Blood and Fire: Chronicles of Westros (IC)

King's Landing

Capital of Westros, the home of the Iron Throne, center of trade, of The Faith, of the people itself. Many things could be said about this wonderful city, but in he end, it was still a city; one that grew up in starts and stops at its current shape. No, what made King's Landing special wasen't the city itself; it was the people. There where few other places in the world where you'd see bakers and smiths, thieves and whore, lord and knight, foreigners of The Free Cities and beyond, alongside each other in a sort of chaotic harmony. Oh, there was the muck and squalor, the scents of the unwashed masses; but it was certainly worth it.

Calyth especially enjoyed it today, looking up at the clear summer sky as he acceded from the Guildhall, leaving the cold black stone behind him. He'd spent nearly two weeks down in those grim, sandy cells, with only his small brotherhood of acolytes and Wisdoms to chase the loneliness away. Graned... the things he learned down their where worth it, but they weren't exactly entertaining unless put into full practice.

Of course, he had other things on his mind that day.... besides the visages looking down from the balconies on the Street of Silk, just a road over. Sparing he ladies a smile, he quickly started to work his way towards Aegon's High Hill, regaining his rhythm to twist through the crowds. The Red Keep loomed there... at least twice the size of Brother's Arms, but there where so many other things to see, it hardly took his attention. Vendors hawking their pies and fruit, reformers juggling and leaping, glimpses of men about their crafts as he passed by the door.

However, as he did this, his foot found a misplaced cobble, sending is body stumbling forward and into another person, knocking them both on their rumps. "Terribly sorry," He pushed himself up with is cane, offering a hand to the fallen. "My mistake."

Ean Stone

King's Landing, a tavern frequented by the Mountain.

Ean Stone liked what the Mountain had to say, so far. He just hoped that he wouldn't come to regret it. Knights were not what the legends and troubadours claimed. They were liars, thieves, rapists, and murderers as bad as any others, at least from his experience.

His instinct told him that the Mountain was the same, but Ean could use the money. He knew that the Mountain worked for Lord Tywin Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock and richest man in Westeros. A man wouldn't go poor working for the Lannisters, directly or otherwise. Ean trusted that Lord Tywin would hold the Mountain on a tight leash at least, more out of self-interest than out of scruples.

If not....well, he would deal with that issue if and when it happened. For now, he had to eat. The Lannisters' men never lacked for food, or so he assumed, given the wealth of that family.

"Alright, then, Ser Gregor, I'll join your company. I'm no knight, but I have my own skills to offer, especially from afar with the javelin. I also have the gift of making myself inconspicuous long enough to strike a deadly blow," he agreed at last, committing himself to things that he knew not yet. Compared with penury and vagrancy, it was still preferable to a man who knew only killing as a trade.

Gods help him if Ser Gregor ever learned that he was a fugitive from an angry knight. Then again, he doubted that the Mountain cared about the past of his men, as long as they fought for him. And it sure beat taking the black, which Ean almost did. Celibacy was not for him. He loved whores too much.

Hadick Tolgor. Somewhere past the Lion's Gate.

Hadick Tolgor walked along one of the main roads of King's Landing. He moved along past the Lion's gate and took in the sighs and more specifically the smells around him. He had only been to King's Landing a few times and every time the eruption of scents that assaulted him always caught him off guard. The nobleman from Steeliern was so used to the smell of forests and damp cold mountains that the smells of the Southern lands always surprised him and the focus of the cultural and sense's shock was always King's Landing.

Moving along he saw a pair of Gold cloaks questioning a shopkeeper while other merchants brazenly stuck every sort of food forward to the passerby. Hadick smelled four spices for each one he could identify and was starting to wander if it had been worth it to make the trip after all. He did not belong to the court in King's Landing and only attended them if he was asked to even when he did not announce his presence with as much bluster as King Robert was said to announce his belches. Yet it seemed if the Southernors had an issue and they sought a North man's perspective he would be approached and informed that he was needed in court and never be the wiser how it had occurred. The Spider is a crafty one, don't ever underestimate the eunuch he recalled his maester told once and so this trip he was on the watch for anyone who seemed to give him undo notice.

So he moved along to the Red Keep with his small group of retainers, fellow Northmen, but like him they had long ago attained clothing and armor that differed from the harsh browns and dull boiled leather. Successful tourneys had allowed Hadick finer garments and his dark blue doublet covered fairly new chainmail. A travel cloak slightly weary looking from long rides through the rain and the much was black going grey with the faded white sigil of House Tolgor on it's back. Moving past the Great Sept of Baelor he wandered what the business awaited him at the Red Keep.

Faye Arryn

Lady Faye enjoyed her morning walks in King´s Landing. Though she wished she could go alone on them, to be able to act on her whims and mingle with the crowds, she still appreciated having a bodyguard and a servant girl with her. As much as she liked the busy atmosphere, she was quite conscious of the dangers of the city. One of the soldiers that formed her father´s entourage had been stabbed during a gambling dispute in a tavern and, though he would not succumb to it, he was likely to bear that shameful scar for the rest of his life. Faye did not want to risk the same or worse, and even if she did, her father had been quite adamant about her always being protected and attended to.

Her business done, a few clothes, a couple trinkets and a curious alchemical composition bought (the last one for Maester Pycelle), she was on her way back to the Red Keep. Her clothes were simple by the Court´s standards: a grey dress that hugged her feminine figure, and a black cloak to hide it, resting on her shoulders and tied around her neck with a silvery chain. She also wore silvery piercings on her ears, bearing the emblem of her House but made so small that a keen eye for detail was needed to notice them for what they were.

Lady Faye was one of those women so beautiful that ostentatious clothing only detracted from their natural look, and she had never liked wearing the headdresses other ladies adorned themselves with, anyway. Her silky mane, black like dragonglass, looked its best when free as the birds of the Vale. It also gave her an air of mystery when it fell over her right eye, as it did when a young man tripped in front of her. Faye was not ready for that, and neither were her serving girl and the man at arms that were with her. Along with the impact of the young man, she slipped on the cobbled street. There was no chance for her to keep her balance, and hurt her butt when she landed on the hard street.

Naturally, her serving girl let out a cry of surprise and outrage, while the bodyguard stepped forward, ready to perform a bit of old-fashioned beggar-pushing, but the clothes of the beggar in question made him doubt.

Faye looked up at the hand offered to her, and accepted it, pulling herself to her feet. "Thank you."

Once upright, she had a more careful look at the young man in front of her. His clothes deserved the attention, as did his cane. Her eye, the one that could be seen under her luscious hair, looked past the young man and into images she remembered for a couple seconds, before returning to the handsome face before her.

"I seem to remember you... from the Alchemist´s Guild..." She said in a soothing, velvety voice as she gestured for her attendants to stop fussing about her state.

Lady Faye did not visit the Alchemist´s Guild often, but she made it very clear to Maester Pycelle that she would be happy to recompense his kindness with some of her own, and this was not the first time she visited the Guild to bring him back some supplies. Of course, Maester Pycelle could send an errand boy or prepare most potions himself, but in this way he had an excuse to enjoy the Lady Arryn´s presence. And during one such visit, Lady Arryn had seen a young man with a cane studying or preparing mixtures. She had not bothered to inquire about it, for some reason, but now regretted not having done so before.

The meat was tough, and stringy, but she would need to eat before she entered the city, she couldn't afford to spend her rapidly dwindling store of coin on food. She'd found a rabbit in one of the snares she'd set the night before, and the tiny, smokeless fire had charred it to edibility. Sort of. She spat out the last bit of meat, then after burying the bones kicked dirt over the all but dead fire. She took a moment to look scornfully around the clearing, how far had she fallen? This was about as low as it got. She wrapped the muddy cloak about herself and left the small patch of sunlight, she had to get to the city soon, there had to be some who would shelter her, she heard stories, there were always stories of House Targaryen, they were always planning something or other, they were always blamed, though it seemed there were none left but her.
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A hooded figure joined the crowd that streamed through the gateway, passing into the city with travelers and merchants, past the watchful eyes of the goldcloaks and through the shadow of the looming portal. The guards paid no attention to her, why would they, she was just another weary traveler looking for shelter for the night, they certainly didn't suspect her heritage, no Targaryen would return here, not without an army of conquest.

She wanted to enjoy the sun, but the dye in her hair was fading, the roots were beginning to show through and she didn't want to give away even a hint of her identity, not here, not now. She was here for sanctuary, she knew enough to know that there must be some here who would offer her sanctuary. She remembered talk of one house, Algarith, they had sworn a blood oath of loyalty to her line and as such were mistrusted by many, but perhaps the bindings of that oath would still hold true. Crackleclaw was too far to travel alone, and as the centre of Westeros there was bound to be a member of the house in the city. The only problem would be finding them.

There was a cry of outrage, and the sound of falling bodies. The hooded woman turned to look, seeing a young man and woman picking themselves up off the cobbles. He had evidently fallen and knocked the two of them down, leaning on his cane for support as he held a hand out to her. Her lip curled in amusement and contempt, fool should have watched where he was going. The man who was presumably her bodyguard didn't look too impressed. She shook her head in dismissal of the event, this didn't matter, and strode off in search of a herbalist, she would need to conceal her hair colour before she could investigate the possibility of friends.

There was a cry and as he turned he saw the flash of black and grey cloth and heard the servant girl cry out as Lady Faye tumbled to the ground. He stepped forward, one hand on his sword hilt, the other spade like palm outstretched to the young man who had just helped her back up. He saw the mans garb and hesitated, he was clearly no beggar. The fine clothes and healthy appearance pointed towards a House, no one would object to him pushing away a commoner, but offending a son of one of the Houses would not be a smart move.

He turned back to Lady Faye and glowered at the curious crowd. Most backed away and moved on with their business, Nathun was the kind of man that made minding your own business far more attractive than curiosity. It bent his head in concern, "are you okay milady?"

It was genuine, she didn't appear to be seriously hurt and he should probably have been more worried about her father finding out, or worse, the head of her fathers guard. He wouldn't be forgiving of slip ups, even minor ones. Not that Faye would be likely to report him to her father for something like this. But Nathun took his charge very seriously, even the slightest bruise would be taken by him as a grave failing in his task and he glanced at the young man in annoyance as the Lady waved him away. He bowed his head respectfully and stepped back to allow her to talk to the man who, to his chagrin, she was examining with interest.

King's Landing... Somewhere on the Street of Silk

"Indeed, " he gave a short, curt nod to the lady's inquiring , smoothing out his own hair. "I am a senior acolyte of The Guild... though I'm surprised you've been there." The knight before her gave him some pause... at least, he moved with the practiced body of a knight, stirring a bit of envy as his heard skipped another beat. "We don't get many visitors down there nowadays." ... and how true that statement was. The Alchemist's Guild had once been the predominant intellectual power in Westros... up until about 250 years ago. The Maesters at the Citadel where mere neophytes to their stored knowledge and skill... the ability to turn lead into gold, cure all sickness, even bring back the dead., it was claimed. However... the Guild had been so dependent on harnessing magic, when the magic died, they died with it. Granted, they could still make alot of useful things... and weren't held down by vows of chastity or having to give up titles, but they lost a glory they could never really regain.

Then, his upbringing kicked in, taking a sidestep to avoid an oncoming child before speaking. "But how rude of me," a light bow, the best he could do while still resting on the cane, followed. " Lord Calyth of House Algarith, at your service." His eyes ran over her, sharp and focused, brain picking for a clue of who she was... noble, certainly, considering the guard and aide... but what house? It wasn't particularly high-quality... but this far from the Red Keep that diden't say too much. Then, he caught sight of them, two falcons dangling from her ears, and after shifting slightly to cover his thought, it hit him.

"You're an Arryn, correct?" He asked knowingly, a rhetorical tone to his voice. "Daughter of one of the major branches, no doubt... but I can't say which one. And this must be your escort," he gave the man a bow as well, a gesture of recognition... but something was still puzzling him.

"I must ask... what is a highborn lady like yourself doing on The Street of Silk? Usually, any women wandering these streets is for sale." A roguish grin crossed his face as he took a step. "Though I must say, you'd likely bring out a few gold dragons if you were." The stance of the serving girl at that remark, though, showed this might not be the best venue. "Anyways, I am on my way back to the Keep for court, and I could use some company. " A hand was offered, sweeping the way forward.

Among the duties of a Lady, there is the study of the Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, big or small. And House Algarith, though much smaller now than it once was, still held some power. Faye knew all about it. Not only had she studied them when she was younger, she still read about all the Houses now and then in the library, and there was the usual gossiping among the ladies of the Court. Calyth Algarith had been mentioned a few times, being present at King´s Landing and considered a bit of an oddity due to his interests and his cane. The matter of his heart´s health had drawn a sigh from a fair number of young women.

Lady Faye had never thought a man like that would be so foolish as to compare a high-born lady to a prostitute. A man with any sense would not so freely insult a woman he knew nothing of, except that she was high-born. Because then, you risk insulting someone far above you. This was an interesting hint, though. It seemed clear to Faye that this young man did not spend as much time at Court as he should, because if he did he would not have commited such an offense. The smile Lady Faye had brandished until then slowly melted away, even though the air was becoming noticeably colder. When the young man was done with his arrogance, the stone of the Vale was obvious in Lady Faye´s voice, the softness of it giving way to clear hardness. Her eyes did not change, opening or closing, but there was a distinct... hawkishness to them now.

"My business is of no concern to arrogant imbeciles." She walked past him, tightening her cloak around herself, offering further comment as she moved away, her eyes now looking forward, knowing her morning was ruined. "You may follow my steps if you so wish, but you will have to settle for the company of a woman from this street. Fortunately for you, they will be much cheaper than the Hand´s daughter."

Nathun raised an eyebrow at the young man's next words, he was noble, but of no House Nathun could remember. Calyth turned a little and bowed to the massive man at arms, and Nathun returned the gesture, though the boys next words left him struggling to keep the shock from his face.

"I must ask... what is a highborn lady like yourself doing on The Street of Silk? Usually, any women wandering these streets is for sale."

He really had just compared Lady Faye to a courtesan, she was not going to like that and he raised his eyes to the heavens, murmuring a silent prayer to Mother, hoping that she would grant the Lady Faye some mercy for this poor sod. There were few worse missteps in court politics, and judging by his grin this fool obviously thought he was being funny and charming. He was very wrong. The Lady Faye was not impressed and the atmosphere noticeably changed, he was no politician, but even Nathun could judge just how momentous his blunder had been. As always, he was surprised by the steel in her voice, she often seemed such a gentle creature, but there was an iron hard resolve hidden beneath that beautiful exterior, a strength to rival even her father's.

"My business is of no concern to arrogant imbeciles." She moved past him imperiously, her head was fixed firmly forward in silent fury. "You may follow my steps if you so wish, but you will have to settle for the company of a woman from this street. Fortunately for you, they will be much cheaper than the Hand's daughter."

Nathun winced, the boy was in for trouble, to offend Jon Arryn's daughter was a dangerous game, and whether he'd known or not was irrelevant. As Lady Faye began to make her way up the street, he moved in behind her, moving smoothly past the boy with an ease that belied his bulk, he kept his hand on his sword, he didn't trust this part of the city, and broad daylight or not, he would always keep an eye out for trouble. He had missed the Lady's fall, and he felt at least a little responsible for how that had turned out.

Blood flux, he cursed mentally as her realized his mistake, fingers tightening slightly but keeping back any other outwards signs. Spending so much time in the Guildhall, surrounded only by other men, and even when he left rarely seeing a proper lady, his courtly speech had fallen somewhat by the wayside. It wasn't as if he frequented whores, no... but that may have been part of the problem. " I believe praising a women's beauty is a regular part of courtly conduct... but perhaps I was mistaken." It was a good recovery, he knew as she started to step away... and then he heard her last statement, and could have slapped himself in the face. A Daughter of the Eyrie... not that he should have been able to tell. He'd studied noble houses in his day, just as well, and knew the Arryns had at least a dozen cadet branches scattered all over the Vale, all sharing roughly the same traits. Still... it would have been a lovely political boon if he'd played that better.

Not wishing to look desperate, Calyth moved himself along... taking a different route to the Red Keep this time, taking a step into one of the clearer side streets. "There are ways boy... there are way." His free hand fiddled with his belt as he went along, the assorted concoctions he kept there still all present. An Alchemist was never without his formulas... well, except The Substance. You'd have to be daft to carry wildfire around with you in the middle of a street. One vial could burn a whole quarter down.

Shifted his doublet, revealing the House crest on the chest, he was quick to slip into a regular haunt of his; a herbalist who specialized in consumable contraceptives (in this part of town, that was a huge business), but was a solid provider for the Guild as well. Stepping inside, the place was fairly dead... there wasn't much space to stand, though, and with the owner in back he just stood up, taking a quick sip from one of his vials... it was a substance he discovered himself, to help ease the heart pains.

Hadick near the Streets of Silk en route to the Red Keep.

Hadick continued along and realized he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere cause now he found himself with many luscious sights to behold and many calling out to him and his retainers. If he had not been summoned he would of possibly taking some time to entertain the ladies though he preferred more secret affairs with a young lord's daughters or lady's in waiting to the sweet perfumed scents of the whores of King's Landing.

Moving past the area he noticed his retainers were pleasantly distracted an the Northman allowed himself a small smile. "Vulcin stay with me. The rest of you be at the Red Keep by sundown. I trust they'll point my way." He said before moving along down the street. Far ahead of him he saw a lady, obviously rich or noble born by her finery.

The guard and servant girl denoted her level of status and it appeared they were both headed in the rough same direction. Hadick increased his step ever so slightly interested to find out more of the raven haired beauty but the throng was quite thick in the area of town and so he stayed well enough behind the trio much to his ire.

She at last found a herbalist that was out of the way, the shop was dead, there was no one in there and she slipped inside without looking back. She didn't want to be too conspicuous so she avoided the temptation to watch out for the goldcloaks, that would only attract attention, and she didn't want that.

She stepped into the small, empty shop, there was one other person in the shop, and that was the herbalist behind the counter. He was a small man, middle-aged, with thinning hair and a friendly, if tired face. She approached the counter, and rapped her fingers nervously on the wood, he turned to her.

"Can I help?"

She hesitated for a moment, then, "yes, I need hair dye, brunette or dark preferably, do you have anything suitable?"

He nodded and disappeared into the back at the same time as she heard the door open. The young man she'd seen before walked in, but this time he was more interesting, she recognized the crest on his doublet. Algarith. She looked around, the herbalist was still in the back and since there was just the two of them now she should exploit this opportunity.

"House Algarith yes?"

Ean Stone

Finishing his conversation with the Mountain and with a little money now added to his purse, Ean Stone headed to the Street of Silk to find himself a good whore. He had long ago decided that ladies of high birth were nothing but trouble. In fact, he hated all high-born folk, male and female alike, but he took their pay as easily as he took that of a commoner.

Of course, he also realized that his father was a nobleman, but he was a mere bastard himself and thus stuck with those of the lower ranks in his sympathies. The quarrels among the houses meant money for him and a chance to watch more lords bite the dust. That was what he loved about tournaments....watching the nobles shed each others' blood. The pageantry was nothing but a waste of time. The deaths of nobles were the draw for Ean. He also hoped to see Ser Poul among the slain. The prick had it coming.

Carrying his javelins and dagger with him, Ean walked up the street and witnessed quietly an altercation between a young man with a cane and a noblewoman. A large part of Ean wanted the lady put in her place....especially when he recognized her. He just hoped that she didn't.....Lady Faye Arryn. Daughter of the very Lysa Arryn who had denied him trial by combat because he was a bastard and made him choose between the Night's Watch and the Moon Door....not being a fool, Ean chose the Night's Watch, because he could (and did) escape without having to take the oath.

Yeah....Ean hated the Arryns more than most. He assumed that she didn't know him past the three hard scars on his face, but he didn't really care. He watched and stalked her closely, curious as to what business she was on. He had no one to inform, unless the Mountain showed a sudden interest in such things, which he doubted....it was just to satisfy his desire to know his enemy better.

He continued to trace her steps and stared daggers at her. He just kept a certain distance, so as not to catch the unwanted attention of her bodyguard. She was lucky that she wasn't Lady Irane. Both the guard and her would be dead by now from an easy throw of the javelins.

Finally tired of the chase, Ean turned in to a brothel and began haggling with the whores for the best price. If he did well enough, he might afford two whores instead of one. He just had to keep sober and stay awake, leaving when he was done. More than one man made the mistake of falling asleep or getting drunk while with a whore....and found himself with an empty purse or worse.

Ean was made of sterner stuff. He loved whores, but his love wasn't blind.

Mandra

“Ouch.”

Lady Mandra of House Algarith said the word softly, then brought her finger to her lips. The pin prick brought a bright dot of blood to her finger tip and she didn’t want the stain to mar the cloth she was so diligently embroidering. Her attention had wandered from her needle as she quietly listened to the conversations that flowed around her. The plans, schemes, gossip and dreams of a dozen finely dressed young ladies had nearly ruined all of her hard work.

Disaster averted, she thought to herself as she smoothed her work piece over her lap. Looking at it with a critical eye she knew it was satisfactory not spectacular, but she was pleased with the results so far. Lacking both natural skill with the needle and patience in general, Lady Mandra was happy enough whenever her work didn’t need to be tossed into the fire.

It was a small gift for her brother, and she smiled as she thought Calyth might just as likely toss it into the fire himself.

She leaned into her work-box, searching for the green silk that would be the finishing touch the piece needed but found nothing suitable. Beneath the hem of her gown her feet moved restlessly as she thought how nice it would be to drop everything and run into the city and buy what she needed. A brief escape from the Red Keep and an adventure on the streets of King’s Landing … she could feel her heart beat quicken at the thought.

She drew a soft breath and pushed a wayward curl off her cheek, physically and mentally pushing such thoughts away. Instead, she looked around the room seeing the other young women in the room, all wards like herself. Some sat in small groups whispering and giggling, a few read or worked on their piecework. They all seemed content.

“So am I.”

“What did you say, Mandra?”

Mandra looked at the young woman sitting next to her and smiled cheerfully, her brief moment of introspection was over.

“I’m out of green for my dragon. Have you any to spare?”

Small Alley off Coppersmith's Wynd.

The dank silence gave him an odd form of satisfaction, as he was finally able to feel alone. You never really could get away from everybody in this city; Inn rooms where all doubles, every alley had at least one beggar, and even the "Abandoned " Dragonpit was home to dozens of whores. Leaning back slightly against the wall, he just enjoyed the silence, the sharp scent of herbs and simple potions calming him further.

House Algarith yes?, a soft voice interrupted his relaxation, taking one moment to check of the owner had returned before taking in the other customer. His eyes narrowed as he examined her. She was a thin one, certainly. The simple and torn clothing suggested she was common... maybe even a cheap street whore, but the way spoke was too... cultured. "Indeed," he finnaly answered, taking her and and giving it a light shake. "Calyth Algarith, to be exact." He followed with a polite smile, but behind it his eyes kept working over her... she didn't appear to be from The Point, but their was something distinctly familiar.

"Anything I can help you with?" He asked genuinely, taking another swing from his flask... Seven the stuff really helped. "If you do, speak quickly. I've appointments go keep." Indeed, he'd stayed here too long already; Tonight would be the 9th anniversary of the Sunder of Pyke, and every noble in the city was expected to attend the feast and court. He was a real fan of those affairs; they gave him a socially acceptable chance to show off his skill, plus he had his sister to attend to... there where some Dornishmen and Northmen you just couldn't trust around women..

"Yes I believe you do have something to offer me."

She stole a glance behind her to check that the herbalist was still in the back of the store, they were alone in the shop for now. She took a breath, this was a risk it was true, but she felt her racing heart slow a little as she gripped the worn leather handle of the skinning knife at her hip. He obviously wasn't the most impressive physical specimen, she was confident she could slit his throat and disappear before the herbalist could even return.

She stared out at him thoughtfully from beneath the hood of the cloak, and as she shifted her head the light flashed off her eyes, highlighting her infamous family trait. This was it, the make or break point, if he didn't offer her sanctuary, honour his families ancient vow, then her hopes here would be dashed. She tightened her grip on the skinning knife, half drawing it, soundlessly from it's battered leather loop at her hip, the sheath having long since given up the fight.

"Once, a long time ago, your family swore an oath. I have come to collect on that vow, will you honour it?"

This was the moment where his life could change for ever, or end in an instant. She unconsciously held her breath as she waited for his answer.

The glint of steel, dull as it was, instantly caught his attention, muscles tensing up and mind flipping forward. Granted... it wasn't fear exactly; despite its looks, this cane could do a number on anybody, and his heart was somewhat calmed down by the tonic. No, it was almost a reverence for the fierceness, the sharp gauntless of her face. There was something noble about it, for certain. If she was of smallfolk stock, she obviously wasn't very keen to it.

"An Oath?" He asked, unsure. "House Algarith has sworn many oaths. Our first sire swore himself to the Griffon King of the Vale, and four sons later Hellis Algarith swore his blade to the Faith Militiant. We've have oaths of friendship with Duskendale stretching back centuries, and oaths of free and safe trade in our harbors to over half the Free Cities." Putting his weight back on his feet, the can popped up into his hand, tip shining much brighter then a mere knife. "We've sworn ourselves to the Dragon and Stag, and to the good of the realm, and have just as many debts sworn to us as well." He carred the whole thing with a matter of fact tone, catching the herbalist walk in from the back, a veil of something brown and soaping within.

"Um, m'lady." the grubby shopkeeper interrupted, handing the veils to the strange women. "Y'r dyes. Three weeks worth. 4 Stags," a well-burned hand shot out, fingers gesturing for the payment.

Before the girl could react, Calyth quickly reached into his doublt, reaching into one of the few pockets he used specifically for his gold. Drawing the silvers one at a time, he set them gently into the propriters palm, giving a slight nod in the girl's direction. "That will be on me today sir," he was quick to state before any objection could be made. Flipping a stray hair from his eyes, he gave the keeper a polite farewell, and stepped out of the store, waving a hand for the girl to follow.

"Look," he informed her calmly once they where outside, strolling leisurely and talking ideally, so as to not draw attention. "Whomever you are... and you're obviously not quick to divulge that information." A small wave was sent up to the balcony of a bar, where a few of the men where in spell of drunken calling. "You've caught me at a rather bad time. The Sundering feast is this evening, and I'm afraid I'm already taken for the evening, escorting my lovely and darling sister. However," he placed a hand on her shoulder, as if apologizing. " If you're noble enough to have a dept from Brother's Arms, no doubt you'll be attending as well."

He chose each word with care, watching her face carefully while displaying genuine empathy. Whomever she was, she could command... but so could half the fishwives and madams in the city. If she was truly invited to the feast... well, that would lend credit to her tale.

*meanwhile*

The Bump has arrived!

Ean Stone

After visiting the brothel, Ean felt much better. He had paid a modest fee and got two whores for the bargain. It was very nice, to experience the attentions of two lovely women. He hoped for more such incidents as he earned more serving the Mountain. Things were so much better than when he wasted his time with the noblewomen.

Still having time to waste, he out of curiosity decided to check out the herbalist, only to witness yet another incident involving that strange man. He seemed like a lord, but he carried a cane. The woman speaking to him carried herself like a noblewoman, much to his disgust. What was with this strange chap and his apparent fascination with noblewomen? Oh, well, she wasn't an Arryn...that's all that he cared about. There was something familiar about her, though.

He decided to wait until they were done speaking to approach her and see what happened. If she didn't follow the man with the cane. He got the impression that he had upset her, not that Ean cared too much. Spoiled brats needed a little disappointment in life. If Lady Irane had some of those, she might have behaved better toward Ean.

Mandra

Lady Mandra stood in front of the mirror and smiled politely at her reflection. She took honest stock of her dignified appearance before breaking into a wide grin.

She knew that she was lucky; at least the colors of her House flattered her unlike some of the more unfortunate girls at the Red Keep. Her green and silver gown flowed smoothly over her hips and hung in soft folds at her feet. The purple belt accented her small waist, drawing eyes to the rising and fall of her chest. Even the bell-like sleeves of the gown made her hands look more graceful. With her long strawberry-blond hair hanging in curls down her back and pretty purple stones dangling from her ears, she looked every inch a lady.

As the time approached, the activity required to get a dozen young ladies ready for the Sundering Feast had reached a near frantic pace. The room was filled with squeals and giggles, even a few curses and screams were hurled through the air. Scraps of silk and lengths of fine wool were scattered about, shoes were lost then found, and trades were made, just so each young lady could enter the feast believing she would be the center of attention.

Although eager for the feast to begin, Mandra’s preparations never reached the fevered pitch of some of the others. She had no desire to be the center of too much attention. She wanted only to be a credit to her House, cautious and dignified. But even without intent, she would be noticed. She couldn’t see how her green eyes sparkled with suppressed excitement and she would never admit to herself that the feast might present just the opportunity for adventure she had secretly been hoping for.

She scowled as he paid for the dyes, but she didn't object, while she didn't like people to make payments for her, she couldn't refuse it, it was too late, and her funds were running low enough as it is. She followed him out of the alchemists, her hand still on her knife as the cloak fell about her, covering her hands once more.

She couldn't help but laugh as he mentioned the Sundering feast, "no, I have no doubt that my presence would be very unwelcome at the feast."

Her eyes flashed in the little sun there was in the alley, their violet hue blindingly obvious for one terrifying moment. she bowed her head again, shading her eyes beneath her hood. Beneath the folds of her cloak, her grip tightened once again on the knife. She glanced around for a second, then down at herself.

"Nor am I particularly well prepared for such an event, as is no doubt evident."

About an hour later Hadick felt he was not like to be returning to the capitol any time soon. It turned out his business there was to be the resident Northman and give his perspective on issues that the Southern Lords were pawning over of late. It was all a bunch of pent up huffing and puffing and positioning as far as he was concerned. After leaving the meeting room Hadick was quite interested in leaving the place behind.

He did decide that it would be worth it to stay for the Sundering feast if only to take in the stalk of the women who would be in attendance. 'Let this trip not be a total waste.' He thought before he met up with some of his retainers and spent some time preparing for the nights events. He selected a dark brown doublet with his House's crest sewn into the left breast. Hadick pulled up black breeches and good boots as he prepared for the feast.

Ian Waters

The bastard boy couldn't act like his father, though in some measure he had inherited his nature. Up above, he must hold his tongue and play his part. Down here among the dragon skulls, though, he could be himself.

Even here he did not rant and rage as he would like; after all, there was no one to hear him, and he'd simply shout himself hoarse. No one to hear him save himself, and of course it was himself he was the angriest with. No one else seemed to come down here except for some of the cats.

What he did not inherit was his father's build. Like his mother, he was slender and quick, though a good deal taller than she had been. He was stronger than he looked, though, at least at firsst glance, and that suited him. He was both what he seemed, and not what he seemed; and he deplored the falseness, the hypocrisy.

He served the Master of Laws, his uncle, Lord Renly. Ian knew the entire codex of laws as well as anyone in King's Landing, better than Lord Renly himself, and Ian was still in his teens. He had learned the ins and outs of the court and its politics, understood the clash of faction and family.

Of this he could be proud, He had shaped his mind to these things, and made them a strength that few in the court had, based on the inborn intellect which was always his first recourse.

What he was not proud of was that he must pretend to be happy and grateful to have been accepted at court as he was, functioning as a vital part of it, despite his bastardy. He must avoid giving offense, he must go along with things he thought foolish or just plain wrong, because some noble or royal scion said it should be that way.

He swallowed the things he hated and resented, and hid it all away. He was vaguely aware that this was not a healthy thing and that in time it would come home to roost. He came down here when the pretense of being the complaint, complacent bastard got to him.

As always, the morbid reminder of the skulls gave him some perspective. Despite all their power the dragons died out. A smart enough man could figure out how to overcome any obstacle. Ian had a theory on how that could be done. It was an elaborate plan, and would never survive first contact, but the way to learn how to make a more viable plan was to watch and to listen.

Things were going well. That made him less angry, and he felt like he could go back upstairs without putting on a false face. Perhaps someday he would no longer need to pretend.