked what she felt. He was smothering her, and she hated it, yet in his condition she had no right to judge.
She nodded, standing and descending down the steps from his seat. Gladys flashed her a sympathetic smile, but there was a mix of emotions within that expression which Bethany did not begin to comprehend.
Exiting the main doors, Bethany held her head high as she passed the guards and turned down the dark corridor. Reaching the steps to the second floor, Bethany barely managed to climb the first few steps before her emotions clouded her vision. She toppled to the floor, tears flowing down her cheeks.
-
“So she says, check the other side, my husband has sometimes taken that route!” Gendel yelled, bursting into laughter. The few other sorry souls unfortunate to listen enjoyed a small chuckle. Bethany found herself grinning, which seemed to be an odd sight at these recent times. Across the table, she could see Gareth let out a small smile.
The dining table was covered with platters. Turkey served with cranberry sauce, honey glazed pork and a variety of venison were at the centre of the table, surrounded by salads and vegetables. Bethany flicked her view from the food to everyone at the table.
Lord Edric sat at the head of the table, with Gladys on his right. Meghan sat beside Gladys, and Bethany beside her. Jaycen sat at the far end of the table, opposite to Edric, with Gareth beside him. Finally, Gendel was seated beside his father, while Maddelyn had happily filled the gap between him and Gareth. All were donned in a formal attire. Bethany had picked out a yellow dress she had fashioned herself. She recalled the painful process of cross-stitching each nightingale.
“I hear the Nightingale has made her way to the North.” Edric started, tucking into his meal with his hands. Gladys picked up where he had left off. “Yes, and that she cut down an Andal warlord. You must be very proud of her, Jaycen.” Jaycen raised his eye from his meal, twiddling his knife as he thought carefully on his words.
“Indeed.” He acknowledged, staring at Meghan as he did. Gladys smiled. “I admire the girl, she’s found herself an adventurous life, and received some glory along the way.” Gendel nodded in agreement. “Much like myself, if I might say so.” He cockily added, and Gladys rolled her eyes.
“Oh hush, you may have travelled through the Reach and Dorne, but you can’t say you lived in the Valyrian Freehold, or fought against the Ghis Empire.” Gendel shrugged, chewing on a mouthful of venison. “Perhaps not, but has she ever had the luxury to taste the fine wines of the Arbor? Or dine with the Redwyne’s themselves? No? I thought not.” He concluded, meat spitting out of his mouth. Meghan sighed.
“She should be back home. She puts herself in danger with this lifestyle.” Bethany found herself in an odd predicament with her mother’s statement, she had always envied Alara’s feats, but she did long to see her. “She can handle herself, mother.” Gareth piped up, poking at his pork with the end of his knife. Meghan scowled at him, shaking his head.
“What I’m saying is, the North is no place for a Caron.” Meghan stated in her defence, yet to no avail. “Then perhaps the North is perfect for her, as she is no Caron.” Jaycen muttered, hushing the table. Meghan stood from her chair, tears streaming down her eyes.
“I can’t believe you. After everything you’ve said…” She spun around with haste, darting for the doors. Bethany turned her gaze back to Jaycen, who had lowered his eye back to his meal. Gareth was the next to shoot up, an infuriation in his gaze which brought shivers to Bethany’s spine.
“You’re a real shit, you know that?” He growled, clenching his fists. Bethany could see Gendel preparing to rise from his chair. Jaycen’s eye raised from his meal. “I never said I was not proud of her, it’s quite the contrary. She’s achieved more than my whiny son, but that does not change the fact that she is not my daughter, and if you ever speak to me with that manner-” He warned, but it was too late.
Before Gendel could even act, Gareth was over the table and had pounced on Jaycen, bringing him to the ground. Bethany rose from her chair, as well as every other occupant of the table, as they watched the brawl begin, and quickly end. Jaycen brought Gareth under him, and by then it was over for him. Gendel quickly approached, prepared to separate the two of them, yet Jaycen saved him the struggle.
“Excuse me.” Jaycen muttered, pulling himself up. “I seem to have lost my appetite.” He announced, turning and exiting the hall. Gareth angrily heaved himself from the ground, rushing out, embarrassed and enraged. Maddelyn quickly followed.
Bethany turned back to the table, now a mess with food everywhere. Edric was smirking, which surprised her. “Reminds me of an evening not too dissimilar to this.” He remarked, and Bethany could not disagree. She turned her eyes back to the main doors, where Gendel and Gladys were exiting and going their own ways. Bethany sighed, weighing up her options.
Her mother had looked distressed even before the feast, and her reaction had caught Bethany by surprise, and likely something she had been holding back for quite a while. The extent to which Gareth had gone had also left an impact on her, and she knew that in the hardest times they had always been there for each other, yet with Maddelyn at his heels she was hesitant. Then there was her father, which she seemed to worry about more as she thought about him, a feeling that remained mutual with Edric as well.
[Remain with Edric] [Seek out Meghan] [Seek out Gareth] [Seek out Jaycen]
Alrighty, I'll close this vote! Alara will refuse Theon's offer and stay true to her promise. No doubt this is a very important choice for Alara's character, in a number of ways at that. This will definitely mold an image that Theon has for her, as well as change the way he feels for her, which should all be very interesting with Andalos coming up
Anyway, the next part is out and it goes to Bethany. If you can't recall, the last time we saw Bethany was in her first part, and she had a little conversation with her brother (Gareth) before being reunited with her cousin Maddelyn. She brought news that her grandfather, Edric the Thunderlord, wished to see her. Maddelyn offered to bathe Bethany before going to see the Lord of Blackhaven, to which you lot accepted the offer! Bethany's part starts off there!
Alara
She bit her lip, turning her attention away from the scene she had witnessed in the tents. Likely a fallen soldier from the battle,… more or an Andal spy, she tried to convince herself, yet she was as terrible as they came with self-deception. Instead, she tried to take her mind off the matter, turning her attention back to the sparking up group.
“Bugger that, Kas. You’re a beautiful girl, fantastic on the battlefield, but fuck me you’re so blinded with your views. More so than this foreign girl’s blind god.” Chet blurted bitterly, receiving a chuckle from the drunken Simon Holt. Lillith shot Chet a worrying glare.
“Watch one’s tongue, ginger.” She spat, rising to her feet. Chet rolled his eyes, pulling out a rag from his pouch and wiping the dull edge of his blade. Kasia crossed her arms, frowning.
“Maybe if you were less uptight about your faith, you might learn a thing or two.” Kasia muttered, making Chet rise his gaze to hers.… [view original content]
Comments
[Head to the main gates]
Nah ...Emily's probably fine
[Suggest heading to the Riverlands]
Great part!
I like Warrick, the paranoid veteran brute 
[Follow your suspicions had head to the Great Hall] Tbh, my reason is just that I don't see there being much to lose with going to the Great Hall. Sure, a seasoned commander could be needed at the gates, but we don't even know if there will actually be a battle or not.
[Head to Cracklaw Point] I'm going with this one because I think a confrontation between R'hllor worshippers and Faith of Seas followers could be interesting
But they could all be interesting really, so I'm fine if this one doesn't win 
Well, before I forgot. It would appear that Tylar will side with Maxwell and rally the forces. An interesting set of votes, which should lead to an interesting outcome.
[Follow your suspicions had head to the Great Hall] It seems like Warrick keeping Emilee safe here would probably be the best bet. With the Lannister army and Lantell guards outside, the Banefort's should be no trouble for them. Great part, Warrick is just as imagined!
Oops Double Post
[Head to Cracklaw Point] Like Wildling said, a conflict between R'hllor and Faith of the Seas followers could be really interesting!
Well, been a couple of months, but I think this vote is pretty damn closed!
Nathan will suggest heading to the Riverlands. Should be an interesting choice, which we shall be able to elaborate further on later!
Well, I figure you guys should be enlightened on some news in my life. Firstly I'd like to apologise for my disappearance for the past (nearly) two months. I've had a stressful time working through re-sits for tests, as well as getting on top of assignments, and finally I've had my external exams these past three weeks. Fortunately, I finished today! Yeah, I was so overly joyed that I came home and decided to write some of the story! Then kinda crashed on the couch... Though hey, I ain't gonna disappoint you with that. It's not long, but I managed to write out the new Samira part, so I won't keep you guys waiting much longer there. So, without further ado, here's a recap!
The last we saw of Samira, she was on her way to Maidenpool to seek refuge with the Andal spy, Dalia. On her long boat trip, she came to terms with the rower, Dallop, and set up a make-shift spy network out of the rowing boys. When arriving at Maidenpool, she was faced with the decision to get some long deserved rest, or to continue to finding Dalia. You lot chose to go and find Dalia, and as Samira is pretty fucking tired (like me), well... I'll let you guys read! Enjoy
Samira
Her feet trudged through the muddy road, her legs aching and weary from her travels. She longed to rest, but she knew that other matters were more pressing than her self-comfort. As the days had turned into weeks, she had grown more and more paranoid, and even if performances to the fools around her was convincible as stable, she was beginning to reach breaking point.
Constantly she was checking over her shoulder, scanning her surroundings, seeking those who might pursue her. Many ignored her gaze, and those who were unfortunate enough to meet it were quick to cower or back down. Her eyes were menacing, and were it not for her pleasing appearance than perhaps those who met her gaze would be shitting themselves. At least she hoped, alas she continued to watch over her shoulder.
The roadside merchants had begun to pack away their produce, the red sun had set behind the pink walls of the city, leaving a thick orange spotlight in areas which weren’t obscured in the dark shadows or clouded with the smoke of incense and cooking pots. The stench of rotting fish and burning coals entered her nostrils, leaving a foul presence. She wondered how much more she could withstand before her previous meal would add onto the bile and defecate on the side of the path.
Being the least of her problems, her eyes scoured across the faces that loomed in the dark, as well as the light. Bearded fishfolk boxed their stock of clams and seasoned their catches with salt, while wives began to disassemble the stalls. All eyes seemed distracted, preoccupied… Safe. Samira turned her gaze forward of her, eying each of those who passed her with caution. Her hand clenched the dagger secured to her belt with such tension that her fingers began to ache.
It was not long until she had reached gates of the Cackling Fool, which separated the impoverished pink district from the luscious city and castle which Maidenpool was renowned for. Had Samira been better rested, she might have stared at the city with admirance, but instead she saw nothing but a city holding filth which were beneath her. She let out a huff of hair, rubbing her dirty hands against her eyes as she desperately tried to fight away the sleep. She tiredly approached the gates.
Two guards patrolled the gateway, one poking his dagger in the mud as he sat on his short wooden stool, while the other was leant against the wall with his arms crossed, a smug expression on his face. Few passed through the entrance itself, and for the most part Samira only noticed a few people exiting at a time. She sighed, beginning to climb the muddy stone steps to the gateway. She spotted the guard leaning against the wall turn his gaze to her, a smirk building up on his smug face.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He challenged, resting his hand on the hilt of his sheathed short sword. Samira rolled her eyes, paying him no attention, and continued forward. It was clear this response was not the kind the guard was used to. The man unsheathed his sword, stepping in her way. Samira raised her gaze, eying the guard.
He stood tall, and Samira’s eyes met with his white tabard, gilded and with a red salmon in the centre. He wore gambeson beneath this, and bronze shoulder pads and bracers. Unlike his comrade, he was without a helm, and his greasy black hair was exposed for all to see. His lips were hidden behind his bushy black beard. “I asked you a question. You’d better answer before you get it, bitch.” He growled, his watch partner rising from his stool. Samira sighed.
“Just passing through.” She muttered, lowering her gaze to his leather boots. She notices the man chuckle, his chest rising. “No, you’re not.” He sheathed his sword, grinning as he placed his hands under her chin. “Pretty one, isn’t she?” He commented, his comrade nodding in agreeance. Samira rolled her eyes, pushing his hand away. She was in no mood for the games of men.
“She’s feistier then what we’ve usually had.” The comrade noted, and the guard in front of her agreed. “I like them feisty.” He stated, and without warning he pulled Samira down to her knees with one hand, reaching down into his pants with the other. Samira desperately tried to free herself from the man’s grip. The guard’s comrade burst into laughter.
“Take it like a real woman, bitch.” He spat, his saliva landing in her hair. The guard had already pulled his manhood out by the time her attention had turned back to him, the foul stench of the unwashed man made her want to barf. She held herself back, her hand gravitating to her belt.
“Last chance, fucker.” She groaned, holding back with all the depleted energy she had left. The guard chuckled, placing both of his dirty hands at the back of her head. “I’m going to enjoy you thoroughly.” He stated, turning his gaze to his comrade. “Hope you like sloppy seconds.” He teased. Samira’s hand unsheathed the dagger from her belt. Not fucking likely.
The sound of his laughter drowned out as her dagger plunged in between his legs, and a choking gasp quickly erupted into a confused and agonised scream. Blood sprayed onto her face, and gods know whatever else as she freed the dagger and struck again, and again. The comrade stared in shock, not with his senses. When Samira was finished, she freed her weapon and rose as the man came tumbling down.
She turned her gaze to the man remaining, who was beginning to tremble, his mouth gasping open as he watched in disbelief. Samira smirked, twirling the bloody dagger in her hands. The man’s eyes shifted to her, fearful. “What? Too feisty?” She grinned, taking a step closer to him. Before he could reply, Samira thrusted the steel into his throat, bloody draining down her hand. His response was but a gurgle, blood streaming out of his mouth and down his white tabard, until the life left his eyes and he fell to the ground.
For a moment, Samira just stood, staring at nothing as the blood of another man gently trickled down the side of her face. Her grin had died down into a smirk, and after a few minutes she came to the sudden realisation of what she had just done. She looked down at the two corpses, then back at her bloody dagger. She wiped her face with her bloody hands, causing more of a mess than cleaning it. She shook her head, wiping her hands on her travelling clothes, and then entering the city.
-
The Japing Kitchens was filled with steam, and the sound of hammers bashing meat and pots at the boil were deafening. Samira walked through the path between the long rows of stone tables, the cooks and assistants working hard at their specific jobs. Her feet left muddy steps as she walked, her eyes scouring around the kitchen. It was to no use, the vapour made it difficult to identify one person from another. Samira groaned, rolling her eyes.
She turned and grabbed the first person she saw, a small girl with tied back blonde hair and dark brown eyes. The instant she saw Samira she raised her hands to her mouth in shock, Samira let out a heavy sigh, placing her hand over her mouth before she could scream.
“I’m looking for Dalia.” Samira said with a barely audible tone, yet she had a feeling the girl was listening very carefully. “Take me to her?” Samira kindly asked, and the girl quickly nodded, her hands shaking. Samira smiled, moving her hand away. She noticed she had gotten blood on the girl’s face, and her apron.
The girl darted off, and Samira found herself struggling to keep up. They darted through a variety of different rooms, until they stopped at a small storage room with barrels and crates of food supplies. She pointed at a girl rummaging through a crate of potatoes. Her dark brown hair was tied back into a pony tail, and she wore daggy black clothing. Samira nodded to the cook’s assistant, who quickly raced off.
Samira unsheathed her dagger, still coated in blood. Her footsteps squished when making contact with the damp stone floor, and she made no attempt to be quiet about it. She grabbed Dalia’s hair by the tail and pulled her head back, placing the sharpened bloody steel against her throat.
“Scream and you can kiss your potatoes goodnight.” Samira warned, and the girl’s eyes widened. After a moment, she nodded, and Samira hesitantly removed the blade. Dalia stood up, rubbing her neck.
“Who the hell are you?” She muttered with a half gone voice, bent over as if she were with a sore back. Samira rolled her eyes. “Don’t pretend with me, Dalia. I need a safe haven, you’ve got one. Take me there.” She ordered, and Dalia stood herself upright, clearing her throat.
“You still haven’t answered the question.” She growled, pulling back her hair. She had a large mole on her cheek, and her eyes were a dark green. Samira sighed, digging the blade of her dagger into her hand. “Samira. I was posted in the North, things went south and so did I. The Courier said I could find refuge here.” She received a small nod in response. Dalia stretched out her back and let out a soft sigh.
“A spy then. Alright, if you want my refuge then I’ll be needing your weapons. You won’t be needing them where we’re going.” Samira felt herself tensing up to Dalia’s request, but she knew that she needed the help. She thought about the bronze daggers she had concealed onto her thighs, perhaps she could get away with them…
[Hand over only the steel dagger] [Hand over all your weapons]
I'll close this one too... Warrick will follow his suspicions and head to the Great Hall. Clearly I was pretty tired on this one, I couldn't Engrish
Good to see you back and congratulations, Stigz! I am quite impressed that there is already a new part to read, good job! You really miseed that, it's visible. I am happy to see the story to be back, really! :-)
As for the part.. Samira is such a badass. I am surprised that noone noticed what happened to the guards though... or someone perhaps did, from the shadows? Anyway, [Hand over only the steel dagger]. I guess it's good to still have something with her, just in case. What if this asking for weapons is just to disarm her, after realizing that she is dangerous in a state they met her?
[Hand over only the steel dagger] Well, we are in Westeros, so better to always be carrying something for protection.
Anyway, great to see the story back, and Samira is awesome
Hell yes, welcome back! This story in my feed is a sight for sore eyes
I am very happy you finished your exams and I hope they all went well for you. And don't worry about disappearing for so long. I know how you feel, I barely get to do most stuff these days. It's a good thing to hear that you've succeeded at that for now.
And I am glad that one of my favourite stories is back at last! It was a great part as well. Feels like forever that we had a Samira part, but she kicked so much ass here that I instantly reconnected. Great job, I am so excited for the future parts
[Hand over only the steel dagger]
Yeah, I agree with what Mathea and Wildling have said already. An extra weapon could be more than handy in her current situation. And even if they find out that she still has weapons, I am sure she can somehow talk herself out of that situation. After all, if Dalia is on her side, then she might be understanding that Samira does not fully trust her. And if she isn't on her side and simply plans to disarm her, then she has even more of a reason to keep at least something to defend herself. One way or the other, this sounds like the better option.
Welcome back Stigz! [Hand over only the steel dagger] I agree with what the others have said on this one. It is better to be safe than sorry.
Hey guys, so I'm not going to close the most recent part just yet, as I'd like to wait for the others ( @alikir34 and @MicroAce ) to hopefully vote
Although, I have completed the newest part (which I started on a few months back and never concluded), so I'll post that directly. It's a Darren part, and if you don't recall what was happening with him the last we saw him, then here's a small recap!
So, last we saw of Darren Tyrner, he was returning from a meeting with King Qyle Corbray when he saw plumes of smoke erupting in the distances. Tracking this fire down, he was quick to learn that his home had been to set alight, and inside was the letter he had not yet read from his sister in Andalos. Foolishly, he charged in to retrieve the letter, and found it to not be on the desk where he had left it. He escaped only with his sword and shielded, and tucked into his sword's scabbard was a hidden note. It informed him to go to a tavern he visited frequently and ask for a room key, and importantly to come alone. When faced with the decision to either bring this news to King Qyle or his son Marvion, you guys chose to do neither and instead follow the letter's instructions and attend alone. This part continues from there.
Darren
An everlasting heat left an uncomfortable warmth in his burnt hands. Darren stood before tavern he regularly visited, the tavern where he was to meet the culprits who burned down his home. The dusk light left a taunting darkness in the shadows of the tavern, where watchful eyes glared out at the sleepless knight.
Darren had found no sleep that night. He watched as his home crumbled to the ground, engulfed in flames, while others watched from afar. He had avoided the city guard, and stayed reasonably concealed in the darkness of the night. Though day’s break had been more difficult for him.
The city hadn’t gone into lockdown as Darren expected, but the guard had been increased. Investigations had been conducted around the large pile of ash and rubble that had once been Darren’s home, and search teams had been formed to look for him. Darren was somewhat surprised of the importance he had played to Qyle, considering he had put together so much to find him. He longed to reveal himself, but he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to see his sister.
He took one last glimpse at the note in his hands, the ink on the singed paper had began to smudge from Darren’s sweaty palms, yet the message remained clear. He was unarmed, alone, and ready to cooperate. Now all that remained was for him to enter the tavern, which was feat that proved more difficult than it seemed. His legs had locked him into place, and he was genuinely worried for what he would find at the end of the path laid out for him.
Darren took a deep breath, tucking the note into his back pocket. Lowering his head, Darren hesitantly entered took cautious steps towards the tavern, the heavy gazes of eyes weighing down on him. His burnt hand nudged the tavern door forward, a golden glow emitting from inside. Darren hadn’t felt such hesitation in his life, and after a final moment of consideration, he entered.
The tavern was reasonably empty, with only a few early-starters at the counter, as well as some early diners. One which stood out to Darren was a woman with a blonde tied back ponytail. Darren kept his head down and approached with caution, and the bartender caught his presence in the corner of his eye. A small smirk formed on his lips, followed by a soft chuckle.
“Darren, where’ve you been?” He grinned, pulling a tankard off the shelf. He placed it under the tap of the keg, filling it to the brim with golden mead, which he presented on the bench. Darren took the drink, sculling it in a matter of seconds, before turning his attention back to the man behind the counter. “What can I do for you?” He asked with his thick Tyroshi accent, stroking his dyed orange beard.
“I need a room.” Darren replied, as instructed, and he could see a touch of confusion in the man’s dark brown eyes. “Mine burnt down last night.” He further elaborated, and the bartender nodded sympathetically.
“Of course, my apologies.” He turned his gaze to below the counter, reaching down and grabbing an iron key. He slid it across to Darren, a weak smile forming on his lips. “Up the stairs, around the corner, first on the left. No charge.” Darren nodded to the man in appreciation, taking the key. His tired legs started to make their way for the stairs, before Darren stopped himself, turning his gaze back to the bartender.
“Have you seen a girl come through here recently? Light blonde hair, touch of silver. Lilac eyes?” He asked, and the bartender’s face screwed up, as if he was trying to recall the last person he’d seen with that description. After a short moment, he shook his head. “Can’t say I have. You expecting her around here?” Darren shook his head. “Though if you see her, could you please inform me.” Darren waved his key at the Tyroshi. “You’ll know where to find me.” Darren hinted, hoping the man caught on to his plea.
Darren made his way to the stairwell, his eyes wandering around the tavern. For a moment, he met eye contact with the blonde woman at her table, before she broke the glance. Darren shook his head, clearing his thoughts as if he were to enter a fight. Perhaps he was going to, with the vagueness of the letter it could have meant anything. He grabbed the wooden railing, climbing the steps that led him upstairs.
Following the barman’s instructions, Darren found his room along the aisle of a dozen others. He slotted his key into the hole, and surely enough the door unlocked. He took a step inside the dark room, remaining still as he tried to spot out any sort of danger. It was no use, the light from the corridor desensitised his vision. He shut the door.
Darkness clouded his vision, and the anticipation for his eyes to adjust was unnerving to say the least. As it slowly did, Darren started spotting figures around the room. One most prominent, shaped almost like man. Darren squinted, trying to make out a shape, but by the time he had identified it, it was too late.
The hit was hard, and caught him off guard. Light suddenly emitted in the room, and Darren saw the figures unmasked from the darkness. Standing over him was a large brute of a man, bald and ugly. His blue eyes were the only grace his face allowed him, as the rest of his face was covered in scars and a particularly ugly birthmark. Across the room from them was a face that Darren briefly recognised. A gaunt face with large ears, and light blue eyes. His long black hair tied back.
“Enjoy your drink?” The cocky grin of Jorrhen was unsettling, though Darren smirked in reply. “I prefer ale.” Darren groaned, tensing up for another hit, yet to his surprise Jorrhen had seemed to have touched up on his anger management since their last meeting. His grin remained, yet it was outstretched and unnatural. “Of course you do. Jegg, I believe you’ve been wanting to repay a favour to our favourite knight?” Jorrhen’s grin lowered to a cocky smirk, and the giant agreed with a nod.
The giant took hold of Darren’s neck, and the strength of the man caught Darren by surprise. Jegg bashed Darren’s helpless body against the wall multiple times, knocking the sense out of him, before throwing him to the ground. Darren landed on his stomach, still feeling his head spin. He started to pull himself up, though a brutish kick caught Darren between the legs. A yelp of agony followed.
“Who’s smiling now?” Jorrhen taunted with a haughty laugh, though Darren focused on the pain at hand. It felt like his stomach was climbing through his throat, and before he knew it the ale he had just had came out with a mixture of bile and other bodily contents. The room filled with laughter, and as much as Darren wanted to rise and fight, the pain held him down. All he could manage was a groan, which was enough to gain the attention of Jorrhen.
“This is just too much fun!” Jorrhen quipped in delight, rubbing his hands together. Darren tried to find his feet, though as he finally began to rise the mass of the brute brought him back to the floor. Jorrhen chuckled, kneeling down beside Darren. “How’s your head?” He asked, as if there was some genuine concern mixed in with his cocky attitude. Darren fought the urge to bring up more bile, the foul taste tainting the insides of his mouth.
“Fuck you.” Darren muttered, and Jorrhen’s grin died down to a seemingly disappointed frown. “Shame, thought you might have gotten the idea by now.” He turned his attention to Jegg, letting out a heavy sigh. “Help him understand, Jegg.” The brute nodded, and without a word Darren felt the thick fingers of the sweating man run through his hair, tightly grasping his head and smashing him against the floorboards.
Darren felt blood trickle out his nostrils, dripping into the mix of his bodily fluids he had just brought up earlier. Yet, it wasn’t the bloody injuries doing him serious harm, but the continuous blows to the head. It felt as if something was buried deep into his skull, and was only now trying to break out. Even worse was the fact that he was beginning to faze in and out of his consciousness.
“You know, what’s an even bigger shame is that you won’t remember any of this.” Jorrhen sighed, relaxing his legs and sitting beside him. Darren winced, looking at the gaunt faced man with confusion. “What? You didn’t truly think I would have allowed you to have an untainted drink in my bar, did you? Yes, that bar tender is with me, I have many allies here, some which you trust deeply I presume.” Darren found himself at a loss for words, and he knew that each word was going to count at this stage.
“My sister…” He started, and Jorrhen’s grin returned. “Not here, of course. Though believe me, I have eyes everywhere, and many of them are staring at her. In fact, my father may find some entertainment with her while we work on this mission of ours.” Darren felt the anger coursing through his veins, though it was too no avail, the brute continued to pin him down.
“From now on, you work for me. You will receive my orders through letters, and if you dare to disobey me, then your sister will die. If you try to seek help, your sister will die. Hell, if you look at me the wrong way, your sister will die. Understand?” Darren glared at the gaunt man, and Jorrhen grinned in return. “You see, that’s not the way to start. Jegg.”
Darren felt his head bash against the floorboard again, now it really affected him, his vision began to blur and the room started to spin. Jorrhen’s voice began to fade in and out, muffled and hardly audible. Darren lost his strength, and coughed up more bile and blood as a consequence. Jorrhen sighed, lifting Darren’s head, he nodded it up and down. “Yes, I understand master.” Jorrhen answered for him, then released him. “Good! We’ll keep in touch, now get some rest, you’ll be working hard for me soon enough.” Jorrhen turned his attention to Jegg, giving him a final nod.
It felt as if the room was non-existent with the final blow. All grips of reality had been lost, the only thing that was certain was the flooding darkness which clouded Darren’s already faltering vision. The pain seemed to dull, as did all senses. One thought continued to spin around Darren’s head faster than the world had spun around him earlier. Kira, and then all was black.
No decision.
Good to see another part! You are back in business and this makes me really happy. This way, Northern Chill will start soon again :-D
As for part, well... that's a shitty situation he found himself at. I hope everything will end well for him and Kira.
Oh shit
Darren just met Gryff fucking Whitehill, if Gryff would be even more of an irredeemable and pathetic prick. I mean, a part of me is glad that Jorrhen (or his father, more likely) apparently hasn't captured Kira yet, because holy hell, that would have been horrible. At the same time, I believe him when he says that he will be able to capture her whenever he wants. Still, this gives me hope that she'll manage to evade his men, or that his father (who sounds certainly like an intelligent man) won't bother to cater to the whims of his retarded disgrace of a son. It's not a very big hope though, but still, it's better than nothing. I'm just curious whom else is working for that guy and I wouldn't be surprised if it is someone close to the king as well. I am concerned about whatever that shitty prick wants Darren to do, because it will likely get him into even more trouble.
On a different note: Another part already makes me very happy. With every part that comes, I notice just how much I have missed to see this story in my feed regularly, because it is just so awesome and keeps getting more awesome
What's up ? Been off the forum for a couple days ,
let's be cautious .
[Hand over only the steel dagger]
So I'll close this vote. Samira will choose to hand over only the steel dagger. I can see why you guys chose this one, and we'll see where that leads, but firstly I have finished the next part which goes to Kira!
The last we saw Kira was in her very first part, and we encountered her working her daily life as a seamstress, and being introduced to a girl named Tayla. She acquired a mutual friendship with the girl, but it was not enough to agree to sup with her family. Kira started for her home, yet she felt as if she was being followed as she did. She made a quick detour to her close friend's workshop: Florentio, an inventor. After this she returned home, and fell into a slumber which would only be rudely disrupted in the midst of the night by the sound of footsteps. Deciding to investigate, you were left with the choice to arm Kira with a dagger or not. You chose to do so, and that is where this new part starts off!
Kira
Kira sucked in a deep breath, gulping as she secured her free hand around the hilt of the dagger. She had hoped to feel safer with it, yet instead she felt a wave of anxiety smother her, strangling her. A lump was thick in her throat, and there was little she could do but breathe, and slowly approach her bedroom door with silent steps.
Her shaking hand placed the candle down on the bench top beside her door, hesitantly gravitating towards the wooden knob. She was beginning to sweat, a large overreaction for what was likely Zola chasing down a mouse or attending to other pest-like matters. She secured her hand on the iron knob, twisting it until she heard the lock release. She cringed at how loud it sound, and even worse at how much the door creaked as it swung open.
Picking up the dying candlelight, she entered her living room. The moonlight dimly lit the room, and truly the candle was giving little assistance to her vision, yet it gave her a sense of relief which she was desperately in need for. Her eyes scanned around the room, though it was of little use, the room was pitch black.
She sighed, placing down the candle on her kitchen table. She turned her attention to the windows at the far end of her room, cracked half open, allowing the natural light to flow in. A warm breeze flew in, tickling her skin. She approached the windows with caution, the dagger clenched tightly in her hand. When reaching the window sill, she peered out of her apartment, searching for any activity. Nothing. What was there to expect at this time of the hour? She took in one last breath of fresh air, before reaching for the window to shut it. It suddenly went dark.
Kira spun around, her eyes widening as her eyes darted around the ink black room which had become so foreign to her. Kira found her hands beginning to tremble, her grip loosening around the hilt of her dagger. She secured the grip with a second hand, pointing the blade in front of her.
“Hello?” She gulped, barely managed with the seemingly growing lump. There was no reply, only the soft breeze that blew through her hair. Then she heard it, the noise that had drawn her out of her sleep and into this room, footsteps. She took a step back, nearly stumbling. “Who’s there?!” She yelled, extending her arms out further.
The steps grew closer, but they were quiet, soft. Kira felt her chest start beat at an incredible rate, her gown trapping heat to her body. She kept retreating, until she was against the window, the steps still approaching her. The border of light and darkness was dim and faded as the moon was slowly covered by clouds. Kira took a deep breath, a new shadow immersing itself in what little light there was.
She exhaled in relief, feeling her shoulders slump back and her knees weaken until she was on her all fours. Zola walked over, purring as she rubbed against Kira’s cheek. Were it a normal time, Kira would have pushed the stray cat away, though in these times she was in need of the creature’s company. She stroked its grimy fur with her free hand, letting out a weak smile. Quickly, other emotions and urges started to enter her mind, and she began to find she was longing for a snack.
She pulled herself together, lifting herself up and loosening her gown. The warm breeze was particularly nice on her bare skin, and somewhat refreshing. She began to take control of her heavy breathing, slipping the dagger away into her deep pockets and approaching the kitchen. She felt her way across the table, reaching for where she had left the candle which must have extinguished from the breeze. After a short moment, her hands secured around the rusty iron holder, and she reached for the candle. Something fell.
Kira turned her focus to Zola, still licking her paws in the moonlight. Then the steps re-emerged, and before she knew it, two large hands were upon her. One had tightly secured around her neck, while another caressed her thigh. A sick laugh followed, and her eyes adjusted to the filthy gaze of a man. Kira barely thought before she reacted, her closing into a tight fist and striking at the man’s jaw. Just as Darren had taught her. For the slight moment of shock, Kira was released, and she quickly tried to scramble towards the light.
Her hands and knees rubbed against the splintering floorboards, chafing and cutting through her skin. She was making a fleeting start, until she felt the tail of her gown clamp underneath the man’s foot. The sudden stop sent her to the ground. Before there was any time to react, the man was on the ground with her, spinning her over and ripping off her gown. She was left nude, the brutish figure taking full advantage of her.
Kira lifted her hand in attempt to strike again, though this time her attempt was flawed with the brute’s hindsight. He caught her by the wrist, grabbing her free arm while he was at it and locking them both above her head with one hand. His free hand groped one of her breasts, squeezing with such intensity that she screamed in agony. The sickening laughter returned, and she felt his drooling tongue start to course over her bare skin. Kira desperately tried to free her arms, but it was to no avail. The man’s wet tongue slid over her breast and up her neck, reaching her cheek. Kira felt her legs, the most movable of all her body.
Without a second thought, Kira lunged her knee into the man’s groin, and a following groan followed as he tumbled off her. Kira felt the pain start to relieve as her chest was freed, and she quickly scrambled away. Her eyes darted across the floor, feeling for where her gown was. She heard the man mutter some curses under his breath, slowly bringing himself to his feet. Kira frantically felt around her, bloodying her hands on the splintered wood. When she finally felt the soft silk in her hands, hand took hold of her, pulling her up by her hair.
She screamed, clenching onto the gown with all her strength. A second blow caught her in the gut, and the breath flooded out of her with no ambition to return, leaving her winded as a result. The man chuckled, dropping her to the floor and reaching into his pants. “Fucking dumb bitch. Roman’s going to love you, but not until I’m done with you.” He grinned, kneeling down and pulling her in. Kira’s hands fumbled through the pockets of the gown, until her hand secured around the hilt of her dagger.
Without another moment of hesitation, she lunged her gown-covered blade into the man’s chest, piercing through his loose shirt and a few inches into his flesh. A yelp of pain erupted from him as he took a moment to comprehend what had just occurred. Leaving no room for a counter, Kira unsheathed her blood-tipped dagger and thrusted it into his neck.
His eyes widened, and for a moment he just stared passed her with confusion. Kira let go of the blade in shock, realising what she had just done, she backed away. The man’s hands reached the dagger, trying to cover the bleeding wound. Kira watched as he began to cough, blood pouring out his mouth. He tried to yell, but all that came was an unsettling gurgle as he began to choke. His eyes finally turned to her, a change of expression in them. Fear, confusion, disbelief. He tried to stand, and immediately Kira crawled back. He secured his footing, only to crumble down after trying to stand. His blood flowed freely onto the floorboards.
Kira stared with disbelief and shock, her whole body trembling as she held her arms. Her breast ached, and her stomach was churning as she tried to hold in her bodily fluids. She would have just sat there if it had not been for the sounds of more voices, and louder steps racing up the stairs that led to her apartment. Kira gulped, a sudden chill of panic settling over her. She reached for her gown, covering herself before turning to the window. She had to escape.
She pulled herself up, making haste to the open window. Her legs had weakened on her, and she continued to stumble with each attempt. The steps grew closer, the voices growing louder. Come on! She wanted to scream at herself, fearful for her life. She pulled herself up through the window, sliding her body through clumsily. She slid out, barely managing to hold herself from falling down the side of the building. She tried to sit herself down and assess a safe way to climb down, until she heard the door of her apartment smash open. She turned around, seeing half a dozen men enter, all their eyes on the man Kira had just killed. I have to go, now! She yelled internally, and her body gave her no chance to find a safe way to the ground.
She hit the muddy ground with a thud, her body aching as she landed, she swore she heard something crack. She barely had the energy to pull herself off the ground, yet the shouting voices were enough of a motivator as any. She took hold of a wooden post, steadying herself, before she tried to run. Her leg instantly failed her, bringing her crumbling down to the ground. She screamed.
“Get that fucking bitch!” A voice ordered from her upstairs apartment, echoing through the small alleyway. Kira desperately worked at getting back on her feet. She limped with great difficulty, each step becoming harder than the next. White eyes peered out at her from the darkness, concealed in their homes and stalls. Kira move as fast as her injuries would allow her, though she knew in her current state there was no way she could outrun them, her best bet was to try and lose them.
She took a sharp turn into a tight alleyway between two mudbrick walled homes. Climbing over the trash and defecate that had been dumped from the upper windows, Kira reached a second alleyway. This one being slightly wider, with a long straight path, she started to run, to the best of her abilities. She maintained a surprisingly quick speed, yet it agonised her leg immensely. She quickly hobbled, trying to evade the distancing shouts as best as she could. She turned another corner, and another.
Reaching a final turn, she found herself stumble when she found someone around the other side of it. She crashed directly into the man, stumbling backwards as she did. She landed on her hind, yelping in pain as her leg cracked again. Two weapons unsheathed, and she looked up to see two tall muscular figures that seemed to be guarding the man Kira had bumped into. He was a large man, with a considerably large belly.
While it was the last thing on her mind, Kira could instantly tell she had made a mistake running into this man, he was from a higher district than her, with lapping gold chains and jewels on his clothing. Her eyes flickered up to his face, the face that was revealed to her was fat, with light blue eyes and big ears. His ears were large, and his facial hair consisted of a brown goatee. His hand instantly raised, halting his men.
“Help her up.” He ordered, his voice struck with worry and concern. His two towering guards followed his command to the letter, gently lifting Kira to her feet. Kira bit her lip as she added weight to her leg, she instantly leant on one of the guards for support. “You’re hurt.” The man observed, studying her leg. “What’s happened?”
Kira gritted her teeth, the sounds of shouting re-emerging from the alley’s she had ran through. They would find her if she did not keep moving, but how much longer could she last? She turned her gaze to the large man in front of her, studying his face momentarily. She did not know what to think, none of the smallfolk got along with the nobility in Andalos, though she was not sure if she could last much longer.
[Ask for help] [Run]
[Ask for help]
Hell, why not. They seem to be able to protect her.
EDIT:
[Ask for help] Read again and changed my mind
Shit... shitshitshit
I know who that is and this makes me so damn conflicted. Judging by his description, this guy is clearly Lorrhen, father of Jorrhen and therefore someone with an interest in capturing her. That is, if he is truly supportive of his son's unnecessary actions. You don't get to be the richest man in Andalos by being a petty shit. Still, there is the possibility that he is behind this attack in the first place, to capture her and to increase his son's control over Darren. But even then, I am not sure if running away is the better choice. I mean, Kira clearly damaged her leg in some way, she can't run for long and if someone captures her, I might even prefer Lorrhen himself, as he seems at least too cultivated to rape and potentially murder her, like these other guys are planning to do. And she can't escape them with her leg and all, whereas staying here would at least ensure that these guys won't get her. Argh, I don't know what to choose! I will have to think about this for a bit longer, though right now, I lean more in favour of asking for help, even if this is clearly not a good option. Then again, running is by far the more risky option, with the chance to lead to a better outcome, but the even higher chance to lead to something much worse. At least that's what I'm afraid of. It might very well be that Lorrhen is a petty fuckturd who tortures young women for shits and giggles, but then again, the people that pursue her are more likely to be like that than the richest man in Andalos, who is more likely to be a pragmatist.
Update: Alright, having thought about it for a while, I have come to the conclusion that [Ask for help] might be the marginally less horrible option. This guy, Lorrhen, if he wants to capture Kira, he can easily do so, because of her damaged leg, so running away likely won't achieve much. At the worst, these guys get her first and Lorrhen won't intervene while they have their way with her. If he does not want to capture her, then she has nothing to fear from him and his presence alone might be enough to scare her pursuers away. So, maybe surrendering to him will ensure his protection at least from these guys, while running away from him just seems like it will have far too little chances of success, as opposed to the insanely huge chance of getting raped and murdered.
[Run] I am truly not sure what to choose here but it may be worth the risk trying to get away. I will have to think more on this one.
Hey guys, so I'm not going to close the voting just yet (as we're on a tie!), so I'll be waiting hopefully on @alikir34 or @MicroAce to close it. Though for a bit of further news, I'd like to announce that for the next three weeks I will be embarking on a cruise around the Pacific Islands, and concluding in New Zealand. I will be taking a laptop, in which I have installed all of the components essential for me to write if I have the time in the duration of my trip, though what I may not have at all times is reception, which of course is detrimental if I wish to post parts
At any rate, the next part is Alara's, and I think the other Caron PoV's will follow on after her, and then Torv and Steffon (that's about as far into the story future as I can remember
). Anyway, I apologise to those that I have no replied to yet, and if anyone here is still waiting on something from me, I dearly hope you can wait a little longer. I'll be trying to work on characters while I'm away as well, but as I said, I may be restricted due to the reception in the pacific.
So I hope you guys all have a safe break this Christmas, continuing to do the things you love to do on these wonderful forums. I'll try my best to keep up to date with the stories I'm following, but my apologies if I can't participate in the voting!
[Run]
Run you fool
Hello guys, I'm back, and I believe I have an apology to make
It would appear that the promise I made to do some writing during my holiday ultimately failed, as I ended up socialising the entire time with a great bunch of teenagers which completely occupied my utmost attention. However, since I've gotten back I've had a little break and thought I'd get back into some writing before year's end 
So firstly, it would appear there have been some changes in the votes for the last part, and a new choice has taken the lead. Since it's nearly been two months and it hasn't changed much for a few weeks, I think it's safe to close this vote
Kira will ask for help, which should surely lead to some interesting results for her next part. At any rate, I have finished the next part, and it would appear we're back on a Caron streak, starting with Alara.
Last time we saw Alara she had reunited with her old sellsword buddy from the Valyrian Freehold, Dromon Tarth. The two had spent the night drinking together, and ultimately Dromon took to the next step and asked her out for dinner the next day. Alara accepted, and the two departed shortly after. That was when Alara found herself trying to break up a fight between her friend Athena, and the scheming Rechar Greenwood. The fight was ultimately broken up by Prince Tobas Bolton, the last remaining son of King Rogar Bolton. With that, Alara was introduced to a new character, Bautistant: a young leader of a small sellsword company from the Stormlands. Alara brought him to the King's attention, and then found herself settling down with a few sellswords to drink and chat with while waiting for Theon and Bautistant to finish. The group discussion started up with an argument in religion, and during this Alara spotted some shady activity in the shadows. Ultimately, you guys chose to have Alara take the safer option and try to break apart the argument instead of pursuing the shady business she saw.
So with that long recap, allow me to post the new Alara part! Enjoy
Alara
She bit her lip, turning her attention away from the scene she had witnessed in the tents. Likely a fallen soldier from the battle, or an Andal spy, she tried to convince herself, yet she was as terrible as they came with self-deception. Instead, she tried to take her mind off the matter, turning her attention back to the sparking up group.
“Bugger that, Kas. You’re a beautiful girl, fantastic on the battlefield, but fuck me you’re so blinded with your views. More so than this foreign girl’s blind god.” Chet blurted bitterly, receiving a chuckle from the drunken Simon Holt. Lillith shot Chet a worrying glare.
“Watch one’s tongue, ginger.” She spat, rising to her feet. Chet rolled his eyes, pulling out a rag from his pouch and wiping the dull edge of his blade. Kasia crossed her arms, frowning.
“Maybe if you were less uptight about your faith, you might learn a thing or two.” Kasia muttered, making Chet rise his gaze to hers. “What are you saying, Kas? I’ve too much pride for what I stand for? That I don’t listen?” He let out a short mocking laugh and rolled his eyes. Kasia nodded.
“Maybe if you did, you mightn’t have finished so fucking soon. Bloody amateur.” Alara spotted a strong red blush rise in Chet’s cheeks, instantly shifting his gaze away from hers. Lillith fingered the hilt of her dagger.
“You are all naive, believing in these false gods. A girl would rather throw herself into the Narrow Sea than listen to your nonsense gibberish.” She blurted, now crossing her arms. Kasia smirked, pulling herself up. “I might give you that chance very soon if you keep it up.” The two locked gazes, and Alara knew full well where this would escalate if no one intervened. “Enough!”
The laughing eyes of the archer turned to her with amusement, while Chet’s eyes widened from the sudden unexpected startle. The suspense slowly grew weaker between the two, until Lillith broke full contact.
“Don’t you start, faithless child.” She muttered, resting her hands on the hilts of her daggers. Alara shook her head. “Would you just stop? Who are you impressing, who is actually watching this with interest?” For a moment, Lillith looked lost for words, until Alara heard her mocking snigger.
“Boash watches with interest.” She claimed, smirking. Alara rolled her eyes. “A bold claim for a god who is supposedly blind.” She muttered, and almost instantly the pride that was presented by the foreigner seemed to shatter. “That’s beside the point though, I mean, look at us. Arguing over something that can never truly be justified. I’ve seen a lot of this kind of stuff in my short lifetime, and it all ends out the same. A war starts, and it doesn’t end until one side feels stronger than the other. Are any of you feeling stronger?” Alara shifted her gaze around the group, watching as their unsure eyes did the same. She sighed, lowering her gaze.
“Then what do you believe in?” Kasia sparked up, leaving Lillith and returning to her seat. Alara shrugged. “As I said, nothing I suppose.” Kasia shook her head. “I’m not taking that for an answer. Everyone believes in something, whether that be faith or not, I want to know what you believe in.” Alara found herself at a loss for words, she turned her eyes to the other members of the group now, who looked at her intently. She shrugged, lowering her eyes.
“My mother raised me in the way of the old gods, and my father raised me with the back of his hand. I never found comfort with the gods that were supposedly looking over us, but I found it with my brothers and sister. So I suppose I believe in humans.” Alara watched as the gazes around her quickly grew confused, except for one, which she least expected. Lillith sat herself down, staring at her with careful eyes.
“A girl insults this one’s god, yet redeems herself with a satisfying answer. A girl believes in the actions of others, rather than the words of scripture?” Alara found herself having a difficult time to comprehend the foreigner’s way of speaking, yet she nodded. “Then a girl is deemed admirable in this one’s eyes. Eyes that see more than Boash.” She smirked, and for a moment the group was silent, trying to determine whether Lillith had just made a joke or not.
The sound of a sheathed blade rubbing against plated leggings, along with the clearing of a man’s throat grabbed the attention of their group. Alara turned to see three individuals, two which she did not recognise, but one which every man and woman in the camp knew. Theon flashed her a smile, one hand on the pommel of his bronze blade, the other resting by his side. Alara nodded in return.
“Gentlemen, ladies.” He announced, his voice strong with confidence. “I apologise if I’ve interrupted you.” Simon Holt was the first to rise to his feet, and then clumsily remember to fall to his knee. “No interruption is made, Your Grace.” Simon replied calmly, yet Alara could hear the slur in his tone from his excessive drinking. Theon smirked and pulled the man to his feet, then turning his gaze to Alara.
“Alara, may I borrow you for a moment?” He asked, brushing the dirt from Holt’s gear. Alara rose from her seat. “You may.” She replied. Alara gave a nod to Lillith as she walked passed, joining Theon by his side. She looked into his light grey eyes, verging almost on silver, and they were somewhat alluring to her. He smiled, his black beard with the occasional silver hair glinting in the torchlight as his lips moved. Alara found herself raising an eyebrow, she had never quite realised how handsome the man was.
His age had treated him well, baring him few wrinkles and dimples, and while he appeared to be a rather skinny and gaunt man, it was clear that he was stronger than he looked. His short black hair was unkempt, being unattended to in these recent times, yet it suited him. Atop his head rested a silver crown, worked into the shape of a direwolf at the head. It suddenly dawned on her that she had been staring far too long, she awkwardly shifted her eyes across him until they stumbled across his sword.
“What happened to Ice?” She asked, staring at the dull bronze shortsword that dangled by his waist. Theon’s eyes shifted down to his new weapon, and his hand awkwardly slipped off the pommel. Theon took a moment to come up with an answer, and ultimately made it short and simple. “I put her with safe hands.” He said, the words seeming somewhat strangled and hard to believe. He shrugged and shook his head. “Will you walk with me?” He asked, extending his arm. Without any comprehension, Alara looped her arm through his, and the two started their stroll.
-
The rocky shoreline of the eastern coast stretched for miles, decorated with old fallen pines which had long died and left a haunting appearance to the beaches. Yet it was hardly the trees which unsettled Alara, but the displayed heads of the invaders, which bloodied the stones and called to death. Maggots and worms coursed through the dry blood, slowly feasting away, while ravens and crows fought over the rotting flesh and fattening worms.
Alara felt revolted, but held her head high, and she saw the reason Theon had brought her here. Over a dozen of the Andal ships had been repaired, all donned with the Stark crest. Theon freed his arm from hers, crossing them over and releasing a heavy sigh.
“Ironic, isn’t it? We repair these ships, only for most of them to be destroyed when we arrive at their homeland.” Alara took a step closer to him, feeling a crunch beneath her feet, she looked down to see broken bones mixed with the stones and twigs. She quickly shifted her attention to the King.
Theon turned his eyes to Alara, a weak smile appeared on his lips. “I’m glad you’re coming with me, we’ll need strong warriors over there. We were fortunate the Stormlander boy and his sellswords arrived when he did. The more warriors we gain the better.” Alara sighed.
“The sooner we leave these haunted lands the better.” Theon’s smile formed a small grin, he turned his full attention to her, taking her hands. Alara found herself looking into his attractive grey eyes. They entranced her, which she found strange.
Without warning, and certainly unexpected, Theon leant down and pressed his lips against her own. Alara raised her eyebrows, caught off guard and in the moment, before she pulled herself away. She felt stunned, awkward and embarrassed. Thoughts rushed into her head, all opposing each other.
Theon’s hand left hers, and lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. He smiled, which was slightly comforting to her odd experience. His eyes stared into her own with curiosity. “Was that your first?” He asked, and Alara shook her head, feeling lost for words.
“Your wife…” She mumbled, she was astonished with how weak she felt. Theon released her other hand and shook his head. “A woman who cares more for her suckling teen than anything else. I bare no love for her.” Alara remained silent, her gaze lowered. Theon turned his eyes back to her, raising her chin once again.
“I know I must look like an old man in your eyes…” He started, and Alara immediately shook her head. “No, it’s not that.” She interrupted, and received a curious look. “Then perhaps I could interest you with dinner.” He suggested, and Alara felt a rush of emotions surge through her. Almost all of her emotions cried out to say yes, except one. One which reminded her of a promise she made. Dromon.
She had promised him for dinner along the Weeping Water, and instantly she felt like eyes were watching her. Glaring at her. She felt small, vulnerable, yet there was something comforting about being in Theon’s presence. She had also felt it with Dromon.
[Refuse Theon’s offer – Stay true to your promise] [Accept Theon’s offer – Break your promise]
Ayayayay, welcome back
I am so happy this story has returned at last. And I hope your vacation has been great! Just as great as this part, which is awesome 
Of course I always like Alara parts, but this one felt even better than before. The talk at the beginning, nice, but then Theon. Oh man, I haven't seen it coming, but it makes total sense now that I think about it. They don't call him the Hungry Wolf for nothing, and it makes sense that it doesn't just stand for his lust for battle. Alara's been great in this part, but man, that choice is hard. In the end, I'm choosing the option I've been leaning for from the very first time I saw these options, which is:
[Refuse Theon’s offer – Stay true to your promise]
Okay... this is not an easy choice, but ultimately, I feel like it is time to start thinking of Alara's future. And what kind of a future would she have at Theon's side? The mistress of a king, technically his bastard mistress, bearing the bastard children of a king old enough to be her father. I know she's got serious daddy issues, but let's not make it even worse. Because the thing is, while Theon might offer some temporary comfort, I can't see anything coming out of it. She surely won't become the next Stark queen by his side. On top of that, I don't want her to remain by Theon's side forever, fighting his wars for the rest of her life, because that has the chance to drastically shorten her life, considering just how much war this man is going to fight. I would even prefer if she'd leave south instead of joining him for Andalos, but at least that seems to be a plan set in stone, though I don't want anything else to hold her back when the time comes and she gets a chance to go south. Down south is her family, down south is her future. I know, refusing a king isn't that great either, but I know that if anything, a Stark king should understand how important it is to stay true to a promise that was made and she promised this evening to someone else already. Not counting the fact that Dromon is a far better match, she gave her word that she'd meet him for dinner. Breaking her promise just to get together with Theon would be a serious dickmove. No doubt that Theon won't be happy about it, but he is a Stark and that means he should at least understand this decision.
Welcome back, lad!
Another great part for Alara, and the end with Theon totally caught me off guard. The Hungry Wolf certainly is an interesting character, and I'm looking forward to see what will come of this storyline.
[Refuse Theon’s offer – Stay true to your promise] However, I think it will do no good in the long run for Alara to start anything with Theon. And I'm sure he understands, he seems like a good man.
Welcome back!
[Refuse Theon’s offer – Stay true to your promise] While it would be an interesting route to take for the time being, I am not sure that Alara getting involved with Theon would be any good for her in the long run. I also agree that Theon would most likely understand Alara's choice here.
[Refuse Theon’s offer – Stay true to your promise]
Welcome back.
The Dead Man
Darkness corrupted the lands, blinding those who were cursed, and consuming those who dared wander too far. A cruel fate, to that which was cursed onto the unfaithful, condemned to Death’s realm. Here there was nothing, which was a blessing welcomed with open arms, for when there was something it would sure result in more pain.
Memories. Regrets. Mistakes. These were the Dead Man’s curse, to watch over and over for an eternity. A punishment for the unfaithful, a warning to those who were too naive while a part of the living. Memories which would tease with happiness, then torture with pain and agony until a Dead Man would beg Death for oblivion.
The Dead Man felt Death’s curse approaching, his other senses heightened with the loss of his vision in this land of never-ending darkness. The power of sight was a fear for all those in this realm, there was no chance to forget, no chance to rest. The Dead Man felt his bones chill over with its presence. He could smell the smoke from the makeshift fire, the sizzling stew above the flames. He could feel his mouth beginning to water, taste the flavours in his mouth. Yet what was truly terrifying, was now he could see.
The Dead Man saw former version of himself. He stood alone, tall and formidable, staring at a wall of ice. His long black hair and beard blew in the wind, his torso bloody from cuts and scratches. In his hands he held a Warhammer, the bloody tip dripping into the fresh snow. Surrounding him were eleven wildling corpses, of which he had singe handedly struck down each without any aid. That day had brought him and his family pride. His mentor, Mors Orgrin, had personally gifted him with a reward handed down from King Theon’s own armoury on that day.
The Dead Man shed a tear of what he thought was happiness, until suddenly everything changed. He watched in terror as his worst memories came to unfold in front of his eyes. Dozens of wildlings cutting down Stark soldiers, among them his mentor, Mors Orgrin. Another scene shift. He knelt beside his wife, still and cold, a swell in her belly.
“Lyra!” He called, frantically shaking her corpse, tears streaming down his eyes. “Lyra… Please.” He begged, his hands shaking as he felt her belly. Suffering, Death took the Dead Man to his final memory.
The grinning Edrick, the younger brother of Harmond’s wife. The Dead Man shook his head, pleading to see no more. Death, cruel and sadistic, ignored his pleads, and brought him to a final crumble. The Dead Man faded, staring through his tears as he watched the sadist Arnold Dint cut the flesh off young Edrick.
Death took his soul, but the scene continued the play, continued to change. The others watched with horror, as the history of Arnold Dint played out in front of their eyes. The sickening, sheep flaying child, with a certain glint in his eyes. Turning in his parents to Bolton’s, after foiling their plan to poison Bolton soldiers in their household.
Taken back to the Dreadfort, and raised to live the title of being the best flayer after the Bolton’s themselves. The Dead watched in horror as the young Arnold Dint, now a man of nineteen years, approached the home of an elderly lady. The woman answered the door with a young child by her feet, an inquisitive look in her eye. Arnold studied the two.
“So this is the son of the Queen. Torvin Bolton?” He asked, and watched as the child looked up at him with studying eyes. The grandmother quickly ushered the child away, and when the child was out of sight, Arnold plunged a dagger into her back. Slicing her into tiny pieces, he then went to retrieve the child.
Time seemed to flash, and all the Dead watched and witnessed as Arnold dulled the boy’s senses with the medicine that healers used on the seriously injured. Making the child obedient, up until the point where he was not, and Arnold Dint was found by Dormund and Ryden with a hammer through his skull.
A Dead Man stood forward, spotting himself among the others, challenging Death. The scene flickered, and Dormund and Ryden were sparring as children in the courts of the Frost Keep. He watched as Ryden struck him down over and over, the Frost brothers cheering while the disappointed glares shot from Rogar’s eyes. The Dead Man smiled, recalling the shame his father put on him.
Angered, Death flickered to the funeral of his mother, watching as she was feasted upon by the King’s hounds. A Dead Man nodded, having accepted her passing long ago. Finally, Death played his final card. They found themselves in the throne room of the Dreadfort. Ryden charging at Dormund for the life of his family, brawling before Rogar like animals, until Ryden could not bring himself to carry out Rogar’s order. The Dead Man watched as Ryden’s throat was slit by Rogar, his corpse falling beside the stunned Dormund. Yet, the Dead Man did not flinch, infuriating Death further.
“WHY!” Dormund screamed, as Rogar climbed on top of him with the bloody dagger. “You’re no son of mine.” He growled, before plunging the blood soaked dagger into his throat. Watching as he gurgled on his own blood, the Dead Man grinned. I will not break.
Suddenly, the image the Dead Man stared into began to shatter, to break apart. The ground he stood on began to shudder beneath him, and a deep growl of anger surged through the darkness and choked the air. The Dead Man smirked, ready for his fate.
Light, brighter than anything he’d ever seen, shut out the darkness, shut out Death. The Dead Man covered his eyes, the blinding light was unbearable, yet there was an urge to look at it. If this is fate. He reconciled, before pulling away his hand and staring directly into the brightness, feeling himself begin to fade.
-
His eyes pulled themselves wide open, his lungs gasping for air. He stared at the ceiling, a dull grey, but moist and dripping with water. He sucked in air frantically, as if he had been suffocated this entire time. His hands tensed around the frame of whatever he was lying on, his chest pumping radically.
A woman stood over him, padding him down with a wet rag. Tall with a slim build, her blonde hair was tied back. She was covered in filthy grey robes. Her blue eyes lowered down to his when she noticed him staring at her.
“Easy now.” She smiled, caressing his cheek. He shook his head, his hand shooting up and securing a tight grip around her wrist. He felt stronger, yet drained of energy. “Where am I?!” He blurted, demanding an answer. His grip fell loose, releasing her arm from captivity.
“You need to rest.” She stated, grabbing for a small wooden cup with a white liquid pouring over the brim. “Drink.” She ordered, placing the cup to his lips. “What is it?” He asked, and she shook her head.
“Drink!” She commanded, half pouring the liquid down his throat while he still had his mouth open. Almost instantly he felt himself beginning to fade. She placed the cup down and smiled, almost in disbelief. “Welcome back to the living, Dormund.”
No decision this time.
What in the... Dormund! Holy shit, it's been so long. That is one hell of a crazy twist! But not the only one, as I see. Torvin Bolton? Like in, that dimly witted Torv guy? Gosh, so many twists and revelations. Dormund is not dead anymore. Torv is a Torvin and a Bolton. What a damn nice part that was, I applaud you!
That said, the beginning of the part slightly confused me. Were that really Dormund's memories, or someone else's? And could that mean that it's not him who returned, but someone else in Dormund's body? Speaking of, that woman who saved him, I wonder who she is. My money's on the creepy nympho-witch from one of the first Steffon parts. She roughly fit the description we got here, if I'm not mistaken. That brings up the question, just what exactly is she? That wasn't the magic of a red priestess, I think, but whom else can raise the dead? And besides, why would she save him? The only reason I could think of is that she wishes to somehow take control over House Bolton, since Dormund is the secondborn of King Rogar and after the death of his older brother next in line. If something happens to his younger brother at King Theon's side as well, then Dormund would be free to take the Dreadfort for himself. And if he is somehow under the control of the witch, which I expect him to be, then she would control the next Lord Bolton. That would be a bad thing, if not for the fact that Rogar and his men (especially that piece of turd, Rechar) are among the worst shitpiles I can think of. It still is a shady thing and though I am not unhappy to see Dormund again, the implications behind all of this make me rather nervous.
Indeed, it was one hell of a part which I loved every bit of writing, and was meant for the end of this chapter but I ended up bringing it in sooner. So yes, there are a few big reveals in this part, as well as a lot of confusing and probably some not so well explained moments. You see, I have a lot of regrets from the beginning of the story, killing off so many great characters before I could really show their potential. Harmond Hornwill, Arnold Dint, Ryden Frost, Nalia Cale and a great vast amount of others. The memories of the first Dead Man are Harmond's, and we witness him breaking to Death, and his soul being harvested from his realm. Not very original, I know
Though while these memories are not Dormund, it is important now to recognise that they are indeed there, that Dormund has witnessed them and that they are now a part of him. It will cause a lot of confusion, but the easiest way I can put it is that it is Dormund who's back, but also a little bit more, which is rather terrifying if you think about it. A lot more of the answers you seek will be answered in Dormund's next part, which may come very soon depending on the speed that you reply to my recent PM 
I think now I understand it a bit better, thanks for clarifying it. I actually already got the impression that the first paragraphs of this part are from Harmond's memories and not from Dormund, glad my suspicions were correct. And I was highly confused by Dint's memories, but now that makes sense as well, a lot of it. I haven't seen any of Nalia, but since you mention a vast amount of others, I guess her memories were among those Dormund took in without actually seeing them in this part. It is unsettling, but at the same time, it might mean that he knows some very useful things. All of these people, they definitely knew useful things, even sadistic pieces of shit like Arnold Dint. And Nalia... hm, I wonder if Dormund will be the one who has a confrontation with Rechar then. So far, I thought that either Steffon would get his hands on that weasel, or that he once more gets into a fight with Alara which he doesn't survive this time, but now, Dormund with a piece of Nalia's memories could be a good bet as well, maybe even the most fitting. Ah, you just managed to make me even more intrigued to what Dormund is up to now, why he was revived and why he was revived with the memories of so many dead people, or if this part was even intentional, by that person that saved him.
And you have received a PM, at least about the thing you need for the next part. The rest should follow tomorrow. Ah, I greatly look forward for the things to come
Bethany
“Mmm.” Bethany expressed with pleasure, resting her arms against the walls of the wooden tub. Steam had flooded the stone room, making the temperature humid and comforting for Bethany’s preference. She rested her head against the edge of the tub, as Maddelyn softly brushed her fingers through the knots that had formed since her last brushing.
“Relaxed?” Maddelyn asked, gently working her way through Bethany’s tangled mess of hair. Bethany smiled and nodded, feeling herself tug Maddelyn’s fingers as she did so. “Immensely so. Thank you, Maddy.”
“You know, I was curious.” Maddelyn started, before halting herself. Bethany turned her eyes to Maddelyn, who seemed to have gone still. “Curious of what?” Bethany prompted, seemingly pulling her cousin out of her trance.
“Gareth.” She hesitantly said, and Bethany raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a crush on your cousin, do you?” Maddelyn’s eyes widened, her cheeks beginning to blush and a delay in her response, which only solidified Bethany’s brief theory. “No, I…” Bethany smiled and shook her head, turning back around.
“Gareth, my sweet brother and your cousin. What of him?” Bethany felt Maddelyn attend to her hair again. “Will he be riding with your father to Storm’s End, or returning to Nightsong?” Bethany rolled her eyes and shrugged.
“According to father, neither. He’s keeping him here, as well as mother and myself.” Bethany said with a touch of disappointment in her tone. “Oh?” Maddelyn piped up, sounding shocked but certainly not upset with the result. Bethany sighed.
“So how is Uncle Gendel treating you? It would seem to me that he has given little concern to finding you a husband.” Bethany pointed out, and Maddelyn simply shrugged. “Father has been distant for a few years now, ever since he was married to that Peake girl. They say he has a son on the way.” Bethany frowned, tapping her fingers against the wooden sides of the tub.
“You don’t seem to speak to highly of Gendel’s new wife.” Bethany commented, and Maddelyn shrugged. “I feel like I’m being forgotten, Beth.” Maddelyn finally revealed, releasing her hair. Bethany turned around, looking her in those honey eyes.
“You’re not, Maddy.” Bethany assured her, but her cousin looked unconvinced. “Father pays me little mind, Aunt Gladys is often training or never available, and while Grandfather has always been kind to me, his sudden sickness has left me with no one to rely on. No one to talk to.” Maddelyn expression saddened, though it quickly seemed to erase and switch to something more dutiful. “Forgive me, I should finish your hair.” Bethany shook her head.
“Maddy, I will always be here for you, no matter what happens. If you ever want to talk, or just need someone to be with, I’m never far away.” A small smile erupted on Maddelyn’s luscious lips, yet her eyes still held a heavy gaze. Bethany smiled at her, before pulling herself from the tub and letting the water drip from her skin.
“I think we’d best not keep Grandfather waiting much longer, gods forbid he may even forget he called for me.” Maddelyn’s smile widened a tad, enough to please Bethany for her efforts. “Would you go retrieve some towels for me?” Bethany kindly asked, and Maddelyn nodded in return.
“I’ll also bring you some fragrant oils I made mention of earlier, I think the lavender will go nice with you.” Bethany smiled at the girl, and then she was gone. She sighed, pulling herself out of the tub. The humidity was unbearable out of the water, and Bethany began to regret putting her poor cousin through such torment in bathing her.
She made her way to the desk, where a basin of water sat, along with a hand mirror. Bethany picked up the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her hair was still a wet mess, and Bethany knew she could not wear it out in her fashioned locks until it dried. A simple ponytail will have to suffice for now, she thought, looking at it with a frown. Then she saw movement.
Bethany spun around, instinctively clutching an arm to her breasts and lowering the mirror to obscure her crutch. In front of her she saw a young man, perhaps younger than herself, with short messy blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes. He stared with a grin.
“Well, I never thought I’d see myself between a Caron’s legs.” He jested, staring at his reflection with obsessive eyes. Bethany stared daggers in his direction, yet they barely pierced his attention. “Get. Out.” She ordered, and the man laughed.
“Show me a little something, and perhaps I’ll leave.” He smirked, raising his eyes to her arm covering her breasts. Bethany rolled her eyes, disgusted. “You immature twit, leave!” She yelled, and the man grinned.
“Why should I? I often come down here to think.” He lowered his eyes back to the mirror. “And reflect.” He smirked, his hand reaching for her arm. Bethany had heard enough, and for the sick astonishment he received when Bethany released her breasts, he received a terrifying strike from the back of her hand.
Caught off guard from the hit, Bethany struck again, this time thrusting her foot between his legs. With a squall, he tumbled to his knees in agony. With that, Bethany proceeded to attack him with the hand mirror, until she finally sent him thundering out of the room.
Bethany let her anger out in a horrifying burst, screaming at the top of her lungs as she tossed the mirror across the room. The steamy mist obscured her vision, yet she heard the glass shatter as it made contact with the stone wall. With that, she crumbled to the ground, curling up into a ball.
-
The Great Hall was dimly lit, the natural light obscured with the tinted pane windows. Bethany ascended the row of steps, until she met the seat of House Dondarrion, and the man who sat there was remarkably different to the last time she had seen him.
Lord Edric sat with a cruelly uncomfortable posture to him, leaving him hunched down, with little movement. His seat had been raised, giving him an advantage over those who entered, so that he may be able to see them with ease. Edric’s old eyes wandered the throne room aimlessly, until they fell upon Bethany.
“Meghan!” Edric called, a warm greeting smile widened his old lips. Bethany smiled in return, yet sadness seemed to weigh heavy in her eyes. “Bethany.” She corrected, and she watched as her grandfather’s eyes widened.
“Bethany? My my, how beautiful you have become. Come closer, so I may see your eyes.” Bethany followed her Grandfather’s request without hesitation, and a warm smile returned to his old lips. “Of course you’re Bethy.” He concluded, stroking her cheek. “Only my granddaughter could possess such beautiful green eyes.” He complimented, and Bethany allowed herself to blush.
“You too are looking…” Bethany felt the words she wanted to speak seem to escape her grasp. Edric had changed dramatically since she last saw him. While he had always had burns and scarring, he had always been bald when she saw him. Now, Edric’s hair had grown out into a dirty grey mess, growing only in patches, where scarring and burns claim the rest. A thick grey stubble now ran across his face, and generally he was much skinnier than when she had last seen him. There was also a foul odour to him.
“Not much good meat left on this old carcass, eh?” He joked, but Bethany smiled and shook her head. “Your eyes are a saviour to your wicked handsome looks.” Bethany added, and Edric chuckled. “Save me the pity, dear child, it’s not why I called you here.” Bethany nodded.
“Then why did you summon me?” She asked, and Edric looked at her with confusion in his eyes. “Hmm?” Bethany raised an eyebrow. “Why did you call me here?” She restated, and for a moment Edric just stared with confusion riddled in his gaze, until finally there was a spark which started up in him again.
“I had something to tell you, something important.” He teased, smirking at her. Bethany rolled her eyes and smiled. “And what might that be?” Bethany asked, and Edric grinned. “Well you always loved my stories as a child, and even after that. So perhaps I might interest you in another, before I…” Bethany could see there was something pressing on Edric’s conscience, something dire.
“What is it, Grandfather?” She asked, placing her hand on his. His lip quivered, and a tear began to build up in his eye. He sighed, giving her a weak smile, and wiping away the tear.
“When I was a young man, I was foolish. Much like your father was, and your brother is. I don’t quite…” He struggled for a moment, like he’d lost thought of what he was saying. “I don’t quite… Understand.” He finally stated, and Bethany sympathetically shook her head. “Understand what?”
“I was foolish, I acted out of my own ambitions, and because of that the kingdom suffered. I don’t understand why the gods have chosen to relieve me of the memories I cherished dearly, and leave me with those that haunt my sleep. So I…” He stopped, yet this time it was something else. “I want to tell you this before I lose it, perhaps then you may be able to learn from my mistakes.” Bethany nodded, urging him to continue.
“There was a time when I was not like this, not scarred and old. A time where I was once strong, and supposedly gallant and noble, or so I am told. While I never quite remembered in full when I was struck by that lightning bolt, I do recall what happened after. I met a woman, she saved me.”
“She nursed my wounds for months, and during that time we fell in love. To this day I still regret that I never brought her back to Blackhaven with me, or the son we had together.” Bethany raised her eyebrows. “You had a bastard?” She asked, and Edric shook his head. “I had a son. I had a life where I was not bound to the laws of duty and land. I had a son, the one born from thunder, and now I have come to terms with my curse. I failed my one chance to start anew, to father a son and love a wife. No, instead I returned to a kingdom I failed, married out of politics, and failed to be a loving husband and father. Now I must live with this, but you should not.” Bethany found herself confused, yet she listened eagerly.
“What do you mean?” She asked, and Edric frowned. “Marry out of love, sweet Bethy.” He begged. “Don’t let yourself be another man’s wife. Be there world, be there reason to live, don’t make the same mistakes I did.” Bethany could see the tears welling up in her Grandfather’s, so distant, eyes. Unsure of what else to do, Bethany wrapped her arms around him, holding him as he wept. “Promise me.”
Bethany pulled herself away, looking Edric in his weary wet eyes. She frowned, yet there was also sympathy in her expression. She knew, in this time, she would have no choice over whom she married. That decision was her father’s, and the fact that she was not already married into House Tarly was a form of crude luck.
“I will try.” She answered weakly, with a smile that matched the strength of her response. Edric nodded gently, rubbing the tears from his eyes. “You will attend the feast tonight, yes?” Bethany nodded. “Good, it will be better then.” He said grimly, and Bethany looked at him curiously, before realising what he meant.
“I…” Bethany started, before she heard the main doors of the Great Hall swing open with a thundering creak. “Father.” A woman’s voice announced. Bethany turned her eyes to the entrance, and there stood her aunt, Gladys.
She was donned in dark riding leathers, a bronze sword hanging from her belt. Her light brown hair was tied back into a bun, revealing her amber eyes which were near identical to Meghan’s. They flicked across to Bethany, and her lips formed a warm smile. “Beth.” She bowed graciously, and Bethany nodded in return. Gladys’ eyes then returned to her father.
“Uncle Gilbret has begun marching the Swann forces to Storm’s End. We will ride by sunrise.” She announced, and received a small nod from Edric. “Very well.” His eyes slowly turned to Bethany, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Best you find a dress for tonight, eh?” He smiled, and Bethany matched the expression, yet it masked what she felt. He was smothering her, and she hated it, yet in his condition she had no right to judge.
She nodded, standing and descending down the steps from his seat. Gladys flashed her a sympathetic smile, but there was a mix of emotions within that expression which Bethany did not begin to comprehend.
Exiting the main doors, Bethany held her head high as she passed the guards and turned down the dark corridor. Reaching the steps to the second floor, Bethany barely managed to climb the first few steps before her emotions clouded her vision. She toppled to the floor, tears flowing down her cheeks.
-
“So she says, check the other side, my husband has sometimes taken that route!” Gendel yelled, bursting into laughter. The few other sorry souls unfortunate to listen enjoyed a small chuckle. Bethany found herself grinning, which seemed to be an odd sight at these recent times. Across the table, she could see Gareth let out a small smile.
The dining table was covered with platters. Turkey served with cranberry sauce, honey glazed pork and a variety of venison were at the centre of the table, surrounded by salads and vegetables. Bethany flicked her view from the food to everyone at the table.
Lord Edric sat at the head of the table, with Gladys on his right. Meghan sat beside Gladys, and Bethany beside her. Jaycen sat at the far end of the table, opposite to Edric, with Gareth beside him. Finally, Gendel was seated beside his father, while Maddelyn had happily filled the gap between him and Gareth. All were donned in a formal attire. Bethany had picked out a yellow dress she had fashioned herself. She recalled the painful process of cross-stitching each nightingale.
“I hear the Nightingale has made her way to the North.” Edric started, tucking into his meal with his hands. Gladys picked up where he had left off. “Yes, and that she cut down an Andal warlord. You must be very proud of her, Jaycen.” Jaycen raised his eye from his meal, twiddling his knife as he thought carefully on his words.
“Indeed.” He acknowledged, staring at Meghan as he did. Gladys smiled. “I admire the girl, she’s found herself an adventurous life, and received some glory along the way.” Gendel nodded in agreement. “Much like myself, if I might say so.” He cockily added, and Gladys rolled her eyes.
“Oh hush, you may have travelled through the Reach and Dorne, but you can’t say you lived in the Valyrian Freehold, or fought against the Ghis Empire.” Gendel shrugged, chewing on a mouthful of venison. “Perhaps not, but has she ever had the luxury to taste the fine wines of the Arbor? Or dine with the Redwyne’s themselves? No? I thought not.” He concluded, meat spitting out of his mouth. Meghan sighed.
“She should be back home. She puts herself in danger with this lifestyle.” Bethany found herself in an odd predicament with her mother’s statement, she had always envied Alara’s feats, but she did long to see her. “She can handle herself, mother.” Gareth piped up, poking at his pork with the end of his knife. Meghan scowled at him, shaking his head.
“What I’m saying is, the North is no place for a Caron.” Meghan stated in her defence, yet to no avail. “Then perhaps the North is perfect for her, as she is no Caron.” Jaycen muttered, hushing the table. Meghan stood from her chair, tears streaming down her eyes.
“I can’t believe you. After everything you’ve said…” She spun around with haste, darting for the doors. Bethany turned her gaze back to Jaycen, who had lowered his eye back to his meal. Gareth was the next to shoot up, an infuriation in his gaze which brought shivers to Bethany’s spine.
“You’re a real shit, you know that?” He growled, clenching his fists. Bethany could see Gendel preparing to rise from his chair. Jaycen’s eye raised from his meal. “I never said I was not proud of her, it’s quite the contrary. She’s achieved more than my whiny son, but that does not change the fact that she is not my daughter, and if you ever speak to me with that manner-” He warned, but it was too late.
Before Gendel could even act, Gareth was over the table and had pounced on Jaycen, bringing him to the ground. Bethany rose from her chair, as well as every other occupant of the table, as they watched the brawl begin, and quickly end. Jaycen brought Gareth under him, and by then it was over for him. Gendel quickly approached, prepared to separate the two of them, yet Jaycen saved him the struggle.
“Excuse me.” Jaycen muttered, pulling himself up. “I seem to have lost my appetite.” He announced, turning and exiting the hall. Gareth angrily heaved himself from the ground, rushing out, embarrassed and enraged. Maddelyn quickly followed.
Bethany turned back to the table, now a mess with food everywhere. Edric was smirking, which surprised her. “Reminds me of an evening not too dissimilar to this.” He remarked, and Bethany could not disagree. She turned her eyes back to the main doors, where Gendel and Gladys were exiting and going their own ways. Bethany sighed, weighing up her options.
Her mother had looked distressed even before the feast, and her reaction had caught Bethany by surprise, and likely something she had been holding back for quite a while. The extent to which Gareth had gone had also left an impact on her, and she knew that in the hardest times they had always been there for each other, yet with Maddelyn at his heels she was hesitant. Then there was her father, which she seemed to worry about more as she thought about him, a feeling that remained mutual with Edric as well.
[Remain with Edric] [Seek out Meghan] [Seek out Gareth] [Seek out Jaycen]
Alrighty, I'll close this vote! Alara will refuse Theon's offer and stay true to her promise. No doubt this is a very important choice for Alara's character, in a number of ways at that. This will definitely mold an image that Theon has for her, as well as change the way he feels for her, which should all be very interesting with Andalos coming up
Anyway, the next part is out and it goes to Bethany. If you can't recall, the last time we saw Bethany was in her first part, and she had a little conversation with her brother (Gareth) before being reunited with her cousin Maddelyn. She brought news that her grandfather, Edric the Thunderlord, wished to see her. Maddelyn offered to bathe Bethany before going to see the Lord of Blackhaven, to which you lot accepted the offer!
Bethany's part starts off there! 