Steffon
An aura of light flashed across his strained eyes, yet the urge to sleep had left him. The sunrise sat behind the eastern gate, c… moreasting a great shadow over the castle. Steffon however sat atop his horse at the western side of Winterfell, the Hunter’s Gate beaming with activity as Stark guards watched closely for suspicious activity. After Andal spies had murdered the royal family of the Barrow kingdom, the Stark’s had upped their security, and even more so as Barrowland spies had snuck into Winterfell.
Wulfgar Snow sat beside him on his grey destrier, a stern look on his old eyes. The two were to split paths, Steffon heading through the Wolfswood and then south to the Rills, while the small Stark army headed north to meet the Whitehill’s, and then west to Deepwood Motte. Steffon let out a frustrated groan.
“How much longer must I wait?” he muttered impatiently, causing Wulfgar to chuckle. “Easy now, General. The Queen insiste… [view original content]
Man, Gareth is an unbelievably insufferable asshole What comes to Steffon though, jeez, whatever's going on with him is not good. I only wonder if these hallucinations are of some natural cause, or if there is some kind of magic involved here. Nonetheless, I'm interested to see what happens next.
Steffon
An aura of light flashed across his strained eyes, yet the urge to sleep had left him. The sunrise sat behind the eastern gate, c… moreasting a great shadow over the castle. Steffon however sat atop his horse at the western side of Winterfell, the Hunter’s Gate beaming with activity as Stark guards watched closely for suspicious activity. After Andal spies had murdered the royal family of the Barrow kingdom, the Stark’s had upped their security, and even more so as Barrowland spies had snuck into Winterfell.
Wulfgar Snow sat beside him on his grey destrier, a stern look on his old eyes. The two were to split paths, Steffon heading through the Wolfswood and then south to the Rills, while the small Stark army headed north to meet the Whitehill’s, and then west to Deepwood Motte. Steffon let out a frustrated groan.
“How much longer must I wait?” he muttered impatiently, causing Wulfgar to chuckle. “Easy now, General. The Queen insiste… [view original content]
Hey there guys! So I apologise for my lateness in bringing out a new part, I can assure you I've got a new one ready! I'd also like to announce that I've only got one more week of school until my break, so hopefully my pace will quicken some more and I'll be able to finish Chapter 3 finally! Anyway, without further ado, allow me to give you the newest part; which goes to Nathan.
The last time we saw Nathan, he held strong ambitions to go to Stone Hedge and murder the Bracken's, yet it was clear that Rayvani of Asshai did not approve of his plan. After falling asleep, he later woke up to find Rayvani and their captive: Talia, missing, as well as his sword: Lightbringer. Nathan decided to continue on with his plan, and did so until hearing the sound of horses, which led him to investigate. He stumbled across a half a dozen Bracken soldiers, one of which he killed before being spotted. You were faced with the decision on what to do next, and you chose for Nathan to attack them. This part takes place immediately after the last.
There's also another new and short part to compliment the really limited lengths of these two news parts, which I apologise for. It's a Warrick part Last time we saw Warrick, he had decided to head to the Great Hall with Lady Emilee as opposed to following the crowd to see the Lannister/Banefort tension. Warrick laid on the side of paranoia and caution, searching the keep for signs of danger. Yet as he was doing this, Emilee was suddenly stabbed by one of her 'handmaidens,' who made a run for it immediately after. You chose to stay with Emilee as opposed to chasing down the attacker.
He tightened his grasp around the sword, gritting his teeth as he saw the paranoid eyes of the soldier scanning the horizon. Fuck it, Nathan decided, taking a final glance at his possible escape. Nathan remained prone beside the lifeless corpse of the soldier he had just slain. The pursuing soldier stopped by the grass before Nathan; his eyes looking across the fields.
Nathan cautiously inhaled a breath before grabbing at the man’s tabard and thrusting his blade through the man’s neck. The paranoid eyes of the gaunt soldier widened in shock as blood gurgled out of his mouth and down his chin; his hand seizing around the hilt of his sheathed sword. Nathan freed his opponent’s sword from its scabbard, then dislodging his own from the soldier’s throat. The thud of his twitching corpse on the ground gained the attention of his comrades.
“Bloody hell,” one gasped, quickly reaching for his axe. Nathan advanced, spinning his swords before lunging his left into the collar of the man who was still coming to his senses. He sunk to the ground with the bronze sword lodged into his shoulder as Nathan turned to meet a heavy strike from one of the remaining soldiers. He parried the attack with a risen blade, diverting the soldier’s longsword into the soil.
Nathan was met by his second attacker before he could finish his first, of whom he kicked over speedily before dodging the first swing of his new opponent’s axe. The second swing Nathan managed to parry, throwing a counter punch into the man’s jaw with his free hand. Momentarily stumbled, Nathan made an advance, thrusting the short sword into the man’s chest piece. Had it been Lightbringer, the gambeson would’ve moulded around the Valyrian steel and emerged in the blood of her opponent, yet Nathan was left in disappointment as the bronze blade barely pierced through the hardened leather.
Nathan lifted the blade for a heavy attack as the man was about to recover his posture, but was abruptly knocked to the ground with a leg swipe from the other soldier. The third soldier took the opportunity to thrust his sword towards Nathan’s face, which he merely dodged, resulting in the bronze plunging into the ground a couple of centimetres from his face. The second attacker now lifted his axe to bring down on Nathan’s chest, which Nathan prevented with a kick to the chest, just in time to meet his first opponent.
The man jumped onto him, a dagger clutched in his hands. Nathan caught his wrists, stopping the bronze from piercing through his leather gear, if only just. The man applied all of his strength into his one goal, which Nathan fought powerfully to stop, barely holding the bronze above his chest. Nathan brought his knee into the man’s side, releasing the pressure just enough for Nathan to gain the upper hand.
The two men rolled over, bringing Nathan on top. He threw a punch at the man’s eye before turning to his dagger, which he bashed against the ground until his hand released the weapon. In his peripherals he spotted the third attacker charging at him with his longsword. Nathan grabbed his current opponent by the collar of his gambeson, rolling to their right and lifting his opponent above him. A painful wail escaped the man as his comrade unsuspectedly lunged his blade through the soldier.
Nathan utilised the confusion and shock, quickly tackling the disorientated soldier to the ground. He secured his hands around the man’s neck, pressing down which all of his strength; fear flooded into the man’s eyes. A sudden jolt of agonising pain sparked through Nathan’s upper back, forcing him to release the man beneath him. He tumbled off the soldier, scrambling a few metres before turning to see the man above him with a bloodied axe; a menacing look on his eyes.
He knelt down, taking his axe by the head and pressing it against Nathan’s throat. “I’m going to make you suffer for what you’ve fucking done,” he spat, digging the blade into Nathan’s neck. Blood oozed fresh around the bronze and down the side of Nathan’s neck, and in a flash, the tension released. Nathan blinked to find a wooden shaft sticking through the skull of his executor, a bloody iron arrow tip sticking out the bottom of his jaw. The fuck?
By the time Nathan had lifted the body off of him, the other Bracken soldier had been met to a similar grim fate, with an iron axe planted deep into his skull. Nathan buried his hand in the shoulder of the warm corpse he held, letting out a sigh of relief. This was quickly replaced with a spiking pain which resided in his upper back, and a sting on his neck. Nathan groaned, pushing the corpse off of him; his eyes lifted to meet the gaze of his rescuer.
Nathan’s gaze first landed on the familiar sight of the red woman. She rushed to him with a concerned look on her eyes, kneeling by him and inspecting his wounds. “Where the fuck have you been?” Nathan grumbled as Rayvani placed a hand over his neck wound. “Seeking allies,” she muttered in response, turning her gaze back to the lone man that accompanied her.
The man approached with a smirk wide across his bearded face; which fell to his upper chest and was tied into a knot. His hair was blonde, shorn short around the sides and lengthier at the top, which was braided back. His confident eyes were a light blue, and his posture reeked of cockiness. He wore a short sleeved red shirt with a studded leather brigandine and bracers, and a light brown fur cloak over the top of this. Yet what caught Nathan’s eye was the weapon he held in his hand; a Valyrian steel longsword with an orange glow. Lightbringer.
“Lord Fisher, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” the man stated with a smirk, sheathing Lightbringer into his scabbard. “I am Erich Hoare.”
The Enforcer rushed to Lady Emilee’s aid without a flash of hesitation, dropping to his knees and applying pressure on her flesh wound. The eyes of the dazed girl wandered aimlessly across the ceiling, their movement weak and straining; they winced as Warrick’s tough hands touched her wound. Her eyes began to flutter shut after a moment, awakening Warrick’s panic.
“Keep your eyes open, Emilee! That’s right, look at me,” he begged her, calling at her gaze with his worried eyes. She managed the strength to deny him with a shake of her head. “Warrick…” she mumbled weakly, but the old warrior only shook his head. “Don’t talk, you must save your strength,” he stated hastily, but the girl ignored him.
“You must take care…” her voice trailed off as she began to fall out of consciousness, which Warrick forbid her the luxury. She wailed as Warrick applied more pressure on her wound, her hand grasping Warrick’s forearm. “Take care of him,” she begged, tears welling up in her eyes. Warrick shook his head arrogantly.
“You will be alright,” Warrick tried to assure her, but she could see through Warrick’s uncertainty. “Take care of him,” she repeated quietly, her grasp on him weakening. Warrick’s opposing hand left her wound and sat on her hand, clutching around her fragile fingers tightly.
“You’re not going to die here! You hear me? You and Bryce, you’ll get married, and you’ll have children of your own. You’ll see,” Warrick mumbled in an attempt of persuasion, but it was too late. Emilee’s eyes closed shut on him, her weak hand no more. Warrick gulped with the tight clump in his throat. “Emilee?” he mumbled melancholically, though no signs on her resting body gave a response. Blood started to ooze out from underneath the hand that was occupied with clamping her shoulder.
Warrick released her limp, soft hand; the silky white skin was coated in a layer of dark red, which fell onto her light dress. Warrick applied more pressure onto her wound until the blood loss was minimal, and then he waited for what felt like a lifetime; just staring at her weak expression. “I will,” he finally promised with a hushed tone. The doors to the Great Hall thundered open, begging the wet gaze of Warrick’s dark brown eyes.
Six men entered the room, accompanied by a small host of Lantell guards. Bryce Lantell led the small guest party into his hall with a wide grin on his lips, and behind him his father: Maxwell Lannister, followed with a look of pride in his eyes. They were accompanied by Warrick’s halfwit lord brother: Mericus, as well as the two sons of King Tybolt: Tylar and Loras Lannister. Another boy followed, which Warrick recognised to be Lawsen Yew, the younger brother to Lady Emilee; he was the first to react to the scene.
“Emilee!” he screamed in shock, sprinting passed the crowd towards Warrick and his lifeless sister. This was quickly followed up by her husband-to-be, and then the rest. The two fell to their knees in distress as they saw Warrick’s hands over the wound. “EMILEE!” Lawsen squeaked in tears, while Bryce clenched his fists. Maxwell turned his gaze to Warrick, and then his brother.
“Lord Mericus, take Lawsen away,” he ordered, and Warrick’s obedient brother did so without question. Lawsen kicked and yelled as Mericus pulled him away from his sister, dragging him outside the hall. Maxwell shook his head, “what in the hell happened?” he grumbled. Warrick shook his head, unable to answer, while Bryce meanwhile seethed beside him.
“This was your fault,” he muttered under his breath, tightening his fists, making Warrick’s eyes widen. “I was trying to protect her!” Warrick exclaimed, but by then it was too late. Bryce pounced on Warrick with a menace, throwing his hardest towards him. Warrick merely covered himself with his bloody hands, only infuriating Bryce further. “YOU KILLED HER!” he shouted mindlessly, breaking Warrick’s defences and landing a couple of solid punches on Warrick before he was pulled off by Tylar and Loras.
“Enough of this!” Maxwell yelled, standing between the melancholic mess of an old warrior, and the blood angry widower. Before long the guards came to Lady Emilee’s aid, rushing her to the healers. Bryce broke himself away from the Lannister’s, quickly following after his fiancé while Warrick crumbled to the floor.
“I killed her…” Warrick lamented to himself, causing Loras Lannister to raise an eyebrow, but Maxwell shook his head. “What happened here, Warrick?” he asked, kneeling down beside him; he put an arm over Warrick’s shoulder. “An assassin,” Warrick mumbled miserably. “An assassin?” Maxwell asked, to which Warrick nodded.
“Who? What did they look like?” Tylar asked with a rushed tone, causing Warrick to frown heavily. “A handmaiden. Pale skin, dark hair,” Warrick briefly described, shaking his head, “she ran before I could do anything,” Warrick added, making Tylar nod. “We’ll take a look around,” Tylar decided, tapping his brother’s shoulder, who scoffed. “How do we know he’s not lying? We should interrogate him!” he suggested boldly, but his brother simply pulled him away.
Before long, the hall was entirely empty save for Warrick and Maxwell; the man that had been like a father for Warrick during his childhood. Maxwell sighed, placing a hand on Warrick’s shoulder and frowning. “I did not expect that we would meet during such dark times,” Maxwell admitted, but Warrick had nothing to contribute but a grunt. “Come, we must talk,” Maxwell beckoned, rising from the floor; Warrick shook his head.
“I have to find the killer,” Warrick argued, pushing himself off the floor. He reached for Honour, which had rested beside him during the event. “I understand your sentiment, son, but we should let Loras and Tylar search the keep first. Without a doubt Bryce will be searching with all of his forces too, plus I believe that there are more pressing motives going on around here than what meets the eye. Please,” Maxwell beckoned briefly, to which Warrick looked at him with a perplexed gaze.
He wondered how a man could be so pragmatic. His gaze flicked down to the pool of Emilee’s blood, and then to Maxwell again. I know what she looks like, Warrick thought vengefully, clenching his fist. Yet perhaps Maxwell was right; there may have been stronger motives behind all of this.
Oooh, now that fight scene was amazing, the best one in the story so far. Nathan is terrific in there, truly not the kind of guy I'd want to cross. That said, taking down six men at once might have been a bit too much even for him and I guess he would have died if not for his unexpected new ally. Erich Hoare, that is probably the last guy I'd expect to team up with a Red Priestess. I don't know what she promised him in return for his help, but I bet Lightbringer is part of it. That said, as terrifying as such an alliance is, I really doubt it will last. We don't know much about Erich yet, but I could totally see him being almost as dangerous to his allies than he is to his enemies. However, I am highly intrigued by this, if anything, this team-up is guaranteed to be highly entertaining
Nathan
He tightened his grasp around the sword, gritting his teeth as he saw the paranoid eyes of the soldier scanning the horizon. Fuck … moreit, Nathan decided, taking a final glance at his possible escape. Nathan remained prone beside the lifeless corpse of the soldier he had just slain. The pursuing soldier stopped by the grass before Nathan; his eyes looking across the fields.
Nathan cautiously inhaled a breath before grabbing at the man’s tabard and thrusting his blade through the man’s neck. The paranoid eyes of the gaunt soldier widened in shock as blood gurgled out of his mouth and down his chin; his hand seizing around the hilt of his sheathed sword. Nathan freed his opponent’s sword from its scabbard, then dislodging his own from the soldier’s throat. The thud of his twitching corpse on the ground gained the attention of his comrades.
“Bloody hell,” one gasped, quickly reaching for his axe. Nathan advanced, spinning his swords b… [view original content]
Okay, that was not an easy choice. Initially, I believed that searching for the killer would be the better option, mostly because I am not sure about Maxwell's argument here. Surely, the more people search for that killer, the better. And Warrick is the only one who knows how the handmaiden looks, so his help could be incredibly valuable. In a way, I still believe that this is a good choice and I might even change my vote later on, because I am not sure about my own reasoning here. However, hear me out. The thing is, Maxwell's argument is a relatively weak one, so I believe that he knows more than he is willing to say, at least right now and in such an open environment. If we talk to him in private, he might be willing to share some information. He himself has to know that his argument is not the best, so he might hope for Maxwell to talk to him, so that he can reveal more. A wild goose chase for a handmaiden that has probably left the castle already could be successful, but it could also be a huge waste of time, whereas talking to Maxwell could actually give us results that could lead closer to uncovering the truth behind this.
Warrick
The Enforcer rushed to Lady Emilee’s aid without a flash of hesitation, dropping to his knees and applying pressure on her flesh … morewound. The eyes of the dazed girl wandered aimlessly across the ceiling, their movement weak and straining; they winced as Warrick’s tough hands touched her wound. Her eyes began to flutter shut after a moment, awakening Warrick’s panic.
“Keep your eyes open, Emilee! That’s right, look at me,” he begged her, calling at her gaze with his worried eyes. She managed the strength to deny him with a shake of her head. “Warrick…” she mumbled weakly, but the old warrior only shook his head. “Don’t talk, you must save your strength,” he stated hastily, but the girl ignored him.
“You must take care…” her voice trailed off as she began to fall out of consciousness, which Warrick forbid her the luxury. She wailed as Warrick applied more pressure on her wound, her hand grasping Warrick’s forearm. “Take care of h… [view original content]
Oooh, now that fight scene was amazing, the best one in the story so far. Nathan is terrific in there, truly not the kind of guy I'd want to cross. That said, taking down six men at once might have been a bit too much even for him and I guess he would have died if not for his unexpected new ally. Erich Hoare, that is probably the last guy I'd expect to team up with a Red Priestess. I don't know what she promised him in return for his help, but I bet Lightbringer is part of it. That said, as terrifying as such an alliance is, I really doubt it will last. We don't know much about Erich yet, but I could totally see him being almost as dangerous to his allies than he is to his enemies. However, I am highly intrigued by this, if anything, this team-up is guaranteed to be highly entertaining
Hahaha, I'm glad you liked it. Unfortunately these parts have been pretty short, mostly because I've been a bit tired while writing them but also it's just trying to get back into my writing mind, as I'm very much still in the analytical concise mode that I've needed to be in for the past few months You might be a little surprised with Erich Hoare, as we'll soon learn he's not like the Hoare's of Bear Island. Anyway, I'll leave the rest for later parts, but I think he'll turn out to be a very interesting character, whether his alliance with the R'hllor team holds up or not
Oooh, now that fight scene was amazing, the best one in the story so far. Nathan is terrific in there, truly not the kind of guy I'd want to… more cross. That said, taking down six men at once might have been a bit too much even for him and I guess he would have died if not for his unexpected new ally. Erich Hoare, that is probably the last guy I'd expect to team up with a Red Priestess. I don't know what she promised him in return for his help, but I bet Lightbringer is part of it. That said, as terrifying as such an alliance is, I really doubt it will last. We don't know much about Erich yet, but I could totally see him being almost as dangerous to his allies than he is to his enemies. However, I am highly intrigued by this, if anything, this team-up is guaranteed to be highly entertaining
Well, I guess we couldn't really do anything to save Emilee. This "wedding" seems to have a lot of strange events happening around it. That said, I don't believe Maxwell knows any more information than what we already know. After all, he did just arrive with the Lannister's. Plus, Warrick, is the only one who has seen the assassin and knows what she looks like. His help searching for her would be invaluable. Plus, if he helps capture her, he might be able to get more information out of her as to why she assassinated Emilee and what is really going on.
Warrick
The Enforcer rushed to Lady Emilee’s aid without a flash of hesitation, dropping to his knees and applying pressure on her flesh … morewound. The eyes of the dazed girl wandered aimlessly across the ceiling, their movement weak and straining; they winced as Warrick’s tough hands touched her wound. Her eyes began to flutter shut after a moment, awakening Warrick’s panic.
“Keep your eyes open, Emilee! That’s right, look at me,” he begged her, calling at her gaze with his worried eyes. She managed the strength to deny him with a shake of her head. “Warrick…” she mumbled weakly, but the old warrior only shook his head. “Don’t talk, you must save your strength,” he stated hastily, but the girl ignored him.
“You must take care…” her voice trailed off as she began to fall out of consciousness, which Warrick forbid her the luxury. She wailed as Warrick applied more pressure on her wound, her hand grasping Warrick’s forearm. “Take care of h… [view original content]
Jarden
Jarden cleared his throat, staring into the golden liquid of his ale. “I would agree to their terms,” Jarden admitted, though his … moretone felt unconvincing and awkward. Robar nodded, pouring himself a drink. “Then that is what I will do,” Robar decided determinedly as he took a seat, causing Jarden to raise an eyebrow.
“You would make the decision off a traveller’s opinion?” Jarden perplexed, but Robar shook his head. “You’re more than a mere explorer, Jarden Frost. What you did for me at Strongsong was a great service, and it showed great initiative,” Robar acknowledged with impression, further confusing Jarden.
“You approve of the arrangement?” Jarden asked, and Robar confirmed his question with a nod, but there was a hint of distress in his grey eyes. “We needed the Belmore’s, and you got us that alliance. That’s all that matters.” Jarden felt unconvinced with the heavy frown on Robar’s face.
“What is it?” Jarden finally as… [view original content]
Torrhen
The sun had started its descent by the time they reached the gates of Yronwood. It hadn’t been long until they were escorted to t… morehe great hall of the castle, which proved to be a larger hall than the one at Blackmont. It consisted of a mix of stone and sandstone, held up with stone pillars and consisting of three levels. The hall had been built around a natural rock pool, which Torrhen found himself staring into.
He wore a black leather vest, as thick as gambeson, which he tucked his hands into. His grey shirt was loose but long sleeved, and his trousers an ash grey. Yet these minor details he paid little attention to. He stared into his eyes, a dark blue which was piercing to look at. His braid hung over his shoulder. Another figure joined his side by the pools. He was older, with skin like dried leather, and black hair which fell to his shoulders. His matching dark blue eyes had a stern look in them, which glared at Torrhen’s … [view original content]
Warrick
The Enforcer rushed to Lady Emilee’s aid without a flash of hesitation, dropping to his knees and applying pressure on her flesh … morewound. The eyes of the dazed girl wandered aimlessly across the ceiling, their movement weak and straining; they winced as Warrick’s tough hands touched her wound. Her eyes began to flutter shut after a moment, awakening Warrick’s panic.
“Keep your eyes open, Emilee! That’s right, look at me,” he begged her, calling at her gaze with his worried eyes. She managed the strength to deny him with a shake of her head. “Warrick…” she mumbled weakly, but the old warrior only shook his head. “Don’t talk, you must save your strength,” he stated hastily, but the girl ignored him.
“You must take care…” her voice trailed off as she began to fall out of consciousness, which Warrick forbid her the luxury. She wailed as Warrick applied more pressure on her wound, her hand grasping Warrick’s forearm. “Take care of h… [view original content]
What a part! I had a feeling Emilee would end up dying here so I was prepared but it was still a very sad scene nonethless. It was a very written scene that showed the disappointment of everyone there, great part!
[Talk with Maxwell]
I have a feeling that the killer has escaped and we won't be able to find her anyway and I feel that Maxwell has some very important information that Warrick needs to hear whether it is about Emilee or not so we should hear him out. There is something important that needs to be heard I believe and now may be the best time to hear it
Warrick
The Enforcer rushed to Lady Emilee’s aid without a flash of hesitation, dropping to his knees and applying pressure on her flesh … morewound. The eyes of the dazed girl wandered aimlessly across the ceiling, their movement weak and straining; they winced as Warrick’s tough hands touched her wound. Her eyes began to flutter shut after a moment, awakening Warrick’s panic.
“Keep your eyes open, Emilee! That’s right, look at me,” he begged her, calling at her gaze with his worried eyes. She managed the strength to deny him with a shake of her head. “Warrick…” she mumbled weakly, but the old warrior only shook his head. “Don’t talk, you must save your strength,” he stated hastily, but the girl ignored him.
“You must take care…” her voice trailed off as she began to fall out of consciousness, which Warrick forbid her the luxury. She wailed as Warrick applied more pressure on her wound, her hand grasping Warrick’s forearm. “Take care of h… [view original content]
[Search for the killer] I just think we should take the opportunity here. Sure, the killer might've already escaped, but if there is even a tiny chance to catch her with this choice, it should be taken.
Btw Stigz, since I can't access my older notifications thanks to the update, I can't currently get my hands on our PM discussion. So, if you happen to have that bookmarked or something, send me a message so I can do the same. If not, well, I'll probably send you a new pm after I've done some progress with the submissions and drawings.
Warrick
The Enforcer rushed to Lady Emilee’s aid without a flash of hesitation, dropping to his knees and applying pressure on her flesh … morewound. The eyes of the dazed girl wandered aimlessly across the ceiling, their movement weak and straining; they winced as Warrick’s tough hands touched her wound. Her eyes began to flutter shut after a moment, awakening Warrick’s panic.
“Keep your eyes open, Emilee! That’s right, look at me,” he begged her, calling at her gaze with his worried eyes. She managed the strength to deny him with a shake of her head. “Warrick…” she mumbled weakly, but the old warrior only shook his head. “Don’t talk, you must save your strength,” he stated hastily, but the girl ignored him.
“You must take care…” her voice trailed off as she began to fall out of consciousness, which Warrick forbid her the luxury. She wailed as Warrick applied more pressure on her wound, her hand grasping Warrick’s forearm. “Take care of h… [view original content]
Btw Stigz, since I can't access my older notifications thanks to the update, I can't currently get my hands on our PM discussion. So, if you happen to have that bookmarked or something, send me a message so I can do the same. If not, well, I'll probably send you a new pm after I've done some progress with the submissions and drawings.
[Search for the killer] I just think we should take the opportunity here. Sure, the killer might've already escaped, but if there is even a … moretiny chance to catch her with this choice, it should be taken.
Btw Stigz, since I can't access my older notifications thanks to the update, I can't currently get my hands on our PM discussion. So, if you happen to have that bookmarked or something, send me a message so I can do the same. If not, well, I'll probably send you a new pm after I've done some progress with the submissions and drawings.
Warrick
The Enforcer rushed to Lady Emilee’s aid without a flash of hesitation, dropping to his knees and applying pressure on her flesh … morewound. The eyes of the dazed girl wandered aimlessly across the ceiling, their movement weak and straining; they winced as Warrick’s tough hands touched her wound. Her eyes began to flutter shut after a moment, awakening Warrick’s panic.
“Keep your eyes open, Emilee! That’s right, look at me,” he begged her, calling at her gaze with his worried eyes. She managed the strength to deny him with a shake of her head. “Warrick…” she mumbled weakly, but the old warrior only shook his head. “Don’t talk, you must save your strength,” he stated hastily, but the girl ignored him.
“You must take care…” her voice trailed off as she began to fall out of consciousness, which Warrick forbid her the luxury. She wailed as Warrick applied more pressure on her wound, her hand grasping Warrick’s forearm. “Take care of h… [view original content]
Hey Tales, I have and I plan to reply to your message either tonight or tomorrow, being it my last stressful day of the term. I will say I love your characters, and with the amount of Yronwood's now I believe that there needs to be a more permanent PoV in Yronwood. I'll talk more about this in the PM, but rest assured I have seen it, and this final batch have been an excellent addition to your amazing house
Hey Tales, I have and I plan to reply to your message either tonight or tomorrow, being it my last stressful day of the term. I will say I l… moreove your characters, and with the amount of Yronwood's now I believe that there needs to be a more permanent PoV in Yronwood. I'll talk more about this in the PM, but rest assured I have seen it, and this final batch have been an excellent addition to your amazing house
Well it's been a week, and it's certainly past time I close this vote! Warrick will search for the killer. This will lead to a very interesting outcome, that much is certain, especially when the urge for blood is driven to avenge someone who just died in your hands. We'll see more of Warrick in the next part, and how that plays out.
I'd like to announce that I am finally on term break, so I should have a lot more time to write, starting with this next part. It's a Tylar part, and here's a short recap: last time we saw the Heir of the Rock, he had prepared to launch an attack on the Banefort cavalry that massed outside the gates of Silentport, the seat of House Lantell, which they were heading to attend the wedding of Bryce Lantell and Emilee Yew. Maxwell Lannister, Tylar's uncle, engaged in negotiations with the Banefort's before Tylar would attack, and in the midst of these negotiations, Tylar's impatient brother: Loras, charged towards the Banefort's, who turned in retreat. Tylar brought the rest of the Lannister forces to Silentport, where they were met by Lord Bryce Lantell, and invited into his hall. This part takes place after the recent Warrick part, where they have discovered a bleeding Emilee with a suspicious culprit lying over her: Warrick.
Warrick
The Enforcer rushed to Lady Emilee’s aid without a flash of hesitation, dropping to his knees and applying pressure on her flesh … morewound. The eyes of the dazed girl wandered aimlessly across the ceiling, their movement weak and straining; they winced as Warrick’s tough hands touched her wound. Her eyes began to flutter shut after a moment, awakening Warrick’s panic.
“Keep your eyes open, Emilee! That’s right, look at me,” he begged her, calling at her gaze with his worried eyes. She managed the strength to deny him with a shake of her head. “Warrick…” she mumbled weakly, but the old warrior only shook his head. “Don’t talk, you must save your strength,” he stated hastily, but the girl ignored him.
“You must take care…” her voice trailed off as she began to fall out of consciousness, which Warrick forbid her the luxury. She wailed as Warrick applied more pressure on her wound, her hand grasping Warrick’s forearm. “Take care of h… [view original content]
Loras groaned with impatience as Tylar inspected the clattered pots in the kitchens, causing the older brother to frown. There wasn’t much he could tell from a few scattered cooking utensils other than they had been knocked over, and seemingly from a fright. Tylar pulled himself up, his gaze searching around the kitchen for some sort of clue, which his impatient brother did not help with.
“Are we done here yet?” Loras muttered, unsheathing the ancestral longsword that was once known as Blood Pride, and wielded by the Kings of the Rock before Loras got his hands on it. He disgraced the ancient weapon by renaming it ‘Last Words,’ and waved it around in a boastful manner whenever he was in Tylar’s presence. By right, the sword should have gone to the eldest son, yet it went to Loras instead, which he took great pride in reminding Tylar of.
“You know, I think I might gut this assassin with Last Words once we get our hands on him,” Loras proclaimed, lifting the tinted red bronze to his face and inspecting the shine. Tylar simply rolled his eyes, walking to the door. “Sure,” Tylar stated, entering the hall. Loras followed after with a bored strut, twirling Last Words between his fingers.
Tylar was surprised to see Warrick still in the Hall as they returned, his bronze great sword sitting on his lap. Two Lannister soldiers stood with him, one with a hand on his hilt and a stern, uneasy glare on the Enforcer, and the other holding a cage with two lion cubs. Loras grinned as he saw them, sheathing Last Words into its scabbard and prowling over to the guard with the cubs. Tylar gave the other a nod, who looked immediately relieved to not be burdened with watching over the Enforcer.
“Alpha,” Loras grinned, pulling the light blonde cub from the cage. Tylar kept his gaze focused on Warrick, who stood himself up, sheathing his great sword. “Prince,” he muttered, keeping his gaze lowered. Tylar eyed him for a moment, studying his dark, menacing posture. “Enforcer,” Tylar replied shortly, flicking his gaze to Loras and his cub, and then back to Warrick. “Anything you can tell us about the assassin?” Tylar asked after a moment of silence, and Warrick nodded.
“She’ll be dead once we find her,” Warrick stated nonchalantly, pushing past Tylar and heading for a door at the side of the hall. Tylar raised an eyebrow, “she?” Tylar asked, and Loras too piped up, “we?” Warrick stopped at the door, his head lowered and a deathly look on his dark eyes.
“A woman plunged the dagger into the back of Lady Yew’s heart,” he informed them, pushing the door open with a hard nudge. “I know her face. I’ll find her,” he stated, entering the room without another word. Tylar turned his gaze back to Loras, who looked back at Tylar with bitter eyes.
“How dare that beast speak to us like that,” Loras exclaimed, placing his cub on the stone floor. Alpha circled around to the blood pool that still remained soaking into the stone. Tylar sighed, walking over to the guard and reaching for Skarn, who waited patiently for his master. “Lord Maxwell said you’d need them, my Prince,” the guard recited, to which Tylar nodded.
“Thank you,” Tylar said, dismissing the man. He placed the cub on the floor, who joined his brother by the blood pool, causing Tylar to marvel at the size difference of the two cubs. Look how much you have grown, Tylar thought as he watched the two cubs interact, Skarn standing a head taller than Alpha. Before long, the two cubs chased each other into the room that Warrick disappeared into, causing Loras to groan.
“Let’s go,” he growled, unsheathing Last Words and following after the bloody footsteps of the cubs. Tylar frowned, unsheathing his own sword: the Storm. What Loras did not understand was Tylar’s apathetic nature to his inheritance of the ancestral blade of House Lannister. He was not like the kings of the Rock, like the Lannister’s of the West. Tylar had the light brown hair of his mother, and truly felt the only thing making him a Lannister was his emerald eyes. He never wanted to be the heir to a kingdom, nor a son of the richest man in Westeros. He wanted his own life, his own legacy. The Storm was a start.
-
The room they had entered had led them to a wine cellar underneath the hall of the keep, which was dimly lit and humid. Warrick had barred them into the basement to prevent the woman from escaping. She was trapped down here.
“Now what?” Loras asked with a touch of impatience, a feeling which Warrick displayed in his time-ticking body. His fists clenched around his bronze sword: Honour, as his peeled eyes scanned past the large kegs and barrels and into the darkness. Tylar knelt down, placing his hand on the back of Skarn’s furry neck.
“Now we wait,” Tylar stated calmly, pushing his cub forward. The proud animal ran off with obedience, followed by Alpha, who desperately tried to outrun his larger brother. Loras rolled his eyes, fingering the edge of Last Words. “How do we know there was even a girl in the first place? Who says it wasn’t the animal who smashed infant’s skulls into a wall?” Loras spat, causing Tylar to shoot him a glare, but Loras had none of it.
“Who’s going to find us down here if the Enforcer decides to hack us apart?” Loras muttered, and it took Tylar a moment to realise that there was fear riddled into his bitter tone. A bloodthirsty smirk quivered on the Enforcer’s lips. “Do I scare you, boy?” Warrick taunted, causing Loras to gulp. “Enough,” Tylar muttered, and the Enforcer obediently lowered his gaze, but Loras was not as cunning.
“You’re a loyal one aren’t you? True to my father, to the Prince Who Ran, and my exiled brother. Perhaps I’ll have to teach obedience to you as well, I’ll make a good hound out of you,” Loras quipped, to which Warrick stood, lifting Honour off of the wooden barrel it sat upon. He approached Loras, and Tylar stared with watchful eyes.
“I serve your father for the respect I have for your uncle,” Warrick stated, taking a step towards Loras, “I serve your brother for the respect I hold for him as a commander.” Warrick took another step closer, and Tylar could spot the tension in Loras’ eyes, his hands trembling around the hilt of Last Words. “And I served Byran for the respect I had for him as a warrior, but I will not serve you; a coward and an ignorant boy in a man’s world,” Warrick grumbled, and Tylar swore from the look on Loras’ eyes that his brother had pissed himself. A scream broke the suffocating tension.
Tylar’s gaze lifted in the direction that he heard it, the ears of Warrick and Loras closely listening as well. Before long, Tylar could hear the snarls and growls of Skarn and Alpha, followed by the petrified womanly screams. Before Tylar could even react, the Enforcer charged down the hall with thundering footsteps, and as Loras regained his composure, Tylar quickly followed on.
The trio ducked and weaved between the dark alleys of mead kegs and wine barrels, their movement swift and precise, their ears honing in on the predators of the darkness. The grunts of the cubs fell silent when the three of them arrived. Tylar’s gaze fell upon the shaking woman, pinned against the wooden keg with her uplifted bloody arms and hands. Her hair fell in long black locks, unruly but somewhat attractive. Her wet eyes peaked through the crevice between her arms, those familiar white eyes.
“You?” Tylar realised in shock as he recognised the Travelling Spider. “My Prince…” she mumbled, a look of relief on her teary eyes. “She’s mine,” Warrick muttered, lifting Honour above his head. Fear struck her trembling eyes as they turned to the Enforcer, a vengeful look on his near black eyes. “Please, I’m innocent…” she moaned, burying her head in her hands.
A brief moment of doubt crawled over Tylar’s skin, sending shivers down his spine. Something did not feel right, this did not feel right. Tylar’s hand tightened around the hilt of the Storm, a lump thick in his throat. Why would she do it? Tylar asked himself, and while he trusted the judgement of Warrick Westerling, there was an itch in his heart which screamed at him.
[Let Warrick take his vengeance] [Order Warrick to stop] [Parry the execution]
Tylar
Loras groaned with impatience as Tylar inspected the clattered pots in the kitchens, causing the older brother to frown. There wasn… more’t much he could tell from a few scattered cooking utensils other than they had been knocked over, and seemingly from a fright. Tylar pulled himself up, his gaze searching around the kitchen for some sort of clue, which his impatient brother did not help with.
“Are we done here yet?” Loras muttered, unsheathing the ancestral longsword that was once known as Blood Pride, and wielded by the Kings of the Rock before Loras got his hands on it. He disgraced the ancient weapon by renaming it ‘Last Words,’ and waved it around in a boastful manner whenever he was in Tylar’s presence. By right, the sword should have gone to the eldest son, yet it went to Loras instead, which he took great pride in reminding Tylar of.
“You know, I think I might gut this assassin with Last Words once we get our hands on him,” … [view original content]
Something is seriously not right there. Warrick is surely not thinking straight right there, because even if she did this, it is as good as certain that she has not acted on her own will, but was working for someone else. On top of that, I doubt it can be said for sure that she's the killer. Warrick seems to recognize her and checking back, the descriptions between the Travelling Spider and the handmaiden match, so she obviously is involved in this somehow, but considering we haven't seen the actual deed, this could be a huge misunderstanding and she might not be the guilty party after all. Either way, keeping her alive is going to have more benefits. This way, she can either become an ally if innocent (on top of Warrick not killing the wrong woman) or she can give valuable information if guilty, after which she can still be executed. In any way, by just killing the murderer, we gain nothing to find out the people behind this assassination and won't get any closer to stopping them. And in this case, just ordering him to stop won't work, I doubt it. He is far too emotional for that right now, so Tylar got to outright parry this, as much as Warrick won't like it. But I hope that he will eventually calm down and realize how killing her right now will achieve nothing. The person responsible for the assassination is going to pay eventually, no matter if we kill this woman right now or later on.
Tylar
Loras groaned with impatience as Tylar inspected the clattered pots in the kitchens, causing the older brother to frown. There wasn… more’t much he could tell from a few scattered cooking utensils other than they had been knocked over, and seemingly from a fright. Tylar pulled himself up, his gaze searching around the kitchen for some sort of clue, which his impatient brother did not help with.
“Are we done here yet?” Loras muttered, unsheathing the ancestral longsword that was once known as Blood Pride, and wielded by the Kings of the Rock before Loras got his hands on it. He disgraced the ancient weapon by renaming it ‘Last Words,’ and waved it around in a boastful manner whenever he was in Tylar’s presence. By right, the sword should have gone to the eldest son, yet it went to Loras instead, which he took great pride in reminding Tylar of.
“You know, I think I might gut this assassin with Last Words once we get our hands on him,” … [view original content]
Alright, so I won't close the voting just yet, but I do have the new part ready; which goes to Wylla. The last time we saw Wylla Farman she had decided to ask Lord Allie Vines to request if King Tydus Redwyne could contribute some of his fleet to taking Bear Island. Lord Allie promised he would ask before taking his leave, and before long the rest of the council dismissed themselves. Wylla later found herself dining with her family in the hall, where she and her husband: Franklyn, had a disagreement over who holds the true power over Fair Isle. This resulted in most of the family going their own ways, as Wylla had also offended her son by shaming his bride-to-be. Wylla admitted she needed to make amends, and you chose for her to seek out Franklyn. This part takes place reasonably close after where it concluded last.
The oaken door to Frenken’s chambers stood a crack open, somewhat inviting to the adventurous eye, but not Wylla’s. Ask anyone around the realm and they would boast of the Farman Mermaid and her formidable strength, Wylla felt extremely weak in the presence of the one place in Faircastle she had no control in. She bit her lip before rising her hand to the door and tapping on the wood.
“I said I’m not hungry you wench!” Frenken shouted bitterly, walking to the door before his eyes widened at the sight of Wylla, causing him to gulp. “My Lady,” he mumbled awkwardly, before his anger returned to his eyes. “What do you want?” he muttered, crossing his arms. Wylla frowned, eying the borders of the oak door.
“Can I come in?” she asked softly, and for a moment it appeared she would be denied even that much from her husband, but at the final second he gave in, standing away from the door. Wylla hesitantly walked in, the door being shut behind her. A cold atmosphere choked the room of any warmth, with dark stone walls and tidy organised furniture that collected dust. It felt abandoned.
Wylla’s eyes trembled over the thick pages that sat on Frenken’s desk, and arguably between their marriage as well. A bronze stylus sat in a bottle of ink as the parchment dried by the candlelight. Wylla turned her shaky gaze to Frenken, who held a bitter glare on her. She sighed, clasping her hands together, “I know you’re upset, but I wanted to apologise,” she stated calmly with a soft tone. Frenken shook his head, walking away from the door and to his desk, where a cup of Arbor red resided.
“Who are you?” he grumbled, taking a drink from his wine. Wylla raised an eyebrow to the question, and thought a moment before answering. He wishes to establish his dominance over me, she realised pitifully. “Your wife,” she answered, to which Frenken nodded. “My wife,” he remarked, downing the rest of his cup, “so why do you try to act the head of this house?” Frenken sighed, pouring himself another cup. Wylla shook her head.
“There’s no mistaking it, my Lord. You are the head of this house,” she assured him with a confident tone. And I am the neck which operates it, she wanted to add, but clamped down her tongue. This brought a small smirk to his lips. “That’s right,” he acknowledged to himself. “I am the lord. I am the head of House Farman, a proud house that once held complete naval control over the west, often engaging in wars with the Redwyne’s and Ironborn, yet now…” Frenken chuckled, shaking his head. “Now I have to find myself kissing the boots of a Redwyne while I marry my son off to an Ironborn bitch all because my wife wished it be so. All for Manderly dominance. Tell me, whose wife are you?” he asked with a sharp tone, making Wylla wince.
“Your wife,” she repeated hesitantly, causing Frenken to throw his cup across the room. Arbor red stained the sheets of his bed. “Then why do choose not to serve me?! You choose your family over our own!” he yelled, fury burning in his eyes. Wylla held her strong composure, standing tall and with dignity. “You misunderstand, I do this because-” Wylla started, but Frenken cut her off with a sharp glare.
“No, wife. It is you who misunderstands. You misunderstand your role, your position, your power. I took to your father’s faith, and I am writing this fucking book about his deities, and the reward I get is a wife who humiliates me in my own hall? In front of my own children? No longer,” he vowed, walking to his desk and shutting his book. “I should have listened to Howett from the start,” he muttered, brushing the ink pot off the table. Wylla frowned.
“Husband…” she mumbled softly, but Frenken shook his head. “As of now you have no place on the court, and the matters of my house shall fall into my hands. Hells, I’d send you back to your shit of a father were it not for this weak position you’ve put us in,” Frenken bickered, putting the book into his desk draw. Wylla clenched her fists, trying to hold down her anger. “You mistake me, Lord. I’d never put my children into harm’s way,” she seethed in return, glaring at him, to which he rolled his eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t,” he muttered, walking to the door and opening it.
“For the sake of the children I will hear no more of this. We have a wedding to hold, and you will be in charge of organising it,” he informed her, beckoning for her to egress. A strong urge crawled over her, screaming at her to punch him in his gaunt face, yet ego prevailed and she walked passed him and out the door. The oak slammed shut behind her, leaving her in the cool breeze of the keep.
-
The eastern light flooded over the lands of Westeros and reached Fair Isle as a red dot on the horizon, the sky bleeding with anticipation of a storm. Wylla stood with her arms crossed as activity buzzed around her in the early morning at the city centre. The water that erupted out of the stone fountain reflected a pink glow from the morning sky, yet gave the deception that it spewed blood from the depths below.
Wylla felt it, a dark and cruel pain deep in her chest which persisted, not of a physical injury, but one of pride. Her husband had the audacity to believe he could dismiss her from the court, it make her sick, and it made her furious. She had the power to level Faircastle if she wished it, she had allies all around the city that supported her, and she was the true ruler of House Farman, even if her foolish husband was too naive to see it.
“M’lady?” a commoner’s voice weakly sounded from behind her, forcing her to turn to meet the gaunt girl that stood behind her. She was young, perhaps a few years younger than Elyana, and in his hands he clutched a silver coin. Wylla smiled, kneeling down to the girl’s height.
“How can I help you, little one?” Wylla asked with a soft and melodic tone, but the girl seemed to shy away at the kindness. “My Pa, he fights with the Ironman again,” she mumbled, causing Wylla to frown. Eddin is drunk again, she thought bitterly as her eyes wandered down to the coin. “And what is this?” Wylla asked curiously in an attempt to take the girl’s mind off her angst. The little one gave a weak smile, but a smile at that.
“My lucky coin!” she squeaked, clutching it closer to her chest. Wylla gave her a warm smile, running her thick fingers through her tough knotted hair. “How about you point me in the direction of your Papa while you go treat yourself to some sweats?” Wylla suggested, and the girl’s eyes widened in joy as Wylla freed a few silvers from her purse and tucked it into the girl’s small hand. In return, the little one pointed over to towards the Lonely Sailor’s inn, which was where Wylla expected. She patted the girl on the shoulder pulled herself from the ground, heading for the inn.
It wasn’t long until she could hear the cheers, and then see the crowd gathered around the two men brawling in the centre. Wylla pushed her way through the group of men and tavern whores until she found herself in the centre of the crowd, where Eddin clumsily threw another punch at the father of the little girl. Wylla caught Eddin’s by his wrist before he could land the hit, causing him to fall into her arms with a drunken slumber.
“That’s enough!” she yelled angrily, spreading a hush over the crowd. The father, whom Wylla recognised to be a fisherman from the looks of his gear, spat out a tooth and some blood. “That bastard threatened to take my little girl as a salt wife! The sick fuck!” He screamed, trying to lunge himself at Eddin, yet the crowd finally took the initiative to hold him back with the presence of their Lady. Eddin snorted, trying to push himself out of Wylla’s arms.
“Aye, she’d give a tight fuck, without a doubt,” he chuckled, groping Wylla’s tit. Wylla shook her head with a sneer. That’s enough, she decided, lifting the Ironborn above her head before throwing him back to the ground. His body fell limp as he met the stone pavement with a clunk, encouraging a gasp from the crowd. Before long the Farman guards rushed to the scene with unsheathed swords and shields. “Clear out you ff-” The guard stumbled on his words as his eyes met Lady Wylla’s.
“M’lady,” he noticed with a surprised tone, lowering his sword. “We did not expect to see you here…” he awkwardly mumbled as he quickly sheathed his blade, motioning for his companion to do the same. Wylla let out a frustrated sigh, taking a step back and running a hand through her hair. “Take Lord Eddin to the cells, I’ll have words with him later,” she ordered, and the guards followed the command obediently.
When the limp unconscious Ironborn was out of their sight, and the crowd had dispersed, Wylla turned her attention to the father of the little girl. “I won’t let him go unpunished for this. You have my word,” Wylla assured him, but all the fisherman could do was nod. “May I have my daughter back now?” he asked impatiently, wiping the blood from his upper lip away with the back of his hand. Wylla eyed him for a moment before nodding.
“She’s at the city centre,” Wylla stated nonchalantly, and before long the fisherman took his leave. Wylla stood alone, staring at the pool of blood on the stone pavement with emotionless eyes. Her body felt locked in place, her eyes staring aimlessly and her ears wandering along the street. Tension had flooded the path, merchants and customers murmuring among each other as they stared at Wylla with repugnant eyes.
“I remember the first time you brought a man down like that,” a familiar tone sounded, causing Wylla to break from her paralysis and turn to meet the cold dark brown eyes of her older brother. The sight of him caused her own eyes to widen, and a fat smile to spread across her lips. “Walter?” the name barely escaped her lips before the two met each other in an embracement.
“Hello sister,” Walter greeted warmly, something uncharacteristic for him. Wylla smirked, pulling away from her brother. “I take it if you’re here then our father has approved of my proposition?” Wylla presumed, grasping Walter’s shoulders just to make sure he was indeed here. Walter nodded, crossing his arms. “Yes, we will take Bear Island,” he informed her, which brought some brightness to her dull day. Her eyes wandered down the street towards the dock.
“I take it you brought the Western Fleet?” Wylla stated, and Walter nodded, making Wylla smile. “Captain Wyvern is here then?” she asked, and Walter replicated his previous gesture. “As well as Waldina,” he stated nonchalantly, which caused Wylla to raise an eyebrow, and Walter to shrug. “She demanded she was brought along,” Walter briefly explained, and Wylla nodded.
“Of course,” she sighed, she knew this mission was no place for her sister to be involved, but perhaps her abilities could be of use. Perhaps they’re already in use, she also thought, running a hand through her hair. “Well, take me to them,” she urged him, to which he nodded, leading her down to the docks.
-
The Silver Spear was an accepted sight on the sore eyes of the Farman Fleet. The magnificent brig captained by Wyvern Vyrwel was a slim vessel, constructed from silver birch and welded from the fires of Valyria with an iron alloy resistant to rust. She was a light vessel, having little draw depth and few heavy weapons to weigh her down. It made her the fastest vessel of the Western Fleet, which explained why the tall masts of the Western Fleet were only now spottable in the southern horizon.
Wylla’s eyes travelled up the beige mast, where the shirtless muscular crew of the Silver Spear manually furled the black sails up to the yard arms. Her eyes fell back down to the helm of the vessel, where she spotted the captain of the ship. A smirk widened across her lips as she spotted the handsome bastard, who polished the helm with a greasy rag as he always did. His eye flickered only a moment from his work to notice Wylla, and when he did the rag was slipped into his back pocket, and his arms upraised.
“Farman Mermaid!” he greeted with a soothing voice, attracting the eyes of the close crew. He descended the steps to the deck, and then climbed onto the beam that brought him to the docks. A wide grin was spread across his lips. “It’s been too long,” he admitted, opening his arms and accepting Wylla’s embracement. Walter did not stop for courtesies, instead he only passed by them and climbed aboard the Silver Spear, but Wyvern paid no attention to this.
“It has been,” Wylla acknowledged, separating from his embracement. She had to eye the man up and down a few times to truly believe he was standing before her. Wyvern was arguably the most handsome bachelor of the Kingdom of the Seas, looking at least a decade younger than his true age. His natural black hair was dyed green and combed back, while his pencil moustache remained black and greased to shine. Wyvern only had one eye, which was a light grey that could easily be mistaken as silver, and over the other he wore a black leather eye patch with a trident engraved into it. Overall his facial features were rogue and dashing, with an angular jaw and dimpled chin.
“You look surprised,” Wyvern observed, his grin having subsided to a witty smirk. Wylla could not help but blush, lowering her eyes from his own. They landed on his loose white shirt, half-buttoned, revealing his black hairy chest. She didn’t lower her eyes any further. “Words cannot explain why I look this way,” she riddled to herself, making Wyvern chuckle.
“Come on, let’s get you a drink, you look exhausted,” Wyvern stated, beckoning her onto the Silver Spear. Wylla rolled her eyes, accepting his proposal and climbing aboard. Aye, because I’ve been awake so long, she thought bitterly as her mind drifted back to the wedding preparations. They would have to wait.
It wasn’t long until Wylla’s eyes landed on the beauty of her younger sister: Waldina. She rested against a barrel stooped over with a hand clutched over her stomach; her face pale and sickly. Wylla raised her eyebrows, inspecting her sister’s frail composure with concern. “Waldina?” Wylla spoke softly, and the warm dark brown eyes lifted only for a brief moment before she uplifted a bucket of bile onto the birch beams. A deep groan sounded from Wyvern, who reached for a flagon of water and a cup.
“Drink,” he ordered, passing her the cup. The Siren’s eyes weakly looked at the cup, before staring down at the mess at her feet with humiliation. “Drink,” he repeated impatiently, pushing the cup towards her, “it’ll help,” he assured her. After a moment, Waldina mustered the strength to take the cup, sipping the top layer slowly. Wylla fought hard to contain a smile. She had forgotten how it felt to be seasick; she had been on the seas for longer than she could remember.
Wyvern turned his gaze back to Wylla, who lifted her eyes up to him. “Just a little swell, it’ll pass once she gets some rest,” he assured Wylla dryly, leaving Waldina’s side. “So, why are we here?” Wyvern asked, heading for his quarters under the helm. Wylla raised an eyebrow as she followed him into the dim room. He doesn’t know?
Wyvern walked to the aft of his quarters, pulling open the curtains to allow for the natural light. Wylla meanwhile took a seat in the recliner by his desk, staring out to large Farman port. “Walter never told you?” she asked with a surprised tone, to which Wyvern shook his head, pulling out a bottle of whiskey from his spirts cabinet.
“I never asked,” he stated nonchalantly, freeing two glasses from the cabinet and placing them on his desk. “Warmond sent his orders, and when I saw the location of Fair Isle in the letter I didn’t hesitate on setting sail,” he claimed as he poured two glasses of whiskey. This caused Wylla to frown, but it was a warming thought to know that Wyvern was ready to drop everything to come to Wylla’s aid.
Wyvern offered the glass to Wylla, which she hesitantly accepted. Drinking at sunrise, Wylla thought, wafting the odour into her nose. I’m already falling under his poor influence, she thought amusedly as she took a sip. It was strong, hitting the back of her throat with a solid punch as she swallowed. Wyvern watched Wylla’s reaction with a smirk on his lips. “Strong stuff, eh? Wyatt slipped me a crate of them when I was last at the Merling Isles. They’re imported from Tyrosh,” he informed her, tasting his own. Wylla simply nodded, placing the glass on his desk and clasping her hands.
“We’re going to liberate Bear Island,” she stated bluntly, awaiting for a reaction. Instead, Wyvern sat himself on the side of his desk, savouring the taste of his whiskey before responding. “I heard that a third of the Iron Fleet are based at Bear Island,” he affirmed, holding his glass loosely in his hands. Wylla nodded, tapping her fingers against the arms of the recliner awkwardly.
“So we believe,” she muttered, “which is why I wanted the assistance of the Western Fleet,” she explained, to which Wyvern nodded. “It’ll be a tough battle,” he admitted dryly, taking another drink from his whiskey. “We may be gaining the support of the Redwyne’s as well,” she added in an attempt of assurance, causing Wyvern to smirk.
“A tough battle,” he reiterated, “not an unwinnable one,” he clarified, to which Wylla nodded. “So, in taking Bear Island you plan to… what? Gain friendly relations with the Stark’s?” he asked, to which Wylla nodded. “Open up a trade route, yes. There is word spreading about a house located within the Wolfswood of the North that has mastered the lumbering process of ironwood. I believe that our fleets could profit immensely with ships built of impregnable wood,” Wylla exclaimed, but Wyvern seemed uncertain about the idea.
“I’ve heard the Hungry Wolf cares about nothing else than war, drinking and fucking, and I can respect that. Nothing beats a good fuck, and certainly nothing beats a good drink,” Wyvern stated, studying the whiskey in his glass, “but men like that are hard to reason with, and even harder to bargain with.” Wyvern stood himself up from his desk, finishing his whiskey and walking to the rear windows of his quarters. “So what will you do if Theon Stark decides he doesn’t want our trade?” Wylla took a moment to think of a strong response to this, and admittedly she hadn’t thought much passed being denied a trade route. What kind of madman would deny an increase of wealth to their kingdom? Still, she knew he expected an answer.
“House Stark isn’t the only house of the North, and the Winter Kings are not the only realm of the North. If Theon does not accept our proposal then I will expand my offers to the other realms of the North, and beyond if need be. If he chooses not to accept, we will simply hold Bear Island as a bastion for our own,” Wylla answered, causing Wyvern to sigh. It was clear he wasn’t too sure about the idea, but he nodded regardless.
“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he claimed nonchalantly, running his finger and thumb over his moustache. Before Wylla could even consider responding, a knock at the door took the attention of Wyvern from her. “Come in,” he called, and one of the Silver Spear sailors entered hastily.
“Captain, Lord Franklyn invites you to his hall for breakfast. Lord Walter is waiting,” he informed them, to which Wyvern nodded, dismissing the man. Wyvern sighed, putting a cork back into the whiskey bottle and placing it back in the cabinet. He turned his gaze to Wylla, who held a heavy look on her own eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked, which caused Wylla to snap out of her trance.
“Nothing,” she muttered, grabbing her glass of whiskey. She hoped to find courage at the bottom of the glass, but instead she found a hell of a hit in the back of her throat, gasping her of air. Wyvern reached for the door, pulling it open. “You coming?” he asked, and Wylla took a moment to think the option over. She was still on rough terms with Franklyn from as far as she could tell, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to confront him.
“How’s Waldina look?” Wylla asked abruptly, to which Wyvern turned his gaze out to the deck. A smirk spread across his lips, and he shook his head. “She isn’t going anywhere,” he informed her, to which Wylla arose from her seat. Perhaps it would be better if she remained here, and tended to her sister. It wouldn’t be wise to show herself on board when Franklyn expected her to be working, and especially as she did not know how that whiskey was going to affect her. Though there was one thing she knew was certain. She couldn’t hide from him forever.
Tylar
Loras groaned with impatience as Tylar inspected the clattered pots in the kitchens, causing the older brother to frown. There wasn… more’t much he could tell from a few scattered cooking utensils other than they had been knocked over, and seemingly from a fright. Tylar pulled himself up, his gaze searching around the kitchen for some sort of clue, which his impatient brother did not help with.
“Are we done here yet?” Loras muttered, unsheathing the ancestral longsword that was once known as Blood Pride, and wielded by the Kings of the Rock before Loras got his hands on it. He disgraced the ancient weapon by renaming it ‘Last Words,’ and waved it around in a boastful manner whenever he was in Tylar’s presence. By right, the sword should have gone to the eldest son, yet it went to Loras instead, which he took great pride in reminding Tylar of.
“You know, I think I might gut this assassin with Last Words once we get our hands on him,” … [view original content]
Tylar
Loras groaned with impatience as Tylar inspected the clattered pots in the kitchens, causing the older brother to frown. There wasn… more’t much he could tell from a few scattered cooking utensils other than they had been knocked over, and seemingly from a fright. Tylar pulled himself up, his gaze searching around the kitchen for some sort of clue, which his impatient brother did not help with.
“Are we done here yet?” Loras muttered, unsheathing the ancestral longsword that was once known as Blood Pride, and wielded by the Kings of the Rock before Loras got his hands on it. He disgraced the ancient weapon by renaming it ‘Last Words,’ and waved it around in a boastful manner whenever he was in Tylar’s presence. By right, the sword should have gone to the eldest son, yet it went to Loras instead, which he took great pride in reminding Tylar of.
“You know, I think I might gut this assassin with Last Words once we get our hands on him,” … [view original content]
Tylar
Loras groaned with impatience as Tylar inspected the clattered pots in the kitchens, causing the older brother to frown. There wasn… more’t much he could tell from a few scattered cooking utensils other than they had been knocked over, and seemingly from a fright. Tylar pulled himself up, his gaze searching around the kitchen for some sort of clue, which his impatient brother did not help with.
“Are we done here yet?” Loras muttered, unsheathing the ancestral longsword that was once known as Blood Pride, and wielded by the Kings of the Rock before Loras got his hands on it. He disgraced the ancient weapon by renaming it ‘Last Words,’ and waved it around in a boastful manner whenever he was in Tylar’s presence. By right, the sword should have gone to the eldest son, yet it went to Loras instead, which he took great pride in reminding Tylar of.
“You know, I think I might gut this assassin with Last Words once we get our hands on him,” … [view original content]
Well, since everyone has voted quite clearly I'll bring this part to a close. Tylar will parry the execution. This choice will lead to some pretty devastating results in both Tylar's relationship with his brother and Warrick, but also physically for his sword Although admittedly this might be the better alternative for Warrick, who is purely working out of a fit of rage here.
Tylar
Loras groaned with impatience as Tylar inspected the clattered pots in the kitchens, causing the older brother to frown. There wasn… more’t much he could tell from a few scattered cooking utensils other than they had been knocked over, and seemingly from a fright. Tylar pulled himself up, his gaze searching around the kitchen for some sort of clue, which his impatient brother did not help with.
“Are we done here yet?” Loras muttered, unsheathing the ancestral longsword that was once known as Blood Pride, and wielded by the Kings of the Rock before Loras got his hands on it. He disgraced the ancient weapon by renaming it ‘Last Words,’ and waved it around in a boastful manner whenever he was in Tylar’s presence. By right, the sword should have gone to the eldest son, yet it went to Loras instead, which he took great pride in reminding Tylar of.
“You know, I think I might gut this assassin with Last Words once we get our hands on him,” … [view original content]
Tylar
Loras groaned with impatience as Tylar inspected the clattered pots in the kitchens, causing the older brother to frown. There wasn… more’t much he could tell from a few scattered cooking utensils other than they had been knocked over, and seemingly from a fright. Tylar pulled himself up, his gaze searching around the kitchen for some sort of clue, which his impatient brother did not help with.
“Are we done here yet?” Loras muttered, unsheathing the ancestral longsword that was once known as Blood Pride, and wielded by the Kings of the Rock before Loras got his hands on it. He disgraced the ancient weapon by renaming it ‘Last Words,’ and waved it around in a boastful manner whenever he was in Tylar’s presence. By right, the sword should have gone to the eldest son, yet it went to Loras instead, which he took great pride in reminding Tylar of.
“You know, I think I might gut this assassin with Last Words once we get our hands on him,” … [view original content]
Wylla
The oaken door to Frenken’s chambers stood a crack open, somewhat inviting to the adventurous eye, but not Wylla’s. Ask anyone arou… morend the realm and they would boast of the Farman Mermaid and her formidable strength, Wylla felt extremely weak in the presence of the one place in Faircastle she had no control in. She bit her lip before rising her hand to the door and tapping on the wood.
“I said I’m not hungry you wench!” Frenken shouted bitterly, walking to the door before his eyes widened at the sight of Wylla, causing him to gulp. “My Lady,” he mumbled awkwardly, before his anger returned to his eyes. “What do you want?” he muttered, crossing his arms. Wylla frowned, eying the borders of the oak door.
“Can I come in?” she asked softly, and for a moment it appeared she would be denied even that much from her husband, but at the final second he gave in, standing away from the door. Wylla hesitantly walked in, the door being shut … [view original content]
Ah, I wanted to choose Wyvern. That guy seems to be priceless I already like him, even if I am unlikely to ever pronounce that name right without sounding like having a speech impairment. Too many W's and V's, but I guess that is part of the appeal. However, I think Wylla's reasoning to stay with Waldina sounds better to me, I cannot deny it, as much as I'd love to see more of that guy. But well, Waldina might require her support, she seems to be really sick and could be grateful for having some company.
I also have the bad feeling that negotiations with Theon won't go well regarding Bear Island and the ironwood. That man can be hard to reason with and at worst, this might be yet another war for him to fight.
Wylla
The oaken door to Frenken’s chambers stood a crack open, somewhat inviting to the adventurous eye, but not Wylla’s. Ask anyone arou… morend the realm and they would boast of the Farman Mermaid and her formidable strength, Wylla felt extremely weak in the presence of the one place in Faircastle she had no control in. She bit her lip before rising her hand to the door and tapping on the wood.
“I said I’m not hungry you wench!” Frenken shouted bitterly, walking to the door before his eyes widened at the sight of Wylla, causing him to gulp. “My Lady,” he mumbled awkwardly, before his anger returned to his eyes. “What do you want?” he muttered, crossing his arms. Wylla frowned, eying the borders of the oak door.
“Can I come in?” she asked softly, and for a moment it appeared she would be denied even that much from her husband, but at the final second he gave in, standing away from the door. Wylla hesitantly walked in, the door being shut … [view original content]
Ah, I wanted to choose Wyvern. That guy seems to be priceless I already like him, even if I am unlikely to ever pronounce that name right without sounding like having a speech impairment. Too many W's and V's, but I guess that is part of the appeal. However, I think Wylla's reasoning to stay with Waldina sounds better to me, I cannot deny it, as much as I'd love to see more of that guy. But well, Waldina might require her support, she seems to be really sick and could be grateful for having some company.
Hahaha yes, believe me you are not the only one He's a bit of a tongue twister, and even Jorian routinely made mistakes with pronouncing his name, going by Wyvern Wyrvel for a while Hopefully all of these Manderly names will individualise for you as they have done for me in due time, though unfortunately you'll all have to suffer as more get introduced Waldina would indeed be happy for Wyona's support in this matter, especially being her only sister, and plus it would give the opportunity to learn more about the Siren Of course, the alternative choice is just as interesting too
[Stay with Waldina]
Ah, I wanted to choose Wyvern. That guy seems to be priceless I already like him, even if I am unlikely to ever pron… moreounce that name right without sounding like having a speech impairment. Too many W's and V's, but I guess that is part of the appeal. However, I think Wylla's reasoning to stay with Waldina sounds better to me, I cannot deny it, as much as I'd love to see more of that guy. But well, Waldina might require her support, she seems to be really sick and could be grateful for having some company.
I also have the bad feeling that negotiations with Theon won't go well regarding Bear Island and the ironwood. That man can be hard to reason with and at worst, this might be yet another war for him to fight.
Wylla
The oaken door to Frenken’s chambers stood a crack open, somewhat inviting to the adventurous eye, but not Wylla’s. Ask anyone arou… morend the realm and they would boast of the Farman Mermaid and her formidable strength, Wylla felt extremely weak in the presence of the one place in Faircastle she had no control in. She bit her lip before rising her hand to the door and tapping on the wood.
“I said I’m not hungry you wench!” Frenken shouted bitterly, walking to the door before his eyes widened at the sight of Wylla, causing him to gulp. “My Lady,” he mumbled awkwardly, before his anger returned to his eyes. “What do you want?” he muttered, crossing his arms. Wylla frowned, eying the borders of the oak door.
“Can I come in?” she asked softly, and for a moment it appeared she would be denied even that much from her husband, but at the final second he gave in, standing away from the door. Wylla hesitantly walked in, the door being shut … [view original content]
Also, I noticed Wyvern has a different last name. Is he related to the other Manderly's?
Wyvern certainly is. I drew up a family tree a while ago but I admit it was quite poor and I don't believe it's accessible unless you scroll back to when I posted i. However Wyvern is the bastard son of Wyman, and the founder of House Vyrwel, though not much of a lord as it may seem
[Go with Wyvern] Well this option won't win, but I just have to vote for it, because I really like Wyvern And this storyline in general seems very interesting, connecting the South and the North. Looking forward to more!
Wylla
The oaken door to Frenken’s chambers stood a crack open, somewhat inviting to the adventurous eye, but not Wylla’s. Ask anyone arou… morend the realm and they would boast of the Farman Mermaid and her formidable strength, Wylla felt extremely weak in the presence of the one place in Faircastle she had no control in. She bit her lip before rising her hand to the door and tapping on the wood.
“I said I’m not hungry you wench!” Frenken shouted bitterly, walking to the door before his eyes widened at the sight of Wylla, causing him to gulp. “My Lady,” he mumbled awkwardly, before his anger returned to his eyes. “What do you want?” he muttered, crossing his arms. Wylla frowned, eying the borders of the oak door.
“Can I come in?” she asked softly, and for a moment it appeared she would be denied even that much from her husband, but at the final second he gave in, standing away from the door. Wylla hesitantly walked in, the door being shut … [view original content]
Wylla
The oaken door to Frenken’s chambers stood a crack open, somewhat inviting to the adventurous eye, but not Wylla’s. Ask anyone arou… morend the realm and they would boast of the Farman Mermaid and her formidable strength, Wylla felt extremely weak in the presence of the one place in Faircastle she had no control in. She bit her lip before rising her hand to the door and tapping on the wood.
“I said I’m not hungry you wench!” Frenken shouted bitterly, walking to the door before his eyes widened at the sight of Wylla, causing him to gulp. “My Lady,” he mumbled awkwardly, before his anger returned to his eyes. “What do you want?” he muttered, crossing his arms. Wylla frowned, eying the borders of the oak door.
“Can I come in?” she asked softly, and for a moment it appeared she would be denied even that much from her husband, but at the final second he gave in, standing away from the door. Wylla hesitantly walked in, the door being shut … [view original content]
Comments
That was a good part. I wonder how these hallucinations will effect him.
By the way, I wanted to let you know that I sent you a pm.
Man, Gareth is an unbelievably insufferable asshole
What comes to Steffon though, jeez, whatever's going on with him is not good. I only wonder if these hallucinations are of some natural cause, or if there is some kind of magic involved here. Nonetheless, I'm interested to see what happens next.
Hey there guys! So I apologise for my lateness in bringing out a new part, I can assure you I've got a new one ready! I'd also like to announce that I've only got one more week of school until my break, so hopefully my pace will quicken some more and I'll be able to finish Chapter 3 finally!
Anyway, without further ado, allow me to give you the newest part; which goes to Nathan.
The last time we saw Nathan, he held strong ambitions to go to Stone Hedge and murder the Bracken's, yet it was clear that Rayvani of Asshai did not approve of his plan. After falling asleep, he later woke up to find Rayvani and their captive: Talia, missing, as well as his sword: Lightbringer. Nathan decided to continue on with his plan, and did so until hearing the sound of horses, which led him to investigate. He stumbled across a half a dozen Bracken soldiers, one of which he killed before being spotted. You were faced with the decision on what to do next, and you chose for Nathan to attack them. This part takes place immediately after the last.
There's also another new and short part to compliment the really limited lengths of these two news parts, which I apologise for. It's a Warrick part
Last time we saw Warrick, he had decided to head to the Great Hall with Lady Emilee as opposed to following the crowd to see the Lannister/Banefort tension. Warrick laid on the side of paranoia and caution, searching the keep for signs of danger. Yet as he was doing this, Emilee was suddenly stabbed by one of her 'handmaidens,' who made a run for it immediately after. You chose to stay with Emilee as opposed to chasing down the attacker.
Nathan
He tightened his grasp around the sword, gritting his teeth as he saw the paranoid eyes of the soldier scanning the horizon. Fuck it, Nathan decided, taking a final glance at his possible escape. Nathan remained prone beside the lifeless corpse of the soldier he had just slain. The pursuing soldier stopped by the grass before Nathan; his eyes looking across the fields.
Nathan cautiously inhaled a breath before grabbing at the man’s tabard and thrusting his blade through the man’s neck. The paranoid eyes of the gaunt soldier widened in shock as blood gurgled out of his mouth and down his chin; his hand seizing around the hilt of his sheathed sword. Nathan freed his opponent’s sword from its scabbard, then dislodging his own from the soldier’s throat. The thud of his twitching corpse on the ground gained the attention of his comrades.
“Bloody hell,” one gasped, quickly reaching for his axe. Nathan advanced, spinning his swords before lunging his left into the collar of the man who was still coming to his senses. He sunk to the ground with the bronze sword lodged into his shoulder as Nathan turned to meet a heavy strike from one of the remaining soldiers. He parried the attack with a risen blade, diverting the soldier’s longsword into the soil.
Nathan was met by his second attacker before he could finish his first, of whom he kicked over speedily before dodging the first swing of his new opponent’s axe. The second swing Nathan managed to parry, throwing a counter punch into the man’s jaw with his free hand. Momentarily stumbled, Nathan made an advance, thrusting the short sword into the man’s chest piece. Had it been Lightbringer, the gambeson would’ve moulded around the Valyrian steel and emerged in the blood of her opponent, yet Nathan was left in disappointment as the bronze blade barely pierced through the hardened leather.
Nathan lifted the blade for a heavy attack as the man was about to recover his posture, but was abruptly knocked to the ground with a leg swipe from the other soldier. The third soldier took the opportunity to thrust his sword towards Nathan’s face, which he merely dodged, resulting in the bronze plunging into the ground a couple of centimetres from his face. The second attacker now lifted his axe to bring down on Nathan’s chest, which Nathan prevented with a kick to the chest, just in time to meet his first opponent.
The man jumped onto him, a dagger clutched in his hands. Nathan caught his wrists, stopping the bronze from piercing through his leather gear, if only just. The man applied all of his strength into his one goal, which Nathan fought powerfully to stop, barely holding the bronze above his chest. Nathan brought his knee into the man’s side, releasing the pressure just enough for Nathan to gain the upper hand.
The two men rolled over, bringing Nathan on top. He threw a punch at the man’s eye before turning to his dagger, which he bashed against the ground until his hand released the weapon. In his peripherals he spotted the third attacker charging at him with his longsword. Nathan grabbed his current opponent by the collar of his gambeson, rolling to their right and lifting his opponent above him. A painful wail escaped the man as his comrade unsuspectedly lunged his blade through the soldier.
Nathan utilised the confusion and shock, quickly tackling the disorientated soldier to the ground. He secured his hands around the man’s neck, pressing down which all of his strength; fear flooded into the man’s eyes. A sudden jolt of agonising pain sparked through Nathan’s upper back, forcing him to release the man beneath him. He tumbled off the soldier, scrambling a few metres before turning to see the man above him with a bloodied axe; a menacing look on his eyes.
He knelt down, taking his axe by the head and pressing it against Nathan’s throat. “I’m going to make you suffer for what you’ve fucking done,” he spat, digging the blade into Nathan’s neck. Blood oozed fresh around the bronze and down the side of Nathan’s neck, and in a flash, the tension released. Nathan blinked to find a wooden shaft sticking through the skull of his executor, a bloody iron arrow tip sticking out the bottom of his jaw. The fuck?
By the time Nathan had lifted the body off of him, the other Bracken soldier had been met to a similar grim fate, with an iron axe planted deep into his skull. Nathan buried his hand in the shoulder of the warm corpse he held, letting out a sigh of relief. This was quickly replaced with a spiking pain which resided in his upper back, and a sting on his neck. Nathan groaned, pushing the corpse off of him; his eyes lifted to meet the gaze of his rescuer.
Nathan’s gaze first landed on the familiar sight of the red woman. She rushed to him with a concerned look on her eyes, kneeling by him and inspecting his wounds. “Where the fuck have you been?” Nathan grumbled as Rayvani placed a hand over his neck wound. “Seeking allies,” she muttered in response, turning her gaze back to the lone man that accompanied her.
The man approached with a smirk wide across his bearded face; which fell to his upper chest and was tied into a knot. His hair was blonde, shorn short around the sides and lengthier at the top, which was braided back. His confident eyes were a light blue, and his posture reeked of cockiness. He wore a short sleeved red shirt with a studded leather brigandine and bracers, and a light brown fur cloak over the top of this. Yet what caught Nathan’s eye was the weapon he held in his hand; a Valyrian steel longsword with an orange glow. Lightbringer.
“Lord Fisher, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” the man stated with a smirk, sheathing Lightbringer into his scabbard. “I am Erich Hoare.”
No decision.
Warrick
The Enforcer rushed to Lady Emilee’s aid without a flash of hesitation, dropping to his knees and applying pressure on her flesh wound. The eyes of the dazed girl wandered aimlessly across the ceiling, their movement weak and straining; they winced as Warrick’s tough hands touched her wound. Her eyes began to flutter shut after a moment, awakening Warrick’s panic.
“Keep your eyes open, Emilee! That’s right, look at me,” he begged her, calling at her gaze with his worried eyes. She managed the strength to deny him with a shake of her head. “Warrick…” she mumbled weakly, but the old warrior only shook his head. “Don’t talk, you must save your strength,” he stated hastily, but the girl ignored him.
“You must take care…” her voice trailed off as she began to fall out of consciousness, which Warrick forbid her the luxury. She wailed as Warrick applied more pressure on her wound, her hand grasping Warrick’s forearm. “Take care of him,” she begged, tears welling up in her eyes. Warrick shook his head arrogantly.
“You will be alright,” Warrick tried to assure her, but she could see through Warrick’s uncertainty. “Take care of him,” she repeated quietly, her grasp on him weakening. Warrick’s opposing hand left her wound and sat on her hand, clutching around her fragile fingers tightly.
“You’re not going to die here! You hear me? You and Bryce, you’ll get married, and you’ll have children of your own. You’ll see,” Warrick mumbled in an attempt of persuasion, but it was too late. Emilee’s eyes closed shut on him, her weak hand no more. Warrick gulped with the tight clump in his throat. “Emilee?” he mumbled melancholically, though no signs on her resting body gave a response. Blood started to ooze out from underneath the hand that was occupied with clamping her shoulder.
Warrick released her limp, soft hand; the silky white skin was coated in a layer of dark red, which fell onto her light dress. Warrick applied more pressure onto her wound until the blood loss was minimal, and then he waited for what felt like a lifetime; just staring at her weak expression. “I will,” he finally promised with a hushed tone. The doors to the Great Hall thundered open, begging the wet gaze of Warrick’s dark brown eyes.
Six men entered the room, accompanied by a small host of Lantell guards. Bryce Lantell led the small guest party into his hall with a wide grin on his lips, and behind him his father: Maxwell Lannister, followed with a look of pride in his eyes. They were accompanied by Warrick’s halfwit lord brother: Mericus, as well as the two sons of King Tybolt: Tylar and Loras Lannister. Another boy followed, which Warrick recognised to be Lawsen Yew, the younger brother to Lady Emilee; he was the first to react to the scene.
“Emilee!” he screamed in shock, sprinting passed the crowd towards Warrick and his lifeless sister. This was quickly followed up by her husband-to-be, and then the rest. The two fell to their knees in distress as they saw Warrick’s hands over the wound. “EMILEE!” Lawsen squeaked in tears, while Bryce clenched his fists. Maxwell turned his gaze to Warrick, and then his brother.
“Lord Mericus, take Lawsen away,” he ordered, and Warrick’s obedient brother did so without question. Lawsen kicked and yelled as Mericus pulled him away from his sister, dragging him outside the hall. Maxwell shook his head, “what in the hell happened?” he grumbled. Warrick shook his head, unable to answer, while Bryce meanwhile seethed beside him.
“This was your fault,” he muttered under his breath, tightening his fists, making Warrick’s eyes widen. “I was trying to protect her!” Warrick exclaimed, but by then it was too late. Bryce pounced on Warrick with a menace, throwing his hardest towards him. Warrick merely covered himself with his bloody hands, only infuriating Bryce further. “YOU KILLED HER!” he shouted mindlessly, breaking Warrick’s defences and landing a couple of solid punches on Warrick before he was pulled off by Tylar and Loras.
“Enough of this!” Maxwell yelled, standing between the melancholic mess of an old warrior, and the blood angry widower. Before long the guards came to Lady Emilee’s aid, rushing her to the healers. Bryce broke himself away from the Lannister’s, quickly following after his fiancé while Warrick crumbled to the floor.
“I killed her…” Warrick lamented to himself, causing Loras Lannister to raise an eyebrow, but Maxwell shook his head. “What happened here, Warrick?” he asked, kneeling down beside him; he put an arm over Warrick’s shoulder. “An assassin,” Warrick mumbled miserably. “An assassin?” Maxwell asked, to which Warrick nodded.
“Who? What did they look like?” Tylar asked with a rushed tone, causing Warrick to frown heavily. “A handmaiden. Pale skin, dark hair,” Warrick briefly described, shaking his head, “she ran before I could do anything,” Warrick added, making Tylar nod. “We’ll take a look around,” Tylar decided, tapping his brother’s shoulder, who scoffed. “How do we know he’s not lying? We should interrogate him!” he suggested boldly, but his brother simply pulled him away.
Before long, the hall was entirely empty save for Warrick and Maxwell; the man that had been like a father for Warrick during his childhood. Maxwell sighed, placing a hand on Warrick’s shoulder and frowning. “I did not expect that we would meet during such dark times,” Maxwell admitted, but Warrick had nothing to contribute but a grunt. “Come, we must talk,” Maxwell beckoned, rising from the floor; Warrick shook his head.
“I have to find the killer,” Warrick argued, pushing himself off the floor. He reached for Honour, which had rested beside him during the event. “I understand your sentiment, son, but we should let Loras and Tylar search the keep first. Without a doubt Bryce will be searching with all of his forces too, plus I believe that there are more pressing motives going on around here than what meets the eye. Please,” Maxwell beckoned briefly, to which Warrick looked at him with a perplexed gaze.
He wondered how a man could be so pragmatic. His gaze flicked down to the pool of Emilee’s blood, and then to Maxwell again. I know what she looks like, Warrick thought vengefully, clenching his fist. Yet perhaps Maxwell was right; there may have been stronger motives behind all of this.
[Talk with Maxwell] [Search for the killer]
Oooh, now that fight scene was amazing, the best one in the story so far. Nathan is terrific in there, truly not the kind of guy I'd want to cross. That said, taking down six men at once might have been a bit too much even for him and I guess he would have died if not for his unexpected new ally. Erich Hoare, that is probably the last guy I'd expect to team up with a Red Priestess. I don't know what she promised him in return for his help, but I bet Lightbringer is part of it. That said, as terrifying as such an alliance is, I really doubt it will last. We don't know much about Erich yet, but I could totally see him being almost as dangerous to his allies than he is to his enemies. However, I am highly intrigued by this, if anything, this team-up is guaranteed to be highly entertaining
[Talk with Maxwell]
Okay, that was not an easy choice. Initially, I believed that searching for the killer would be the better option, mostly because I am not sure about Maxwell's argument here. Surely, the more people search for that killer, the better. And Warrick is the only one who knows how the handmaiden looks, so his help could be incredibly valuable. In a way, I still believe that this is a good choice and I might even change my vote later on, because I am not sure about my own reasoning here. However, hear me out. The thing is, Maxwell's argument is a relatively weak one, so I believe that he knows more than he is willing to say, at least right now and in such an open environment. If we talk to him in private, he might be willing to share some information. He himself has to know that his argument is not the best, so he might hope for Maxwell to talk to him, so that he can reveal more. A wild goose chase for a handmaiden that has probably left the castle already could be successful, but it could also be a huge waste of time, whereas talking to Maxwell could actually give us results that could lead closer to uncovering the truth behind this.
Hahaha, I'm glad you liked it. Unfortunately these parts have been pretty short, mostly because I've been a bit tired while writing them but also it's just trying to get back into my writing mind, as I'm very much still in the analytical concise mode that I've needed to be in for the past few months
You might be a little surprised with Erich Hoare, as we'll soon learn he's not like the Hoare's of Bear Island. Anyway, I'll leave the rest for later parts, but I think he'll turn out to be a very interesting character, whether his alliance with the R'hllor team holds up or not 
[Search for the killer]
Well, I guess we couldn't really do anything to save Emilee. This "wedding" seems to have a lot of strange events happening around it. That said, I don't believe Maxwell knows any more information than what we already know. After all, he did just arrive with the Lannister's. Plus, Warrick, is the only one who has seen the assassin and knows what she looks like. His help searching for her would be invaluable. Plus, if he helps capture her, he might be able to get more information out of her as to why she assassinated Emilee and what is really going on.
sneaky will send Cedrick with Lexia vote close after two months of neglect
Vengeance
[Search for the killer]
What a part! I had a feeling Emilee would end up dying here so I was prepared but it was still a very sad scene nonethless. It was a very written scene that showed the disappointment of everyone there, great part!
[Talk with Maxwell]
I have a feeling that the killer has escaped and we won't be able to find her anyway and I feel that Maxwell has some very important information that Warrick needs to hear whether it is about Emilee or not so we should hear him out. There is something important that needs to be heard I believe and now may be the best time to hear it
[Search for the killer] I just think we should take the opportunity here. Sure, the killer might've already escaped, but if there is even a tiny chance to catch her with this choice, it should be taken.
Btw Stigz, since I can't access my older notifications thanks to the update, I can't currently get my hands on our PM discussion. So, if you happen to have that bookmarked or something, send me a message so I can do the same. If not, well, I'll probably send you a new pm after I've done some progress with the submissions and drawings.
Yeah all good, I've chucked you a PM
Hey Stigz, I wanted to let you know that I sent you a pm.
Hey, I'm just wondering, but did you see the pm I sent you?
Hey Tales, I have and I plan to reply to your message either tonight or tomorrow, being it my last stressful day of the term. I will say I love your characters, and with the amount of Yronwood's now I believe that there needs to be a more permanent PoV in Yronwood. I'll talk more about this in the PM, but rest assured I have seen it, and this final batch have been an excellent addition to your amazing house
I was just making sure you saw the latest additions. Also, thanks, and I can't wait to discuss this further, in the pm.
Well it's been a week, and it's certainly past time I close this vote! Warrick will search for the killer. This will lead to a very interesting outcome, that much is certain, especially when the urge for blood is driven to avenge someone who just died in your hands. We'll see more of Warrick in the next part, and how that plays out.
I'd like to announce that I am finally on term break, so I should have a lot more time to write, starting with this next part. It's a Tylar part, and here's a short recap: last time we saw the Heir of the Rock, he had prepared to launch an attack on the Banefort cavalry that massed outside the gates of Silentport, the seat of House Lantell, which they were heading to attend the wedding of Bryce Lantell and Emilee Yew. Maxwell Lannister, Tylar's uncle, engaged in negotiations with the Banefort's before Tylar would attack, and in the midst of these negotiations, Tylar's impatient brother: Loras, charged towards the Banefort's, who turned in retreat. Tylar brought the rest of the Lannister forces to Silentport, where they were met by Lord Bryce Lantell, and invited into his hall. This part takes place after the recent Warrick part, where they have discovered a bleeding Emilee with a suspicious culprit lying over her: Warrick.
Tylar
Loras groaned with impatience as Tylar inspected the clattered pots in the kitchens, causing the older brother to frown. There wasn’t much he could tell from a few scattered cooking utensils other than they had been knocked over, and seemingly from a fright. Tylar pulled himself up, his gaze searching around the kitchen for some sort of clue, which his impatient brother did not help with.
“Are we done here yet?” Loras muttered, unsheathing the ancestral longsword that was once known as Blood Pride, and wielded by the Kings of the Rock before Loras got his hands on it. He disgraced the ancient weapon by renaming it ‘Last Words,’ and waved it around in a boastful manner whenever he was in Tylar’s presence. By right, the sword should have gone to the eldest son, yet it went to Loras instead, which he took great pride in reminding Tylar of.
“You know, I think I might gut this assassin with Last Words once we get our hands on him,” Loras proclaimed, lifting the tinted red bronze to his face and inspecting the shine. Tylar simply rolled his eyes, walking to the door. “Sure,” Tylar stated, entering the hall. Loras followed after with a bored strut, twirling Last Words between his fingers.
Tylar was surprised to see Warrick still in the Hall as they returned, his bronze great sword sitting on his lap. Two Lannister soldiers stood with him, one with a hand on his hilt and a stern, uneasy glare on the Enforcer, and the other holding a cage with two lion cubs. Loras grinned as he saw them, sheathing Last Words into its scabbard and prowling over to the guard with the cubs. Tylar gave the other a nod, who looked immediately relieved to not be burdened with watching over the Enforcer.
“Alpha,” Loras grinned, pulling the light blonde cub from the cage. Tylar kept his gaze focused on Warrick, who stood himself up, sheathing his great sword. “Prince,” he muttered, keeping his gaze lowered. Tylar eyed him for a moment, studying his dark, menacing posture. “Enforcer,” Tylar replied shortly, flicking his gaze to Loras and his cub, and then back to Warrick. “Anything you can tell us about the assassin?” Tylar asked after a moment of silence, and Warrick nodded.
“She’ll be dead once we find her,” Warrick stated nonchalantly, pushing past Tylar and heading for a door at the side of the hall. Tylar raised an eyebrow, “she?” Tylar asked, and Loras too piped up, “we?” Warrick stopped at the door, his head lowered and a deathly look on his dark eyes.
“A woman plunged the dagger into the back of Lady Yew’s heart,” he informed them, pushing the door open with a hard nudge. “I know her face. I’ll find her,” he stated, entering the room without another word. Tylar turned his gaze back to Loras, who looked back at Tylar with bitter eyes.
“How dare that beast speak to us like that,” Loras exclaimed, placing his cub on the stone floor. Alpha circled around to the blood pool that still remained soaking into the stone. Tylar sighed, walking over to the guard and reaching for Skarn, who waited patiently for his master. “Lord Maxwell said you’d need them, my Prince,” the guard recited, to which Tylar nodded.
“Thank you,” Tylar said, dismissing the man. He placed the cub on the floor, who joined his brother by the blood pool, causing Tylar to marvel at the size difference of the two cubs. Look how much you have grown, Tylar thought as he watched the two cubs interact, Skarn standing a head taller than Alpha. Before long, the two cubs chased each other into the room that Warrick disappeared into, causing Loras to groan.
“Let’s go,” he growled, unsheathing Last Words and following after the bloody footsteps of the cubs. Tylar frowned, unsheathing his own sword: the Storm. What Loras did not understand was Tylar’s apathetic nature to his inheritance of the ancestral blade of House Lannister. He was not like the kings of the Rock, like the Lannister’s of the West. Tylar had the light brown hair of his mother, and truly felt the only thing making him a Lannister was his emerald eyes. He never wanted to be the heir to a kingdom, nor a son of the richest man in Westeros. He wanted his own life, his own legacy. The Storm was a start.
-
The room they had entered had led them to a wine cellar underneath the hall of the keep, which was dimly lit and humid. Warrick had barred them into the basement to prevent the woman from escaping. She was trapped down here.
“Now what?” Loras asked with a touch of impatience, a feeling which Warrick displayed in his time-ticking body. His fists clenched around his bronze sword: Honour, as his peeled eyes scanned past the large kegs and barrels and into the darkness. Tylar knelt down, placing his hand on the back of Skarn’s furry neck.
“Now we wait,” Tylar stated calmly, pushing his cub forward. The proud animal ran off with obedience, followed by Alpha, who desperately tried to outrun his larger brother. Loras rolled his eyes, fingering the edge of Last Words. “How do we know there was even a girl in the first place? Who says it wasn’t the animal who smashed infant’s skulls into a wall?” Loras spat, causing Tylar to shoot him a glare, but Loras had none of it.
“Who’s going to find us down here if the Enforcer decides to hack us apart?” Loras muttered, and it took Tylar a moment to realise that there was fear riddled into his bitter tone. A bloodthirsty smirk quivered on the Enforcer’s lips. “Do I scare you, boy?” Warrick taunted, causing Loras to gulp. “Enough,” Tylar muttered, and the Enforcer obediently lowered his gaze, but Loras was not as cunning.
“You’re a loyal one aren’t you? True to my father, to the Prince Who Ran, and my exiled brother. Perhaps I’ll have to teach obedience to you as well, I’ll make a good hound out of you,” Loras quipped, to which Warrick stood, lifting Honour off of the wooden barrel it sat upon. He approached Loras, and Tylar stared with watchful eyes.
“I serve your father for the respect I have for your uncle,” Warrick stated, taking a step towards Loras, “I serve your brother for the respect I hold for him as a commander.” Warrick took another step closer, and Tylar could spot the tension in Loras’ eyes, his hands trembling around the hilt of Last Words. “And I served Byran for the respect I had for him as a warrior, but I will not serve you; a coward and an ignorant boy in a man’s world,” Warrick grumbled, and Tylar swore from the look on Loras’ eyes that his brother had pissed himself. A scream broke the suffocating tension.
Tylar’s gaze lifted in the direction that he heard it, the ears of Warrick and Loras closely listening as well. Before long, Tylar could hear the snarls and growls of Skarn and Alpha, followed by the petrified womanly screams. Before Tylar could even react, the Enforcer charged down the hall with thundering footsteps, and as Loras regained his composure, Tylar quickly followed on.
The trio ducked and weaved between the dark alleys of mead kegs and wine barrels, their movement swift and precise, their ears honing in on the predators of the darkness. The grunts of the cubs fell silent when the three of them arrived. Tylar’s gaze fell upon the shaking woman, pinned against the wooden keg with her uplifted bloody arms and hands. Her hair fell in long black locks, unruly but somewhat attractive. Her wet eyes peaked through the crevice between her arms, those familiar white eyes.
“You?” Tylar realised in shock as he recognised the Travelling Spider. “My Prince…” she mumbled, a look of relief on her teary eyes. “She’s mine,” Warrick muttered, lifting Honour above his head. Fear struck her trembling eyes as they turned to the Enforcer, a vengeful look on his near black eyes. “Please, I’m innocent…” she moaned, burying her head in her hands.
A brief moment of doubt crawled over Tylar’s skin, sending shivers down his spine. Something did not feel right, this did not feel right. Tylar’s hand tightened around the hilt of the Storm, a lump thick in his throat. Why would she do it? Tylar asked himself, and while he trusted the judgement of Warrick Westerling, there was an itch in his heart which screamed at him.
[Let Warrick take his vengeance] [Order Warrick to stop] [Parry the execution]
[Parry the execution]
They need her alive, so, she can be questioned. Also, In his rage and current state, I'm not sure just telling Warrick to stop will work.
[Parry the execution]
Something is seriously not right there. Warrick is surely not thinking straight right there, because even if she did this, it is as good as certain that she has not acted on her own will, but was working for someone else. On top of that, I doubt it can be said for sure that she's the killer. Warrick seems to recognize her and checking back, the descriptions between the Travelling Spider and the handmaiden match, so she obviously is involved in this somehow, but considering we haven't seen the actual deed, this could be a huge misunderstanding and she might not be the guilty party after all. Either way, keeping her alive is going to have more benefits. This way, she can either become an ally if innocent (on top of Warrick not killing the wrong woman) or she can give valuable information if guilty, after which she can still be executed. In any way, by just killing the murderer, we gain nothing to find out the people behind this assassination and won't get any closer to stopping them. And in this case, just ordering him to stop won't work, I doubt it. He is far too emotional for that right now, so Tylar got to outright parry this, as much as Warrick won't like it. But I hope that he will eventually calm down and realize how killing her right now will achieve nothing. The person responsible for the assassination is going to pay eventually, no matter if we kill this woman right now or later on.
Alright, so I won't close the voting just yet, but I do have the new part ready; which goes to Wylla. The last time we saw Wylla Farman she had decided to ask Lord Allie Vines to request if King Tydus Redwyne could contribute some of his fleet to taking Bear Island. Lord Allie promised he would ask before taking his leave, and before long the rest of the council dismissed themselves. Wylla later found herself dining with her family in the hall, where she and her husband: Franklyn, had a disagreement over who holds the true power over Fair Isle. This resulted in most of the family going their own ways, as Wylla had also offended her son by shaming his bride-to-be. Wylla admitted she needed to make amends, and you chose for her to seek out Franklyn. This part takes place reasonably close after where it concluded last.
Wylla
The oaken door to Frenken’s chambers stood a crack open, somewhat inviting to the adventurous eye, but not Wylla’s. Ask anyone around the realm and they would boast of the Farman Mermaid and her formidable strength, Wylla felt extremely weak in the presence of the one place in Faircastle she had no control in. She bit her lip before rising her hand to the door and tapping on the wood.
“I said I’m not hungry you wench!” Frenken shouted bitterly, walking to the door before his eyes widened at the sight of Wylla, causing him to gulp. “My Lady,” he mumbled awkwardly, before his anger returned to his eyes. “What do you want?” he muttered, crossing his arms. Wylla frowned, eying the borders of the oak door.
“Can I come in?” she asked softly, and for a moment it appeared she would be denied even that much from her husband, but at the final second he gave in, standing away from the door. Wylla hesitantly walked in, the door being shut behind her. A cold atmosphere choked the room of any warmth, with dark stone walls and tidy organised furniture that collected dust. It felt abandoned.
Wylla’s eyes trembled over the thick pages that sat on Frenken’s desk, and arguably between their marriage as well. A bronze stylus sat in a bottle of ink as the parchment dried by the candlelight. Wylla turned her shaky gaze to Frenken, who held a bitter glare on her. She sighed, clasping her hands together, “I know you’re upset, but I wanted to apologise,” she stated calmly with a soft tone. Frenken shook his head, walking away from the door and to his desk, where a cup of Arbor red resided.
“Who are you?” he grumbled, taking a drink from his wine. Wylla raised an eyebrow to the question, and thought a moment before answering. He wishes to establish his dominance over me, she realised pitifully. “Your wife,” she answered, to which Frenken nodded. “My wife,” he remarked, downing the rest of his cup, “so why do you try to act the head of this house?” Frenken sighed, pouring himself another cup. Wylla shook her head.
“There’s no mistaking it, my Lord. You are the head of this house,” she assured him with a confident tone. And I am the neck which operates it, she wanted to add, but clamped down her tongue. This brought a small smirk to his lips. “That’s right,” he acknowledged to himself. “I am the lord. I am the head of House Farman, a proud house that once held complete naval control over the west, often engaging in wars with the Redwyne’s and Ironborn, yet now…” Frenken chuckled, shaking his head. “Now I have to find myself kissing the boots of a Redwyne while I marry my son off to an Ironborn bitch all because my wife wished it be so. All for Manderly dominance. Tell me, whose wife are you?” he asked with a sharp tone, making Wylla wince.
“Your wife,” she repeated hesitantly, causing Frenken to throw his cup across the room. Arbor red stained the sheets of his bed. “Then why do choose not to serve me?! You choose your family over our own!” he yelled, fury burning in his eyes. Wylla held her strong composure, standing tall and with dignity. “You misunderstand, I do this because-” Wylla started, but Frenken cut her off with a sharp glare.
“No, wife. It is you who misunderstands. You misunderstand your role, your position, your power. I took to your father’s faith, and I am writing this fucking book about his deities, and the reward I get is a wife who humiliates me in my own hall? In front of my own children? No longer,” he vowed, walking to his desk and shutting his book. “I should have listened to Howett from the start,” he muttered, brushing the ink pot off the table. Wylla frowned.
“Husband…” she mumbled softly, but Frenken shook his head. “As of now you have no place on the court, and the matters of my house shall fall into my hands. Hells, I’d send you back to your shit of a father were it not for this weak position you’ve put us in,” Frenken bickered, putting the book into his desk draw. Wylla clenched her fists, trying to hold down her anger. “You mistake me, Lord. I’d never put my children into harm’s way,” she seethed in return, glaring at him, to which he rolled his eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t,” he muttered, walking to the door and opening it.
“For the sake of the children I will hear no more of this. We have a wedding to hold, and you will be in charge of organising it,” he informed her, beckoning for her to egress. A strong urge crawled over her, screaming at her to punch him in his gaunt face, yet ego prevailed and she walked passed him and out the door. The oak slammed shut behind her, leaving her in the cool breeze of the keep.
-
The eastern light flooded over the lands of Westeros and reached Fair Isle as a red dot on the horizon, the sky bleeding with anticipation of a storm. Wylla stood with her arms crossed as activity buzzed around her in the early morning at the city centre. The water that erupted out of the stone fountain reflected a pink glow from the morning sky, yet gave the deception that it spewed blood from the depths below.
Wylla felt it, a dark and cruel pain deep in her chest which persisted, not of a physical injury, but one of pride. Her husband had the audacity to believe he could dismiss her from the court, it make her sick, and it made her furious. She had the power to level Faircastle if she wished it, she had allies all around the city that supported her, and she was the true ruler of House Farman, even if her foolish husband was too naive to see it.
“M’lady?” a commoner’s voice weakly sounded from behind her, forcing her to turn to meet the gaunt girl that stood behind her. She was young, perhaps a few years younger than Elyana, and in his hands he clutched a silver coin. Wylla smiled, kneeling down to the girl’s height.
“How can I help you, little one?” Wylla asked with a soft and melodic tone, but the girl seemed to shy away at the kindness. “My Pa, he fights with the Ironman again,” she mumbled, causing Wylla to frown. Eddin is drunk again, she thought bitterly as her eyes wandered down to the coin. “And what is this?” Wylla asked curiously in an attempt to take the girl’s mind off her angst. The little one gave a weak smile, but a smile at that.
“My lucky coin!” she squeaked, clutching it closer to her chest. Wylla gave her a warm smile, running her thick fingers through her tough knotted hair. “How about you point me in the direction of your Papa while you go treat yourself to some sweats?” Wylla suggested, and the girl’s eyes widened in joy as Wylla freed a few silvers from her purse and tucked it into the girl’s small hand. In return, the little one pointed over to towards the Lonely Sailor’s inn, which was where Wylla expected. She patted the girl on the shoulder pulled herself from the ground, heading for the inn.
It wasn’t long until she could hear the cheers, and then see the crowd gathered around the two men brawling in the centre. Wylla pushed her way through the group of men and tavern whores until she found herself in the centre of the crowd, where Eddin clumsily threw another punch at the father of the little girl. Wylla caught Eddin’s by his wrist before he could land the hit, causing him to fall into her arms with a drunken slumber.
“That’s enough!” she yelled angrily, spreading a hush over the crowd. The father, whom Wylla recognised to be a fisherman from the looks of his gear, spat out a tooth and some blood. “That bastard threatened to take my little girl as a salt wife! The sick fuck!” He screamed, trying to lunge himself at Eddin, yet the crowd finally took the initiative to hold him back with the presence of their Lady. Eddin snorted, trying to push himself out of Wylla’s arms.
“Aye, she’d give a tight fuck, without a doubt,” he chuckled, groping Wylla’s tit. Wylla shook her head with a sneer. That’s enough, she decided, lifting the Ironborn above her head before throwing him back to the ground. His body fell limp as he met the stone pavement with a clunk, encouraging a gasp from the crowd. Before long the Farman guards rushed to the scene with unsheathed swords and shields. “Clear out you ff-” The guard stumbled on his words as his eyes met Lady Wylla’s.
“M’lady,” he noticed with a surprised tone, lowering his sword. “We did not expect to see you here…” he awkwardly mumbled as he quickly sheathed his blade, motioning for his companion to do the same. Wylla let out a frustrated sigh, taking a step back and running a hand through her hair. “Take Lord Eddin to the cells, I’ll have words with him later,” she ordered, and the guards followed the command obediently.
When the limp unconscious Ironborn was out of their sight, and the crowd had dispersed, Wylla turned her attention to the father of the little girl. “I won’t let him go unpunished for this. You have my word,” Wylla assured him, but all the fisherman could do was nod. “May I have my daughter back now?” he asked impatiently, wiping the blood from his upper lip away with the back of his hand. Wylla eyed him for a moment before nodding.
“She’s at the city centre,” Wylla stated nonchalantly, and before long the fisherman took his leave. Wylla stood alone, staring at the pool of blood on the stone pavement with emotionless eyes. Her body felt locked in place, her eyes staring aimlessly and her ears wandering along the street. Tension had flooded the path, merchants and customers murmuring among each other as they stared at Wylla with repugnant eyes.
“I remember the first time you brought a man down like that,” a familiar tone sounded, causing Wylla to break from her paralysis and turn to meet the cold dark brown eyes of her older brother. The sight of him caused her own eyes to widen, and a fat smile to spread across her lips. “Walter?” the name barely escaped her lips before the two met each other in an embracement.
“Hello sister,” Walter greeted warmly, something uncharacteristic for him. Wylla smirked, pulling away from her brother. “I take it if you’re here then our father has approved of my proposition?” Wylla presumed, grasping Walter’s shoulders just to make sure he was indeed here. Walter nodded, crossing his arms. “Yes, we will take Bear Island,” he informed her, which brought some brightness to her dull day. Her eyes wandered down the street towards the dock.
“I take it you brought the Western Fleet?” Wylla stated, and Walter nodded, making Wylla smile. “Captain Wyvern is here then?” she asked, and Walter replicated his previous gesture. “As well as Waldina,” he stated nonchalantly, which caused Wylla to raise an eyebrow, and Walter to shrug. “She demanded she was brought along,” Walter briefly explained, and Wylla nodded.
“Of course,” she sighed, she knew this mission was no place for her sister to be involved, but perhaps her abilities could be of use. Perhaps they’re already in use, she also thought, running a hand through her hair. “Well, take me to them,” she urged him, to which he nodded, leading her down to the docks.
-
The Silver Spear was an accepted sight on the sore eyes of the Farman Fleet. The magnificent brig captained by Wyvern Vyrwel was a slim vessel, constructed from silver birch and welded from the fires of Valyria with an iron alloy resistant to rust. She was a light vessel, having little draw depth and few heavy weapons to weigh her down. It made her the fastest vessel of the Western Fleet, which explained why the tall masts of the Western Fleet were only now spottable in the southern horizon.
Wylla’s eyes travelled up the beige mast, where the shirtless muscular crew of the Silver Spear manually furled the black sails up to the yard arms. Her eyes fell back down to the helm of the vessel, where she spotted the captain of the ship. A smirk widened across her lips as she spotted the handsome bastard, who polished the helm with a greasy rag as he always did. His eye flickered only a moment from his work to notice Wylla, and when he did the rag was slipped into his back pocket, and his arms upraised.
“Farman Mermaid!” he greeted with a soothing voice, attracting the eyes of the close crew. He descended the steps to the deck, and then climbed onto the beam that brought him to the docks. A wide grin was spread across his lips. “It’s been too long,” he admitted, opening his arms and accepting Wylla’s embracement. Walter did not stop for courtesies, instead he only passed by them and climbed aboard the Silver Spear, but Wyvern paid no attention to this.
“It has been,” Wylla acknowledged, separating from his embracement. She had to eye the man up and down a few times to truly believe he was standing before her. Wyvern was arguably the most handsome bachelor of the Kingdom of the Seas, looking at least a decade younger than his true age. His natural black hair was dyed green and combed back, while his pencil moustache remained black and greased to shine. Wyvern only had one eye, which was a light grey that could easily be mistaken as silver, and over the other he wore a black leather eye patch with a trident engraved into it. Overall his facial features were rogue and dashing, with an angular jaw and dimpled chin.
“You look surprised,” Wyvern observed, his grin having subsided to a witty smirk. Wylla could not help but blush, lowering her eyes from his own. They landed on his loose white shirt, half-buttoned, revealing his black hairy chest. She didn’t lower her eyes any further. “Words cannot explain why I look this way,” she riddled to herself, making Wyvern chuckle.
“Come on, let’s get you a drink, you look exhausted,” Wyvern stated, beckoning her onto the Silver Spear. Wylla rolled her eyes, accepting his proposal and climbing aboard. Aye, because I’ve been awake so long, she thought bitterly as her mind drifted back to the wedding preparations. They would have to wait.
It wasn’t long until Wylla’s eyes landed on the beauty of her younger sister: Waldina. She rested against a barrel stooped over with a hand clutched over her stomach; her face pale and sickly. Wylla raised her eyebrows, inspecting her sister’s frail composure with concern. “Waldina?” Wylla spoke softly, and the warm dark brown eyes lifted only for a brief moment before she uplifted a bucket of bile onto the birch beams. A deep groan sounded from Wyvern, who reached for a flagon of water and a cup.
“Drink,” he ordered, passing her the cup. The Siren’s eyes weakly looked at the cup, before staring down at the mess at her feet with humiliation. “Drink,” he repeated impatiently, pushing the cup towards her, “it’ll help,” he assured her. After a moment, Waldina mustered the strength to take the cup, sipping the top layer slowly. Wylla fought hard to contain a smile. She had forgotten how it felt to be seasick; she had been on the seas for longer than she could remember.
Wyvern turned his gaze back to Wylla, who lifted her eyes up to him. “Just a little swell, it’ll pass once she gets some rest,” he assured Wylla dryly, leaving Waldina’s side. “So, why are we here?” Wyvern asked, heading for his quarters under the helm. Wylla raised an eyebrow as she followed him into the dim room. He doesn’t know?
Wyvern walked to the aft of his quarters, pulling open the curtains to allow for the natural light. Wylla meanwhile took a seat in the recliner by his desk, staring out to large Farman port. “Walter never told you?” she asked with a surprised tone, to which Wyvern shook his head, pulling out a bottle of whiskey from his spirts cabinet.
“I never asked,” he stated nonchalantly, freeing two glasses from the cabinet and placing them on his desk. “Warmond sent his orders, and when I saw the location of Fair Isle in the letter I didn’t hesitate on setting sail,” he claimed as he poured two glasses of whiskey. This caused Wylla to frown, but it was a warming thought to know that Wyvern was ready to drop everything to come to Wylla’s aid.
Wyvern offered the glass to Wylla, which she hesitantly accepted. Drinking at sunrise, Wylla thought, wafting the odour into her nose. I’m already falling under his poor influence, she thought amusedly as she took a sip. It was strong, hitting the back of her throat with a solid punch as she swallowed. Wyvern watched Wylla’s reaction with a smirk on his lips. “Strong stuff, eh? Wyatt slipped me a crate of them when I was last at the Merling Isles. They’re imported from Tyrosh,” he informed her, tasting his own. Wylla simply nodded, placing the glass on his desk and clasping her hands.
“We’re going to liberate Bear Island,” she stated bluntly, awaiting for a reaction. Instead, Wyvern sat himself on the side of his desk, savouring the taste of his whiskey before responding. “I heard that a third of the Iron Fleet are based at Bear Island,” he affirmed, holding his glass loosely in his hands. Wylla nodded, tapping her fingers against the arms of the recliner awkwardly.
“So we believe,” she muttered, “which is why I wanted the assistance of the Western Fleet,” she explained, to which Wyvern nodded. “It’ll be a tough battle,” he admitted dryly, taking another drink from his whiskey. “We may be gaining the support of the Redwyne’s as well,” she added in an attempt of assurance, causing Wyvern to smirk.
“A tough battle,” he reiterated, “not an unwinnable one,” he clarified, to which Wylla nodded. “So, in taking Bear Island you plan to… what? Gain friendly relations with the Stark’s?” he asked, to which Wylla nodded. “Open up a trade route, yes. There is word spreading about a house located within the Wolfswood of the North that has mastered the lumbering process of ironwood. I believe that our fleets could profit immensely with ships built of impregnable wood,” Wylla exclaimed, but Wyvern seemed uncertain about the idea.
“I’ve heard the Hungry Wolf cares about nothing else than war, drinking and fucking, and I can respect that. Nothing beats a good fuck, and certainly nothing beats a good drink,” Wyvern stated, studying the whiskey in his glass, “but men like that are hard to reason with, and even harder to bargain with.” Wyvern stood himself up from his desk, finishing his whiskey and walking to the rear windows of his quarters. “So what will you do if Theon Stark decides he doesn’t want our trade?” Wylla took a moment to think of a strong response to this, and admittedly she hadn’t thought much passed being denied a trade route. What kind of madman would deny an increase of wealth to their kingdom? Still, she knew he expected an answer.
“House Stark isn’t the only house of the North, and the Winter Kings are not the only realm of the North. If Theon does not accept our proposal then I will expand my offers to the other realms of the North, and beyond if need be. If he chooses not to accept, we will simply hold Bear Island as a bastion for our own,” Wylla answered, causing Wyvern to sigh. It was clear he wasn’t too sure about the idea, but he nodded regardless.
“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he claimed nonchalantly, running his finger and thumb over his moustache. Before Wylla could even consider responding, a knock at the door took the attention of Wyvern from her. “Come in,” he called, and one of the Silver Spear sailors entered hastily.
“Captain, Lord Franklyn invites you to his hall for breakfast. Lord Walter is waiting,” he informed them, to which Wyvern nodded, dismissing the man. Wyvern sighed, putting a cork back into the whiskey bottle and placing it back in the cabinet. He turned his gaze to Wylla, who held a heavy look on her own eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked, which caused Wylla to snap out of her trance.
“Nothing,” she muttered, grabbing her glass of whiskey. She hoped to find courage at the bottom of the glass, but instead she found a hell of a hit in the back of her throat, gasping her of air. Wyvern reached for the door, pulling it open. “You coming?” he asked, and Wylla took a moment to think the option over. She was still on rough terms with Franklyn from as far as she could tell, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to confront him.
“How’s Waldina look?” Wylla asked abruptly, to which Wyvern turned his gaze out to the deck. A smirk spread across his lips, and he shook his head. “She isn’t going anywhere,” he informed her, to which Wylla arose from her seat. Perhaps it would be better if she remained here, and tended to her sister. It wouldn’t be wise to show herself on board when Franklyn expected her to be working, and especially as she did not know how that whiskey was going to affect her. Though there was one thing she knew was certain. She couldn’t hide from him forever.
[Go with Wyvern] [Stay with Waldina]
[Parry the execution]
[Parry the execution] Way more useful to hear what she has to say than to just kill her.
[Parry the execution]
We should definitely hear what she has to say here since it could help us later on and she may actually be innocent.
Well, since everyone has voted quite clearly I'll bring this part to a close. Tylar will parry the execution. This choice will lead to some pretty devastating results in both Tylar's relationship with his brother and Warrick, but also physically for his sword
Although admittedly this might be the better alternative for Warrick, who is purely working out of a fit of rage here.
Double posts! Yiew
[Stay with Waldina]
[Stay with Waldina]
Ah, I wanted to choose Wyvern. That guy seems to be priceless
I already like him, even if I am unlikely to ever pronounce that name right without sounding like having a speech impairment. Too many W's and V's, but I guess that is part of the appeal. However, I think Wylla's reasoning to stay with Waldina sounds better to me, I cannot deny it, as much as I'd love to see more of that guy. But well, Waldina might require her support, she seems to be really sick and could be grateful for having some company.
I also have the bad feeling that negotiations with Theon won't go well regarding Bear Island and the ironwood. That man can be hard to reason with and at worst, this might be yet another war for him to fight.
Hahaha yes, believe me you are not the only one
He's a bit of a tongue twister, and even Jorian routinely made mistakes with pronouncing his name, going by Wyvern Wyrvel for a while 
Hopefully all of these Manderly names will individualise for you as they have done for me in due time, though unfortunately you'll all have to suffer as more get introduced 
Waldina would indeed be happy for Wyona's support in this matter, especially being her only sister, and plus it would give the opportunity to learn more about the Siren 
Of course, the alternative choice is just as interesting too 
[Stay with Waldina]
I guess Waldina might need her sister.
Also, I noticed Wyvern has a different last name. Is he related to the other Manderly's?
Wyvern certainly is. I drew up a family tree a while ago but I admit it was quite poor and I don't believe it's accessible unless you scroll back to when I posted i. However Wyvern is the bastard son of Wyman, and the founder of House Vyrwel, though not much of a lord as it may seem
made a character not sure if you'll like him but I try
Hey there Kaleb! Your character is very interesting, and I'd love talk more about your ideas over a PM. I'll shoot you one!
two more done
[Go with Wyvern] Well this option won't win, but I just have to vote for it, because I really like Wyvern
And this storyline in general seems very interesting, connecting the South and the North. Looking forward to more! 
[Go with Wyvern]