At the Stronghold’s Gates

Four household guards surrounded Therdamin and the doctor, the crimson velvet of the soldiers’ jazeraints resplendent with embroidered golden androsphinxes.  Visibly uncomfortable in the early evening heat, each carried a bared tulwar and bright-painted buckler.  Recurved bows hung in ornate cases at their sides. 

Behind them followed a pair of burly hobgoblin torch bearers, each wearing a large wicker backpack in case the doctor wished to purchase something while in the town.

Doctor Dreimond rode a well-proportioned black saqlawiya, a high-stepping beast inclined to nip anyone who failed to respect its foul temper.  For Therdamin, he had chosen an older Abbayan mare, a sedate creature more suited to the scholar’s limited riding experience.  The horses’ magnificent trappings made Therdamin feel as if he were the hero of a children’s tale, setting forth to right wrongs and crush wicked giants. 

The doctor continued describing the town’s social structure as they rode beneath the stronghold’s massive gates.  “We must ensure that the common folk understand that the Shah’s might protects us.  That is why I insisted that we ride while others walk:  This shows that you are my guest and that together we enjoy the favor of His Serene Eminence.  Otherwise, plotters and subversives would seek us as allies or the enemies of the Shah would see us as potential pawns.  There is no danger in this town that we cannot overcome, save the terrible displeasure of its ruler.”

The beggars and petitioners that had collected before the gates scattered as the party marched past them, each kneeling and groveling as the horses passed.  The party’s path then wound past the opulent stone mansions of powerful merchants and noblemen (notably clear of beggars, as the merchants’ guards were more likely to dispense cudgel blows than largesse), and past the grim shrine of Armadad Bog, Viridistan’s harsh patron god. 

As they rode down the sloped streets into the lower town, cobblestones were replaced by rutted tracks, dust, and sand.  They passed a group of wind-worn statues along the side of the road, figures of men and women with arms raised to ward off invisible foes and looks of terror on their stone faces.  Valnetor’s voice was hushed as he explained that the Shah ordered that these victims remain in place lest the region’s legendary archmage seek out more examples to illustrate the price of arousing his anger. 

The lower town was more lively, as folk who had sheltered the day’s hottest hours came out to complete their business before darkness set in. One of the guards gestured to the riders, pointing out the alley in which the murdered handmaiden had been found. 

After a brief discussion with Valadaar and Perception checks of 12, 23, and 7…

As the guards warily scanned the alley’s exits, Therdamin dismounted and examined the murder scene.  Skilled in the healing arts, the dwarf immediately noted that there was hardly any blood spilled:   Considering the gruesome description offered by the unfortunate guards who had recovered Zahra’s body, there was no way that the handmaiden could have been killed in this place.  This grim alley was merely a convenient place to dump her body. 

Glancing at the dismal shanties that surrounded him, he guessed that the killer had hoped the girl’s body would never be found, that the downtrodden folk dwelling here would hide her remains rather than risk being questioned by the Shah’s torturers.  It was only foolish luck that the palace guards had learned of it. 

Examining a length of bloodstained, ragged cloth lying amid the filth, Therdamin made out part of an androsphinx.  This had been once one of the hanging tapestries that adorned the palace walls!  The cloth was torn and punctured, savagely rent by some sort of bladed weapons.  Beneath the cloth lay a tiny ceramic vial, of the sort that often held scented oils and potions.  It was empty.

A barely-perceptible noise caught Therdamin’s attention, causing him to look up from his examination of the vial.  He was not alone in the alley!  A rangy, feral cat glared balefully at him from a trash heap a few yards away, making faint hacking noises and twitching unnaturally as it drew closer.  Suddenly, the afflicted creature leapt upon the scholar, viciously biting and clawing! 

A Golden Trident post coming very soon!

Cats and Rats also is missing...

Kassy: Had a mini heart-attack when the main page first loaded..
valadaar: There were a couple of full blown ones involved. And screaming. Much Screaming. Soo much blood.
valadaar: Did I mention the screaming?

Odrin, Rheyna, Kat

Two days after the attack at Greywater Watch...

Rodry steered the boat south, along the slow-moving brown stream, which eventually widened into a river. The ginger-haired youth was not a complicated man. He agreed to help the duo immediately; having no love lost for the Ironborn who had overrun his beloved swamp. It had been a narrow escape from the pursuing crossbowmen.

With Rheyna’s and Rodry’s help, Odrin had removed the steel shaft from his back, and the wound was healing nicely, though still painful. They had encountered no other Ironborn or Crannogmen as they made their way along the Neck.

Finally, two days after the onslaught at Greywater Watch, they emerged from the endless quagmire.

To be continued...

(ooc: Dossta, since I know you're away on weekends, when you return Monday, you'll be in a whole new chapter/dynamic )

Korley, Velaquo, Belomas, Rufus, quills

The odd foursome, and Quills, exited the Red Keep, and proceeded to the gates of King’s Landing, where the troops were waiting to ride.

Bastard, Korley’s cremello courser, was frothy with anger as usual, giving the squire who was grooming him a hard time.

The four hundred, or the three hundred and eighty seven to be precise, were divided into four units. As Korley feared, the make-up of his impromptu army was less than ideal. About half the men were actual fighters who had recently battled Stannis Baratheon’s men on the Blackwater. These men were hardened. And tired looking, Korley noted. Then there were about one hundred “reserves”, either Gold Cloaks (city guardsmen) converted to soldiers, or simply men who longed for battle. The rest were greenboys and old timers, some maimed, a few recently un-retired, a few too young but able.

The horses themselves at least, Korley considered, seemed fresh and able mounts.

The officers were as follows:

Ser Leomun Lefford, a blonde-bearded youth, he had a talent for looking good atop his mount in his shining armor. He managed to seem both eager to please his new commander (Korley) and simultaneously sour with having to take orders from an “improper Lannister”.
Ser Philip of Rosby, another young man, whose only claim to fame was his relation to the Lord of Rosby, a man who recently had perished from a persistent cough. Ser Philip was a freshly made knight, and seemed the overly proud type.  He also had a persistent cough. His hundred men had crossbows, besides the standard lance and sword.
Belton Jast, a converted Gold Cloak and seemingly sober and direct. He spoke calmly, listened intently, and his unit seemed the least disorganized of the four.
Jon Piper, “Rowdy” as his men called him, a barrel-chested bastard, with the voice of five men, and an air of pompousness about him.

Korley studied them and had the fleeting thought that Belomas, Velaquo, and Rufus might make better commanders.


Quills sidled up to Velaquo and whispered in his ear, "General, fresh troops to rebuild the Silks" and grinned widely, then, "Do we ride on this campaign? Or a boat to retrieve our gold? What is your wish?"

Rufus Gargalen was given a huge destrier, befitting the warrior's size and weight, though the horse had only one eye.

The gathered troops awaited Korley's word.