The Great Hall was well lit by three well stocked three hearths, and brackets freshly stocked with new torches. On the walls hung great tapestries, showing ancient victories of House Lychester over many rivals, from the First Men and their fae allies, to Ironborn under Greyiron rule, and some few with heraldry that might well be Blackwood, Bracken, Vance, or Darry. Some others showed more fanciful events; parlays with giants, hunts for unicorns, riddles with stunted witch-women. All were faded, some repaired more than once.

Amidst the returning hunters, Ser Jasper’s wide entourage of wards, stormlander courtiers and foreign guests were added, creating a sense of novelty and cheer. This grew even more so as barrels of fine wine were tapped, and candied meats and soft bread were laid out upon the tables [Ser Berion’s prize being reserved for the wedding feast].

At the high table, Lord Lyman sat amidst his most high ranking guests, flanked by Father Matheus, ranking clergyman of Fairmarket, in star-studded robes of rich white cloth, and Lord Raylon Ravensong, Lord of Wendish Town. The red-haired and bearded Ser Jasper Wylde, the King’s High Reeve, sat only slightly to Raylon’s right and beside him, in a place of high honour, his ward and the bride-to be, Lady Sylvia Connington sat beside Lady Iris Lychester, who was impeccably dressed in silks of her family colours, trimmed in ermine. Beside Father Mattheus, Ser Adham was engaging the Most Devout in polite conversation, while Ser Naton boasted of his many victories to a rather bored looking Dunstan Tullison, and to their left, a raven-haired courtier.

Below the high table, two long tables ran perpendicular down the hall toward the low table where the Lychesters feted the smallfolk lucky enough to earn their lord’s favour, the hedge knights who had earned the good graces of Lord Lyman in their wolf slaying earlier in the day, in addition to some late arrived travellers Lord Lyman had decided not to leave prey to the wolves.

Many of House Blackfin sat at varying places along the middle tables, with Ser Berion and Lady Gwendolyn seated within the immediate eyeline of the high table. With them sat Lady Moiraine Tullison and Ser Lyonel Darry and his wife, the Lady Aliana as well as  the High Reeve’s wards, Saerai Page and  Bryn Blackfin, and the Reachman Ser Marq Durwell.

Ser Thoren sat a little farther down beside Ser Konrad Storm, a dour looking, young stormlander knight from Fairmarket, and Brother Wilber, a man of the cloth whose nose was already reddening from the free-flowing wine. Immediately across from them sat Jenny Goodbrother, the Lady Yve, and Eilene Wylde. A few chairs down, just within a comfortable speaking distance, Alyssa Knollwood sat with Valen Vance, Darvil Blackfin, Ser Gareth, Daveth Darry, and the Reachman, Ser Ronnel Beesbury.

Gerhart Blackfin was relegated to the very end of the middle tables, a bare notch above the hedge knights and smallfolk. Beside him sat a smattering of minor squires, but he seemed more inclined to lend his ear to the hedge knights, the Wandering Septon Father Brooks, and the bare handful of Poor Brothers who had accompanied the faithful as guards. With these poorest guests sat latecomers in the dress of a Septa, the simple tunic of a Warrior’s Son, and between them, a young lady in a slightly faded dress in the colours of House Mooten.

Abruptly the conversation died down, and Lord Lyman welcomed his guests, his manner seeming perhaps a little forced; strained, as he shouldered his formal responsibilities. When he finished, Father Matheus stood, a man hook nosed with short cropped hair and greying temples, and every ear bent forward to hear his voice, for this was the gods’ chosen servant in Fairmarket. He uttered a sincere and formal prayer, his neck bent reverently forward, though his voice carried easily to the back of the great hall, and when he had finished, there was a moment’s quiet reflection before festive conversation resumed.

[OOC- At this early stage of the scene, propriety dictates character eat and converse as seating dictates, though this will become less of an expectation later.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:38, Tue 23 Nov 2021.

   He was an incongruous sight, the tree-trunk of a man, as he sat with the hedge knights and poor brothers.  His torso thick with muscle, his columnar neck short and ending in a blockish head.  Limbs heavy with corded muscle sprout from him, but where his arms might be just a touch too long, his legs were the opposite, seeming meant for someone slightly shorter.  His black hair, and emerald green eyes lending an attractive view to his plain face.  His beard and mustache cut neat, and sharp edged, are of medium length. Dressed in well tailored black pants, heavy leather black boots, a broad and gilt edged black leather belt, a long tunic of fine grey cloth with an embattled trim of sable on the bottom and wrist hems, and gold brocade.  From his neck hangs a heavy linked silver and gold twisted chain.
   His conversation was bellicose and free flowing, more like a companion of a free company (mercenaries), than the refined speech of a Noble.  His tankard, ever full, was none the less drunk from in deliberate moderation.  His heavy, calloused hand wrapped around it like a gorgoyle clutching a battlement.
   He paused in speech, in deference to his host when Father Matheus spoke.  His head though remained unbowed.  He took advantage of the grace to gaze up the tables with eyes sharper than one might think from his looks.  Perhaps searching for someone, or just noting the company present.  It was hard to say, for the never lingered long.
   As conversation resumed, he glanced down table, seeing there too who might be present.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:44, Tue 16 Nov 2021.

Berion was a touch surprised to be seated in a place of prominence alongside Lady Gwendolyn, but in hindsight, it made perfect sense.  He had after all ingratiated himself rather well with the groom-to-be, and to a lesser extent, his father.  That and his relationship with the Brackens meant that he was afforded a fair bit more respect than might otherwise be the case.

Maybe it was his imagination, but he could swear that he saw Iris glance in his direction at the end of Father Matheus' prayer.  And so glancing towards the head table, he managed to catch her gaze for just a brief moment, flashing the noblewoman a warm smile before he was forced to look away, lest someone notice and draw any sort of unwanted conclusion.

Turning his attention back to the assembled peerage, Berion began engaging in the usual light, polite conversation in an attempt to get a better feel for his neighbors.  Court was not his chosen battlefield, and intrigue was best left to the true masters like his sister or Lady Gwendolyn.  But he wasn't so outmatched as to completely humiliate himself, which was all one could truly ask for in situations like these.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:16, Wed 17 Nov 2021.

The girl seated between the Septa and the knight is young, but not really young. It is a little hard to gauge, perhaps early teens and tall or perhaps mid teens and not yet reaching puberty. Either way, she is not imposing, being slender and just under 5' tall. The front half of her hair is pulled back from her face into braids wrapping around her head behind her ears, corralling the rest of her chestnut hair to fall down her back. She seems to be scrunched down a little between the other two, though from the look of it that may be to get her face forward to hide her brown eyes from them. Those eyes appear to be darting about, taking in the new setting quickly. To this point the only thing she has said is a quiet agreement at the end of Father Matheus's prayer to the Seven.

The largest and most intimidating of the hedge knights was a man in his middle-thirties, who introduced himself as Ser Otto, "Head of House Kettleblack, though we've no seat of out own, 'tis high time we did, for we've been true to every banner of the Trident at one time or 'nother!" he declared.

He scoffed up in the direction of Lord Lyman's table, "and with the woeful  showing of the hoighty toighties up yonder, I'll be taking home Lychester's jewelled sword, and my boy a lord's knighthood as well," he boasted, gesturing expansively to one large, if somewhat donkey-faced squire by his side.

"Though I've not seen your face in any scrap I care to remember," Otto remarked sourly to the thick-necked hedge knight who had arrived just before House Lychester closed their gates. Abruptly, he lost interest and turned his attention to the simply dressed blonde man who sat nearby, identified by the lute at his side as a minstrel, draping his arm authoritatively over his shoulder "You there, man, let me bend your ear with the tale of how House Kettleblack saved the Lychesters from an army of wolves in their own lands...."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:07, Wed 17 Nov 2021.

"Most Lords and Lordlings don't remember the faces of the free companions or low-born levies.  Not till they're gasping their last breath on the end of a spear.  Or have to thank them them for saving their wife and heirs.". The stump like man rumbles out, in a bellicose baritone voice.  He raises his tankard to Ser Otto.  "I'll trade you tale for tale!  Pour the beer and tell us what you remember of the faces of these wolves!"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:29, Sat 20 Nov 2021.

Gwen had found enough time between returning from the hunt and the start of the feast to freshen up and change into finery befitting her station. For this occasion, she had chosen a dark blue dress accented with black embroidery. The neckline was rather modest, though enough of her arms were left bare that Lady Gwendolyn arrived wearing elbow-length black gloves. Freshwater pearls on ears and throat provided contrast to the otherwise dark ensemble chosen by the Blackfin heiress.

Before the feast started, Gwen's gaze drifted across those gathered, including both those at the front of the hall and the back. She engaged in light conversation as expected, though she was still a bit spooked at the close scrape with death they'd all had earlier in the day.

She obliquely commented on such to Ser Berion. "I much prefer wielding fork and knife to axe and sword. Though the skill displayed earlier was commendable."

His smile widening as Gwendolyn made a pithy quip, Berion turned to the Blackfin heiress seated at his side and nodded as he replied.  "Aye, the part where I fell off my horse was particularly impressive."

Pausing for just a moment, the knight chuckled softly before adding "In truth, I suspect most would agree with you.  I can certainly count myself amongst that number at any rate.  Any soldier who says that they're not scared shitless before going into battle is either a liar or a fool.  And I've yet to meet a man alive who can resist a good meal."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:27, Thu 18 Nov 2021.

Jenny had chosen a new dress, blue to match her eyes and remind one of her sea-born heritage but decorated with embroidered flowers, and spent ages fussing over her appearance (and Gwendolyn's.) She wore her blonde hair down, a sign that her friends would recognize meant she was trying to be a proper Westerosi maiden. After what had happened with the wolves, her every word was scrupulously correct, and Jenny acted rather shy, although she still chatted pleasantly with Yve, Alyssa and Theron. She smiled as she said "This is grand, isn't it? So kind of our hosts. I hope there will be jousting later. Ohh, how exciting"

Still, although she didn't wear it at the feast, she had taken time to carefully clean and sharpen her stiletto after the fight. The blood of the Isles flowed in her veins, even if sometimes she wanted to ignore it.

With talk of knights' tales nearby, the new girl focuses on Sers Otto and Jarrak. Here eyes still periodically dart about the higher end of the room, but the conversations there are too far away to pick up well. She doesn't stare at the knights, but it's clear they've caught her attention.

In reply to Berion Knollwood (msg # 3):

Perhaps catching sight of Ser Berion's stolen glances with the Lady Iris, Lady Alianna Darry smiled sympathetically and engaged him in conversation. She well past the flowering of her youth, and carried herself with an established matronly air, though her face was thin, and her features angular.

"You rode with my son today, Ser Berion; Daveth. His father was a very great tourney knight, years ago, before the fevers took him. How did Daveth acquit himself?"

By her side, Ser Lyonel seemed intent on ignoring the exchange, taking hearty mouthfuls from the dinner's first course.
This message was last updated by the player at 11:07, Fri 19 Nov 2021.

In reply to Jenny Goodbrother (msg # 9):

Once seated, the Lady Yve greeted Jenny warmly, a shade less formal and shy than on their jaunt on the falconry. She wore a gown a touch more formal that the night merited, a necklace of polished silver, and own hair was pinned up neatly, like folded black satin from the ports of Yi Ti.

"I am so very glad to see you well my dear Jenny, by Iris's telling you had been shredded to ribbons! But of course, she had word only from one of the porters, as we were all in such a hurry to return. I trust you are not too shaken by events? Ser Mathers was most wroth at the Lychesters for putting us all at such risk, but mother would have none of it, and said such things happen with the change of the seasons."

Her words came in a gush, before catching herself and covering her mouth with one dainty hand, blushing as if she had said too much.

In reply to Ser Jarrak (msg # 6):

"A fair contest man! But be warned, for my own is a tale of fell magics and villains vanquished."

And in some ways it was such a tale, for it featured an unlikely hero who befriended the noble Ser Naton and won invitation to the Lychester hunt, hunted a great white stag, discovered the den of a dangerous warg and its legion of followers, and returned to do battle for the lives of the assembled guests with a Direwolf of stupendous proportion. Every keen blow was a Kettleblack sword; every Stalwart shield bore their red field and black pot, every bold word sprang from a Kettleblack tongue. By the end of the tale most of the smallfolk gathered had eyes as big as saucers, though the knight with a wyvern crest who had fought with the Kettleblacks seemed unimpressed. Sam the Sweet had a grin on his face, and was already strumming a few notes of a new song "Ser Otto's Venture".

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
20:54, Today: Ser Otto Kettleblack rolled 7 using 3d6, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 5,1,2.  Deception - Act - Stories.
Those at Ser Otto's table can compete with a tale. Should it be true, they can roll Persuasion/Charm or /Convince, should it be false, they can roll Deception/Act]

---

This message was last edited by the player at 11:32, Fri 19 Nov 2021.

"A good tale!". He says with bellicose enthusiasm, and drains a draught from his tankard.  "Are the other here who would say a tale of this battle, before I speak of The Siege of Ironhold!?". Ser Jarrak rumbles good humoredly, as he leans back in his chair.

Turning his attention to Lady Alianna as she addressed him, Berion's smile widened.  "I did indeed have that pleasure my lady.  And he did quite well, especially given the rather harrying situation we found ourselves in."

His eyes flicking to where Daveth was seated further down the table for just a moment, the knight quickly added "Most men would panic if assaulted by a shadowcat the size of a small horse, or when ripped from the saddle by wolves, but instead your son kept a level head and did his duty.  I've known many a battle-hardened soldier who couldn't say the same."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:33, Fri 19 Nov 2021.

Lady Aliana smiled and nodded, throwing Ser Lyonel a look of supreme vindication.
The older knight grumbled a little as he turned from his food, clearly feeling the aches of the battle and ride back to Castle Lychester "The boy is no coward,” Ser Lyonel agreed, “but your flattery does him no service Ser Berion. I’ve been training squires since you were but a pup, but you’ve the experience to know what I do as well: Daveth will never be a knight.”

“But his father…” Lady Aliana began, looking crestfallen.

“Was a good man, a fair lance, and my friend” Ser Lyonel granted, covering his wife's hand reassuringly with his own, his voice a soothing “but Daveth cares more for books than for steel.”

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Those at the high table can choose to observe, or participate in the second round of the intrigue, but only with the fast talk, manipulate, read target, assist, or mollify actions. -unless approved by the DM. No need for initiative.

R1 Ser Lyonel Darry rolled 13 using 3d6 with rolls of 5,4,4.  Ser Lyonel Convinces Lady Alianna.[+5 from disposition results in 3 degrees of success for 9-1=8 Influence.
Lady Alianna Darry rolled 13 using 4d6+1, dropping the 2 lowest rolls with rolls of 6,6,2,6.  R1 Lady Alianna Convinces Ser Lyonel (Assisted by Berion). [total is 18 with dispositions] for 9-1=8 Influence

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This message was last edited by the player at 20:37, Sat 20 Nov 2021.

In reply to Ser Jarrak (msg # 14):

The minstrel laughed in agreement with Ser Jarrak's offer, "What man could give a truer telling of today's events that our brave Ser Otto!"

"I am but a singer of songs, so I can do naught but tell of others' victories, but I know well one such song - The Lay of Justman."

And without further introduction, he began strumming his lute. True to his name, his voice was melodic and engaging, and the song a gripping tale of a downtrodden Riverlands and the bastard of House Bracken and Blackwood who had risen up to unite warring factions against foreign conquerors. His song ended sadly, with the desperate battles against House Hoare, and the end of a united and liberated Riverlands.

Many at the table applauded his song, none louder that Ser Otto, who pounded the table in appreciation, but others seemed discomfited by a song that decried foreign rule. Amongst the Poor Fellows, a few shuffled in their seats and one,  sat stonily at their seat, staring at the table, as if in a trance.

"But as I say, these are the songs of better men than I," Sam admitted humbly, strapping his lute to his back and resuming his seat.

Sam the Sweet rolled 18 using 6d6, dropping the 2 lowest rolls with rolls of 3,6,2,4,5,3.  Persuasion - Charm - Stories [Disqualified from winning].

Sensing that he had inadvertently stumbled into the middle of something larger, Berion resisted the urge to immediately flee.  Instead, he kept his face impassive as he met the older man's gaze and locked eyes.  "In fairness Ser Lyonel, I did not exaggerate, I was asked my opinion of the young man's performance today, and I gave it.  He kept his head and did his duty, which is, as I said, quite admirable."

Blowing out a heavy breath, Berion paused for just the briefest of moments before turning to the matronly woman and adding "That said, Lady Aliana, coolness of head and good judgment alone do not a knight make.  And it sounds like your son has other interests.  And so if Ser Lyonel here says that he is ill-suited for the rigors of life as a knight, then I would suggest that you heed his counsel."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:10, Sat 20 Nov 2021.

"Well sung minstrel!".  Jarrak spoke, his deep baritone approving, as he gives 4 silver to Sam. "You would find your songs well received among the Iron Banner.". His bellicose voice raises, heard by all at his table above the din of conversation.  "Now fill your your vessels well, and listen as I tell you the tale of the Siege of Ironhold!  A tale of a Lady fair, and a Noble hier!  Of wrongful war, and valiant defense.  Of blood spilled and rescue late!  Of great sacrifice, and victory in defeat!". He slams his empty tankard down, and it is soon refilled by the servants.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:54, Sun 21 Nov 2021.

Once a had filled their drinking vessels, he leaned back in his chair and began to speak.  His baritone voice bellicose and passionate as he told his tale.
   It was the edge of winter in Banemark lands, at castle Ironhold.  The ground was hard with frost, and the last leaves of harvesttide clung to bare trees.  Lord Banemark had gone to see to Swiftrun hold, for there were rumblings of war and Swiftrun was usually the first to be attacked.  A guard of Bannermen and three free companies were left at Ironhold.  Among them the Iron Banner, with myself among them.  No Knight then was I, but a proud member of a proud company.
   As dawn broke, a great mass of mist could be seen rising from the field.  The steaming breath of thousands of Westermen.  Swiftly they charged, but not so swift as they had hoped.  For too soon the bells were wrung, and bridge was raised.  The iron gate came crashing down, and the Ironhold was shut.  Well was it that the Bannermen had been vigilant.
   With speed all was placed in order, and Lady Banemark and her son made safe within the keep.  The Westermen set camp before the walls, more than a bowshot out, for any closer and they were met with a hail of arrows that blackened the sky, and left hundreds dead.
   The days went by, and battle upon the walls was bloody.  Those who passed through the storm of arrows unleashed by Grims' Hunters, met death upon the battlements by Bannermen and the Iron Banner.  Lady Banemark herself would watch from the tower, and had ready every need the defenders could want, before even they could ask, so good a steward of their realm was she.  Lord Banemarks' heir too would watch, as the men clashed, fought, and died to keep Ironhold.
   Weeks later, a messenger from Lord Banemark came.  By stealth, and through what means I know not.  He carried through danger a letter, beading the writ to bring Lady Banemark and his heir to Raventree Hall.
   A mixed company was made Grims' Hunters, The Bold Lances, and The Iron Banner each gave ten men, myself among them.  Ser Harun led us, Bannerman to Lord Banemark.  For few could be spared from the walls, and hope was in speed more than size.
   By Postern we set out at night.  From a muddy culvert we emerged.  A Swift clash of arms, the we were through the sentries.  Their bodies left to foul the crisp air with the stench of death.
   We made good till morning, but then pursuit was upon us.  Swiftly we rode our roundseys, but not Swift enough.  Ever and again we would have to turn, send out a charge of the Bold Lances, to drive back pursuit.  As the Lady and her son were kept in the center of the company which moved on with all haste.  Three days, and we had covered eighty miles to the meeting point.  But no guard was there at the rocky gnoll.  Nor further could we get with the last two of the Bold Lances on weary horses.  Their fellows left here and there where they died in the skirmishes.
   As safe as we could make them in the center of our company, we kept the Lady and her son.  Then they were upon us, charging up the hill.  The two Bold Lances, scorning death in the shield wall, charged the coming horde.  Their lances shattered, and they lay about them with their swords two handfuls each they slew ere they fell.  Dragged down by bill-hooks, and hacked to death by axes.
   Our lines were tight, shield against shield we stood, and arrows flew like seeking hawks from the bows behind us.  First was I charged by a Westermen, axe swinging he came.  Only to be blocked by my shield, as I crushed him beneath the iron of my ball and chain.  Then the press was on!  Steel flashed in the sun, blood gleaming on blade.  Long we fought, till they withdrew.  Fewer now we stood, the arrows spent and bodies piled like firewood.  Three good men of the Iron Banner would nevermore see the sun rise, and with them four men of Grims' Hunters, their arrows spent.
   The night was cold, and butter the air.  What little wood there was we used for fire to keep the Lady warm for she carried Lord Banemarks' child, and with her too her son, hier to Lord Banemark.
   Where was the party to take the Lady and the hier to safety?  Ser Harun too wondered that.  After a cold night, a bitter morning broke.  More does upon the field there were.  And amid a hail of sling stones the charged.  Up the hill the came, the weight of their run slamming into our shields.  All day we fought.  Sporadic charges driven back with desperate strength.  Not a man there was who carried less than a dozen wounds.  But all were resolved that no harm would come to Lady or child.  8 left we were, the last two of Grims' Hunters left to stand with Ser Harun and we of the Iron Banner.
   Another cold night into hopeless day we spent.  The shields and bows of the dead giving final service to keep Lady and Child warm.
   The clear broke the third day.  Before us our foes stood.  Out numbered ten to one at least, we faced them with grim determination.  Silently they moved toward us, building speed, till with a final roar they closed the last dozen feet.  The thunder of our meeting crashed like waves upon the shore.  For hours we fought, slew, and died.  Our line thinning faster than theirs, though each man took a half dozen with him at least.
  Last to fall was Ser Harun, fighting by my side.  Three Spears took him, though he felled one with his dying breath.
   I was driven back, between two trees I stood, my armor rent.  Only my shield stood between the Lady and the child, and certain death.  Only my ball and chain struck out to kill a who approached.  The sun crested to noon, and I fought on.  Two dozen wounds covering my body.  The dead falling before me like wheat to a scythe.  Gore bathed my shield, and dripped from my steel like rain.
   Then, in glittering light an armored company rode upon us.  Faster I swung my ball and chain, the swifter to kill the Westermen for, and turn to this new threat.  For dark upon a dark horse, a knight led them.
   Then turned I to them as the last Westerman fell, but it was the missing Knight, and his party to escort Lady Banemark and her son.
   Neither of the journey that followed, and my knighting, nor of the charge through the Westerman horde that broke the siege and fed the crows will I speak.  Those are stories for latter.  Now let another tell their tale.  But first, charge your vessels and drink with me.  To the honored dead fallen to deliver a Lady and her child safe to home.
   So saying, he stands and raise his tankard The Honored dead, and the Iron Banner!". He takes a long drought, then slams his tankard down, and resumes his seat.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)

19:11, Today: Ser Jarrak rolled 8 using 2d6 with rolls of 6,2.  Persuasion.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 14:12, Sun 21 Nov 2021.

The girl listens intently to the knights and minstrel. From across the table her attention is clear, with her eyes on whomever speaks. But she keeps her head faced a little down and not directly toward them, hiding from any beside or behind her where her interest is truly directed. She says nothing to interrupt not applaud, but she does crack a few small smiles.

Gwen smiled slightly at Ser Berion's reply, but she seemed to have no interest in making light of his fall. She'd never been in the heat of battle, but controlling a frightened animal while also attempting to use you hands and attention for fighting didn't seem a particularly simple task to her. Instead she nodded at his agreement that feasts were more enjoyable. "We will certainly enjoy a few of those over the coming days, if tradition holds."

The Blackfin heiress observed the interaction between those discussing Daveth. She didn't give any of her own thoughts just yet, though her attention was clearly on that conversation.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:51, Sun 21 Nov 2021.

He chatted amiably with those at the table who were interested in making conversation with him. As Jenny mentioned jousting, he nodded along listening.

"Will you be participating in the joust then, Ser Konrad?" he asked of the knight beside him. Not all knights were for such things, but many were. He knew little of the man save that he had come from Fairmarket, and by his name, some small bit of his origins.

"Thank you very much for your kind words" Jenny said politely, then giggled. "Well, I hope I don't look like a ghost. I was only bruised and scratched a little" she said, although she finished mournfully "but a lovely dress was completely ruined."
"Your own gown is quite beautiful, Lady Yve" she added.
She looked down as she remembered what had happened and shivered. "I was quite shaken at the time. Of course I was dreadfully frightened. No proper Lady wants to see such beasts. But Darvil, Thoren and the others were most valiant rescuing us, and now I feel entirely safe. I agree with your Lady mother, I don't blame the Lychesters. After all, who can command the wolves of the wilderness?" It had really frightened Jenny, but she was exaggerating lest anyone think she was not a properly delicate flower of Westeros.
She looked over at Thoren's question; she was very interested in jousting.


15:37, Today: Jenny Goodbrother rolled 16 using 3d6+2 with rolls of 6,4,4.  Status.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:37, Fri 26 Nov 2021.

Just Below the Salt
Ser Jasper’s young ward Bryn Blackfin spoke up on the matter for the first time, having listened attentively to the others. He nodded thoughtfully at Ser Lothar’s words before adding his own view in a briskly spoken pace “Naturally, but we must consider the many responsibilities of knighthood. A knight is not just a mounted soldier, or the savage Dothraki spilling across Essoss would be the greatest assemblage of knights in history. A knight is not simply an emblem of chivalry and piety, or every seven-swearing septa would be greeted as “Ser”. And a knight is not simply an administrator of accounts and logistics, even if they have vast retunies sworn to them on behfalf of their lord, or every Maester would have a sword placed on his shoulder, and not his metal chain. So a knight is more than one thing and cannot be ranked or considered in full on any one to the exclusion of others, I’m sure you’d agree.”

Lady Aliana  nodded at Bryn’s words “well spoken young sir, well spoken. You see Lyonel, you must consider the other dueis of a knight, or any of the blackguards seated at the low table might serve as your heir. Gareth is a good fighter, and loyal, but he will remain those things as a sworn sword. Elevating him above his birth…”

Ser Lyonel had been caught off guard by Bryn’s words, but recovered well enough during Aliana’s reply for his cheeks to grow a deep and furious red.

‘Enough,” He barked, slamming the table with a mighty thud. “Such talk is unseemly even in private. I have not shed blood in combat this day only to be lectured in my lord’s hall about the delicacies of knighthood by an unblooded pup and a jealous wife.”

Aliana burst into tears and hurried from the hall, leaving a grumbling Ser Lyonel to take an angry bit of his supper and mutter his apologies to those seated nearby.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Bryn Blackfin, rolled 20 using 6d6, dropping the lowest dice only ((2,5,1,2,5,6)). [success]
Berion Knollwood assists Lady Alianna [ED.] [giving +1]
Lady Alianna Darry drops disposition to Friendly and rolled  [With Berion's Assist] 14 using 4d6+4, dropping the 2 lowest rolls of 3 & 4 ((3,6,4,4)). Achieving 2 degrees of success for 6-2=4 Influence
<s>Ser Lyonel Darry drops disposition to Friendly and rolled 7 using 3d6+3 with rolls of 1,2,1.  R2 Convince Lady Alianna. Achieving 0 Degree of success, and quits the intrigue
Lady Alianna wins the first round of a complex intrigue against her husband to determine the succession of the Lesser House Darry.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 00:42, Mon 29 Nov 2021.

In reply to Thoren Blackfin (msg # 23):

The stormlander chuckled, his manner brusque and dismissive "I am not usually one to lend myself to tournaments. I have seen the great knights of the realm compete in Duskendale and Storm's End itself, and know myself to be no more than a dilettante of the tourney field in comparison, and yet this paltry affair seems almost comical." He paused, considering, "Of course, you riverlanders are not to be blamed, it is simply in your subservient nature to produce knights of an inferior calibre. Indeed, for that very reason, I have just decided that I shall compete on the tourney field, as it seems well suited even to those who find their interests fixed elsewhere. As he finished speaking, the edge of his mouth smirked only slightly, and his eyes flicked past Thoren to the high table, where the Ladies Sylvia Connington and Iris Lychester were conversing.

"I imagine the knights of your house will also compete?" Konrad replied, gesturing vaguelly as though he could not quite place what house that might be, an could not imagine that it could hold any consequence.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:13, Mon 29 Nov 2021.

In reply to Jenny Goodbrother (msg # 24):

Lady Yve grimaced in sympathy as Jenny gave a tally of her losses, and radiated happiness at Jenny's compliment, "I quite agree. We saw little more than the shadows of the beasts as they raced by our tent, but even that was quite enough, let me assure you." she shook her head, as if to banish such dark thoughts.

She leaned in closer to Jenny, speaking so that it would be hard for anyone to overhear at table without awkwardly leaning closer, "You must forgive my brother, he may have heard too many stories of warrior maids and has an overactive imagination. Mother does not approve, but he did make me promise..." she trailed off, rolling her eyes, and passed a small scroll sealed in wax to Jenny, trying to hide her interest at the Ironborn's response.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
The poem begins vaguelly and is written in a clean crisp hand, or perhaps the third or fourth draft of a less clean and crisp hand. It's concluding stanza reads:

Lit bright by fire and blood, untarnished,
By glint of steel, her locks of gold,
Shine bright, as flesh of man: wolf-torn; harsh bled
Like cloth she knits, and shares heart bold…

---

This message was last edited by the player at 02:03, Mon 29 Nov 2021.

Darvil had taken his seat next to Ser Ronnel at the feast. He had gotten to be a close friend of the Reachman during his time as a squire, and enjoyed hearing the man's experiences in both the Riverlands and the Reach. He would listen intently to the man's stories, engaging in conversation with him.

In reply to Ser Konrad Storm (msg # 26):

"I think some were going to, but I should probably tell them all that if you're entering the lists then perhaps they best not bother at all," he said, feigning the sound of being impressed. His smile was polite as he continued his meal, though it didn't reach his eyes.

In reply to Ser Jarrak (msg # 20):


The Low Table

There is a widespread thumping of the table At the end of Ser Jarrack’s story, with Ser Otto clapping him on the back and announcing Jarrack’s story the greater. Several asked for the name who had so betrayed House Banemark.

A few others took their turns as well, with the Knight-Militant sitting with the Mooton girl identifying himself as Ser Randyl. His own story was long, with an obvious moral lesson of avoiding vagrancy and serving ones noble lords well, and most of the hedge knights rolled their eyes by the end of it.

Finally, a young member of the poor fellows stood, pulling back her hood to reveal a shaven head and striking lilac eyes often associated with essosi. She gave a short striking speech that struck most at the table dumb, and soon drew the attention of the entire hall, with folk at higher tables craning to hear. While many would hear and remember different sections of what was said, physically shaking with the intensity of her words, all would remember her final words, before she collapsed, overwrought.

“We stand within this burning tower, and I see two would-be kings lit by its flames, one true and another false!”

A silence filled the fall, interrupted only by the tinkering laughter of a few souls already deep in their cups. It was Farther Matheus who broke it, calling down the tables toward Septa Illa, companion to Ser Randyl, “Sister, our dear companion is clearly indulged too quickly and freely with Lord Lychester’s ales, please see her safely to one of the guest rooms.” The Most Devout looked down to Lord Lychester, whose ghostly pale face nodded, and sent a pair of guardsmen to escort the Septa and her unconscious charge.


Those who wish to hear more of what will become known as the Seer’s Speech will need to make an Awareness (notice) check to have heard it, and a cunning (memory) check to remember it. The test will be easier the closer one is to the speaker, and more degrees of success will grant a better recollection
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:25, Tue 30 Nov 2021.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
08:05, Today: Ser Jarrak rolled 9 using 3d6 with rolls of 3,2,4.  Cunning.

08:05, Today: Ser Jarrak rolled 14 using 3d6 with rolls of 5,4,5.  Awareness.

---

The flanked girl listens intently to the various stories around the low table. Though with Ser Randyl's she rolls her eyes shortly after he starts, as though she's heard this one before.

Valen had come to the feast wearing a set of garments that displayed a quartered set of both House Vance of Atranta and House Knolwood, indicating the value he put into both his own family and in his service to Ser Berion.

He had spent some time politely introducing himself to passing lords and ladies, but those interactions didn't take long as he was a merely a cousin to the main branch, and as such not many people truly had any business with him here. He feels more confortable once he finally reaches his seat and can be around other squires and people of his age. He takes some time observing Ser Gareth, as a knight he hadn't met yet he was curious to see how he carried himself, but Valen wasn't too keen on actually talking to the man yet.

As such he talked with Daveth Darry for a whiele, recounting the fight with the wolves that had just occurred and the attack of the Shadowcat, though he made sure to keep the retelling as very matter of fact, as he was confident enough of his actions in the former and was curious to talk honestly with the other boy on how he experienced it, and in the latter...being stopped from pursuing the cat and berated for it was something he'd rather not mention at all.

It was when Darvil started talking to Ronnel Beesburry that the moment he'd been waiting for all this time showed himself, thankful to Darvil for breaking the ice with the Knight, he scooched closer to the two. "I've heard much of the valor and virtue of Knights of the Reach and its splendid Tourneys, but I've never had the chance to talk to one before Ser Ronnel. If you'll forgive my curiosity could you to tell me if there have been any great events or renowned champions there as of late?" He of course maintains a polite tone in speaking to a Ser, but his earnest excitement and wonder over the topic can't be stopped from shining through his eyes as he awaits a response.

Thoren turned, his thoughts taken momentarily from the amusing arrogance of the bastard seated near him to that of this strange speech that was being given there.

OOC:

Awareness: 21
Cunning: 14

11:52, Today: Thoren Blackfin rolled 14 using 4d6, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 6,5,3,2.  Cunning (Memory).

11:52, Today: Thoren Blackfin rolled 21 using 5d6, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 5,1,5,6,5.  Awareness (Notice).

Carefully concealing his thoughts behind a neutral mask, Berion flashed Gwendolyn a knowing look before turning his attention back to his plate of food.  Until the young lady at the end of the hall began her speech that is.  Unable to catch the whole thing, he simply hoped that the other members of the Blackfin party had.


Berion Knollwood rolled 9 using 3d6 with rolls of 1,6,2.  Awareness.
Berion Knollwood rolled 9 using 3d6 with rolls of 3,5,1.  Cunning.

As the others of the Blackfin party seemed to turn their attention toward the woman's speech from the end of the hall, Gwen did as well. Her features clouded momentarily, which was noteworthy as it happened so rarely.

OOC:

11:55, Today: Gwendolyn Blackfin rolled 15 using 4d6 with rolls of 2,2,6,5.  Awareness (Notice).

11:55, Today: Gwendolyn Blackfin rolled 16 using 4d6 with rolls of 5,3,6,2.  Cunning (memory).

While he converses with the knight he catches a few words with religious connotations on another part of the hall, so he perks his ears to listen momentarily.

OOC:
Valen rolled a 19 using 4d6. Awareness(Notice)
Valen rolled a 10 using 3d6. Cunning(Memory)

In reply to Valen Vance (msg # 33):

The Reachman quirked an eyebrow at Valen's question. 'You wish to hear of chivalrous knights and champions young man, eh? Well in all the Reach there is probably no finer cream of the cavalier crop than young Ser Mance Tyrell, called the barbed rose for his wit and skills with the lance. He has won half a dozen tourneys in the last year alone, by all accounts. I doubt we shall ever see another from that family rise quite so high, as his father is merely the Gardener King's steward.

As for events? Well, the lords of the Dornish Marches are a harsh lot, but need to be, and word reached me that Lord Sam Tarly, called "The Black" by some, has marked his border with the Dornishmen with five hundred impaled dornish smallfolk, he argues to better keep the peace and avoid misunderstandings of where the border lies. Lord Perwyn Osgrey leads by a different example, and has just finished his family's newest keep Coldmoat, making them by all accounts the most widely landed of any house, as they now hold four seats of power to Lord Peake's three." Ronnel paused, "The young Lord Abelar Hightower bends to the High Septon's whims, and wears a shirt of hair to show his humility, and argues on the faith's behalf in Highgarden, causing friction, and Lord Merryweather shows up every one of his peers by throwing a great feast to celebrate the onset of spring, when most lords are scraping the very bottom of their cellar for scraps before a fresh harvest fills them to the brim."

Ronnel clapped Darvil on the shoulder as he grinned, and continued his response to Valen, "As this young man knows, the Reach is a place of sharp contrasts - great chivalry and villainy, great hedonism and piety, these are the traits of the largest of the great westerosi kingdoms."

"It was Ser Malus' Mistwood who led the late party.  Though why they were late, I do not know.  But I saw no marks of battle upon them.". He replies, his baritone voice serious.  He leans back in his chair, as more food appears.  Who will ride in this Tourney?"</Brown>. He asks Set Otto.  Then stops as the girl breaks into prophecy.  Before resuming his conversation once she is led to a quiet chamber.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:49, Wed 15 Dec 2021.

Jenny was not pleased with Ser Konrad's speech. Though it was hardly a proper thought for the occasion, she wished she were a bit more skilled with weapons so she could defeat the arrogant Stormlander knight.

Jenny nodded and smiled at Yve. "Well, we must keep our siblings happy" she said. It was Gwendolyn she thought about when she said it, though; although she cared about her brothers and sisters it had been years since she had seen them.
She blushed as she read the poem. "Dunstan is most kind, Lady Yve. I am not worthy of such generous description." No one had ever written a poem about Jenny before. Her heart was a-flutter, but she tried not to show it.


11:41, Today: Jenny Goodbrother rolled 9 using 3d6 with rolls of 5,2,2.  Cunning.

11:41, Today: Jenny Goodbrother rolled 12 using 3d6 with rolls of 5,2,5.  Awareness.

As the talk settled, meals were eaten, and wine and ale continued to flow, the feast became less structured and folk began to make their way about the hall. Each of the three hearths gathered a loose group of guests, with Sam the Sweet offering simple smallfolk ballads at the low hearth, and a trio of musicians brought by Ser Jasper serenading the highborn on the harp at the high hearth.

As the night progressed, platters of food were delivered intermittently from the kitchens, until some folk gradually began to excuse themselves, wishing Lord Lymaan, Ser Jasper, and the prospective newlyweds good fortunes and the Sevens' blessing on the morrow

Players may choose to:

1. Gather information or rumours on a specific person or topic [Knowledge: Streetwise, or Status: Breeding].
2. Gather rumours generally. [Persuasion: Charm, or Awareness: Notice]
2. Observe and gather information about tourney combatants [Status:Tournaments, or a more difficult Awareness: Notice]
3. Seek to engage a specific Character socially, for a simple or standard intrigue [NPC, roll Status: Breeding]
4. Enjoy the celebration and entertainment [Select ability as appropriate].
Players with the Connections Benefit can choose two options of the above.

Cat sits rather awestruck at the Essosi woman's words. Even after the woman is carried off, Cat remains lost in those lines.

After a while, she starts paying attention to other things again. As the tables break down into a more amorphous crowd, Cat speaks gently to the Septa beside her. "Please, Septa, could I say hi to cousin Bryn? He won't be around much as he's a ward elsewhere. The Seven have seen fit to let our paths cross today. This may be my one chance to see him in a long time." She flashes pleading doe eyes at the Septa.

OOC:
18:07, Today: Lady Catelyn Mooton rolled 10 using 3d6, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 6,1,4.  Status to meet Bryn.

Valen thanks Ronnel for telling him things in such detail and being honest on the region's true nature, in a way it is disappointing when things do not correspond to the tales about them, but the Reach didn't lose its charm still, and it made Valen want to visit it one day that much more.

For the rest of the feast Valen will simply try to look for information about the tourney, looking to discover who Ser Berion might face and trying to get some basic information on how the event for the squires would work.

OOC:
Valen rolls 9 with 4d6 in Awareness(Notice)

The young Bryn makes the round of the room, talking to this person and that, a light smile and a warm laugh following wherever he goes. He carries himself with a quiet confidence that can be both reassuring and off-putting depending on which side of a conversation he lands on. While the young Blackfin may be just that, young, the subtle impression of a man of substance lurks just below the surface.

In a seemingly natural way, the conversations he takes part in end up touching on the host Lord Lychester, though only briefly, before winding away on some other tangent.

OOC: Gather information or rumours on Lord Lyman Lychester, Status: Breeding 11
17:00, Today: Bryn Blackfin rolled 11 using 4d6, dropping the lowest dice only ((2,5,4,2)).

The lull in the feast as things began to wind down afforded Berion time to get up and meander about the hall.  While his position close to the salt meant that he wasn't able to meet many of those who might compete in the upcoming tournament, now was the perfect opportunity to change all that.  After all, you never knew when the tiniest little detail let slip during festivities might prove useful.

Berion Knollwood rolled 15 using 3d6+2 with rolls of 6,6,1.  Status

Ser Jarrak mingles among the guests, mostly seeking information about the coming tourney.  Not much though is fourth oming.


I misread the post, when I read it again I realized the mistake and I'm using the first, lower, roll.
My apologies.

12:34, Today: Ser Jarrak rolled 7 using 3d6 with rolls of 3,2,2.  Awareness.

12:34, Today: Ser Jarrak rolled 5 using 3d6 with rolls of 2,2,1.  Awareness.

In reply to Lady Catelyn Mooton (msg # 42):

Recently returned from seeing the strange Seer to recovery in Lord Lychester’s guest rooms, Septa Illa pursed her lips in mild disapproval. “I would have you meet with your new Lady as soon as possible, but if you wish to greet your cousin Bryn first then I am sure that can be arranged. Naturally I shall accompany you at an appropriate distance until you are properly placed into the charge of Lady Gwendolyn.” The Septa stood, and gestures for Catelyn to follow her toward the higher tables, speaking in quiet tones with one guard tasked with ensuring the riff Taff did not overly disturb their betters, before the man nodded and allowed them to pass.

"Yes, Septa. Thank you." While polite and friendly, there is less enthusiasm in this reply than in the original question.

Cat glances about as she follow the Septa, just trying to get a gauge on what's going on and who's talking to whom. But mostly she focused on finding Bryn. She politely indicates to the Septa when she spots him.

When they get to Bryn Cat restrains herself until his current conversation is over and she can launch toward him with a big hug. She might catch an earful from the Septa later, but come on, he's her first cousin and the only one she knows here. "Cousin Bryn! It's me, Cat, the one who played with you by the river when we came to visit Fairmarket ten years ago. You've grown a lot." Of course, so had she, even if she still isn't very big she's much bigger than when she was five.

Thoren went about the room, speaking amiably with those he knew well and spending less time with those who he didn't...for probably longer than he would have preferred. These types of events were not his cup of tea, but he knew there were things that he could learn which might be to their benefit at some point down the line.

OOC:

Gathering rumors, generally. Awareness (Notice): 14

15:29, Today: Thoren Blackfin rolled 3 using 1d6 with rolls of 3.  Awareness (forgot the bonus die).
15:27, Today: Thoren Blackfin rolled 11 using 4d6, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 2,6,1,3.  Awareness (Notice).

Bryn's eyes go wide as the small woman launches herself at him and he resists the urge to step aside, instead catching her awkwardly with one hand on the back of a nearby chair to steady them. There is a slight squeek from the chair as it slides under their combined weight.

"Cous-," he searches his memories before recognition flashes across his face. Little Redfin?

"Cat? It has been, well, ten years. Let me get a look at you," he laughs brightly with a broad smile as he takes her by the shoulders and pulls her off him enough to get a better look at her face.

"You have grown more than a little yourself Redfin. It is good to see you after all this time. I suspect your septa will not approve but will you sit and catch up with me over some wine?" he nods over her shoulder at the stern looking older woman.

"I'd love to. Septa Illa will want to introduce me to Lady Gwendolyn soon, as I am to be her ward. But I'm sure Septa Illa would be willing to let use reconnect for a bit." She flashes some doe eyes at the Septa again, though she knows it doesn't work.

"You will be Lady Gwendolyn's ward? How interesting. Well I hope that means we will be able to see each other more often then," he sends a charming smile towards the Septa as well.

He gestures to a slightly quieter spot in the room where he pulls out a chair for her and then pours them each some wine, watered down quite a little of course.

Rumours swirl around the feast, with much speculation about who will attend, who will win favour, who will compete, and who will emerge victorious in the Tournament.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:27, Thu 16 Dec 2021.

"Yes. My father's wife insisted I be sent to a good example of a lady while they focus on training my brother to be heir. Yes, we should see more of each other now, certainly far more than once a decade." She takes the offered seat and drink. Speaking more quietly she says, "You'll have to let me know about any excitement around here. Too bad I can't joust myself, but I'd probably go flying off the horse so fast given how big I am. Is there an archery contest? Do you think they'd let me into it?"

Sitting down opposite, Bryn merely shrugs, "There is almost always something interesting going on, only some of it is exciting though."

He thinks a little then says, "I assume there will be an archery contest, but letting women participate would be unseemly," and gives an exaggerated roll of the eyes.

"It may not be ladylike but if you are any good at it I say have a go, the arrow does not care who fired it as long as it strikes its target. You could certainly not be any worse than me. Maybe ask Lady Gwendolyn what she thinks."

He leans in conspiratorially and suggests with a wink, "You could wear a disguise and then reveal yourself when you win, just like the heroic knights in the old stories, eh?"

He chuckles as he leans back again and takes a sip of his wine.

"You think there is a chance she might say yes? Maybe this wardship might work out better than I fear. I'm worried I'll get locked in a room learning to sew for a couple years."

In response to the other suggestion Cat says, "I thought about that, but I'm not sure I could manage a disguise in time, and I think my size is recognizable enough that I wouldn't get away with it for long anyway. But that does sound glorious, doesn't it?"

Noting a nearby knight she asks, "Do you have any idea who the frontrunners are for the joust? Are you joining in?"

"I have not seen her in a little while but I think she would either support you or give a very good reason why you should not, she has always been good like that."

He considers his cousin's question about the joust then shakes his head, "If I had not fallen ill while I was younger I might have squired for some knight and had a tilt, but the Crone saw fit to keep me from that path. It only takes one solid blow to the head to lose one's wits... As for frontrunners, I cannot say that I have any clue. No doubt all and sundry will try their hand, what with the Stormlanders having to prove they have better knights than the Riverlands and the same in reverse."

He peers around at a few knights before idly observing, "I imagine any knight not already in his cups stands a reasonable chance tomorrow."

"This sounds promising. Don't tell my stepmother about Lady Gwendolyn, though, or she might have me sent to be a ward elsewhere... Hmm... Perhaps you, rather than the Septa, could introduce me to Lady Gwendolyn? The Septa will be happy I've been introduced to her, while that would put a little more distance between Lady Gwendolyn and my stepmother. The Septa probably won't like that idea, though."

Hearing about his childhood illness she says, "I'm sorry to hear your illness so impacted your health. It should mean we see more of each other at the tournament, though."

Bryn shrugs, "I am happy to introduce you if you would like, however if your Septa Illa has been given the task it might be better that I merely accompany you. A place for everyone and everyone in their place, eh?"

He smiles at his cousin over his wine.

"I suppose you're right. The Septa certainly would be happier to introduce me herself. Shall I let her know I'm ready and the several of us head over to Lady Gwendolyn?"

Assuming so, Cat will step over to the Septa and say, "Thank you Septa. Would you now like to deliver me to Lady Gwendolyn? Cousin Bryn may accompany us if you don't mind; he's both my cousin and Lady Gwendolyn's after all."

Bryn soon steps up beside Cat and addresses the Septa as well, "It has been some time since I last saw Lady Gwendolyn myself, it will be good do so again."

He adjusts one of his cuffs and gives the woman a gentle smile.

As the feast slows down, and people depart to various places, Jarrak remains in conversation mostly with the Hedge Knights, and those at the lower table.  Not having gathered much information on the jousting, but sharing many stories amongst themselves.  He remains sober, but gives the appearance of drinking much.  Eventually, he seems the stables to check on his horse, and then the quarters set aside for himself.

Jenny chatted happily with Yve and the others. It was all very exciting. She let herself relax and enjoy the wonderful entertainment, although she looked over at Dunstan when she thought no one was looking, wondering what he thought of her.

01:28, Today: Jenny Goodbrother rolled 16 using 5d6, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 2,5,4,5,1.  Persuasion (Charm). gathering rumors.

In reply to Bryn Blackfin (msg # 61):

The Septa seemed glad the short audience was ended, as though fearful that Cat might shame her family name with even a few moments of chaperoned interaction “Of course” she replied, dutifully.

She led the way to Lady Gwendolyn, and bowed deeply in deference to Gwendolyn’s rank of heir and place of high standing at the feast. “My Lady, I apologise for seeking you out at the feast, but your father and Lord Mooton have been corresponding for some time regarding a sensitive matter. Events have forced Lord Mooton’s hand before he has had time to make proper arrangement, and so I bring with me his letter and granddaughter, Lady Catelyn Mooton.” She offered the letter for Gwen’s inspection, and gestured toward her temporary charge to step forth.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:54, Tue 14 Dec 2021.

Cat steps forward when Septa Illa gestures for her. She gives an appropriate bow and keeps her mouth shut for now.

In reply to The Many Faced God (msg # 41):

Darvil would simply listen to any rumors going on.


13:18, Today: Darvil Blackfin rolled 2 using 1d6 with rolls of 2.  rerolling a 1.

13:18, Today: Darvil Blackfin rolled 11 using 4d6 with rolls of 3,2,5,1.  Awareness.

Lady Gwendolyn smiled courteously, and took the written letter from Lord Mooton. As she broke the seal and quickly scanned its words, her face became inscrutable.

“My father has spoken in passing of this matter,” she revealed, “Though neither he nor I believed it to be such an imminent affair.”

She nodded her head in respect to the Septa, “you have done your Motherhouse proud, Septa. I gladly take responsibility for the well-being of Lady Catelyn Mooton. I shall ask Lord Lyman to have her things moved to our quarters so that she feels at ease.” She gestured to one of her hand maids, Lanna Dun, and the girl moved off to speak with some underlying of Lord Lyman in a steward’s coat.

The septa bowed in turn and her eyes flicked to Catelyn, “I have served faithfully, but thank you for your compliment, lady.” Her role as Chaperone fulfilled, she withdrew, giving Catelyn some privacy with her new mistress, though another hand maid, Myranda, waited on her nearby.

“Please, be at ease,” Gwendolyn reassured Catelyn, “you will be among friends from here on. I would ask though, what has motivated such a sudden change in your fortunes? My understanding of your grandfather’s letter is that he has planned for you to spend more time with your family, and the Mooton’s are not known for hasty dealings.”

As the Septa starts to leave Cat says to her, "Thank you, Septa. I really do appreciate the effort you two went through."

Then she hears Gwendolyn out. "Thank you, my lady. Things have changed at home. My step-mother wishes more focus on training my half-brother to take his place as heir. Meanwhile, she feels someone more refined than my father might train me to be a better lady."

Septs Illa smiled as genuine warmth momentarily penetrated her cool demeanour. “Thank you Lady Catelyn. I pray the seven guide you  in your time with House Blackfin.” She frowned a little, as if wondering how much their intervention might be needed. “I believe Ser Randyl has been invited by Septon Mattheus to remain for the wedding; we will remain until the festivities are concluded.”

Lady Gwendolyn nodded politely at Cetelyn’s explanation. “Such things cannot be avoided of course, and House Mooton is burdened both by its great prestige and many ventures of trade and industry; my father often speaks of them in admiration. You will find that there are many wards within House Blackfin at this time, and the tourney shall brocade your with the chance to meet most of them. My handmaidens are dispersed for now, but will gather later this evening, after the feast, for refreshment.” There was a note of curiosity in Gwendolyn’s eyes, as if she had not fully accepted Cat’s explanation, but would not disrespect her by questioning her further.