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[fieldbox=Some Joy?, royalblue]
[
[ Amber Trevelyan ]
[ Lady of House Trevelyan ]
-Near the village of Rensworth -

The first stage of her plan was starting. Amber watched how her orders were carried out. The risky part was that she had to entrust and delegate some forces two men that she wasn't yet certain of their loyalty. But right now, it felt like even breathing was a gamble. In any case, if she would meet her end today then she would have the 'joy' that she had some sway of her own.
With the delegated forces away, Amber would give the order to move towards Rensworth. Not to enter it but to close in some distance and reveal herself to the Blood Brothers. Their captain as the bulk of his forces should be here, after all.

She could spot various members of the sellsword company at the outer edge of the village. The simple palisade wouldn't be much to hold back a charge, Amber wagered. She could very well take the village back by swooping in and bloodying her steel with the traitorous sellswords. For a moment, she felt the temptation grow. To give in would be so easy. Innocents lives would be lost in the clash of steel. There was no doubt about that but who would give a damn? She would risk limb and life to save those people from their captors.
Knowing all too well how things could be seen different and then making her appear as some sort of tyrant, Amber would give this a shot.

Spotting a small group leaving the village slowly Amber would narrow her eyes.

"Time for business."

Spurring her horse, she would be followed by a small group of riders that covered Amber's flank.


[/fieldbox]
 
Zahara

Zahara couldn't do much to mask her identity; there was no doubt once she walked through the doors of a tavern, they'd gawk and wonder why a woman of seemingly high status was requesting room and board for the night. Who knew what would happen in a tavern? Some man might try to take advantage of her, another might be so drunk off his ass, he wouldn't know where his hands might go. Zahara thought about the consequences of her walking off; She didn't have her cloak to conceal herself and keep her warm, she didn't have a lamp to light her path, and she was all alone.

Serves him right for going back. I would go far away from here if I could.

It would take a few hours longer for her to get to the next town over and since she had no food for her or her horse, it was safe to say that she'd done it all wrong and the best she could do at this point was find a resting point and sleep outside for the night. Zahara got off of her horse and ran her hand over its back. There was no point in continuing on tired legs; Lily thought so too, so the pair went down to the same familiar stream that flowed upwards. Zahara collapsed underneath a simple willow oak and Lily stood near the young lady for a time before laying down as well.

A gust of wind carried on through and sent goosebumps up Zahara's arms. She curled in a ball and sighed; Where were her handmaidens? Were they safe? They meant the world to her; Losing one would be devastating. She had no doubts though; The entourage was made of well-trained men and they would see to it that her belongings got to Frosthold safely and her handmaidens safe and unharmed. Everything would be fine; Zahara was certain she'd make it through the night without anyone, even if she stayed awake out in the open with nothing left to salvage- for now.

What would Amber do if she found out she'd ventured away from the fight though? Would she be angry at her for not listening to Ser Jorick when he suggested they go back into fray or would Ser Jorick take the blame for not following her as she went? Amber couldn't even squash a fly, but she was not above, it seemed, trying ruthless methods given her decision to attack the Blood Brothers. Amber would probably take Ser Jorick's side and instead of scolding, do something torturous to her, something she knew Zahara hated, probably a house arrest and being forbidden from going out.

"Just like father did, but never holding out for too long."


INTERACTIONS none TAGS amber @Oetje
 
[fieldbox=Darion Foxworth, white]

A sneaking Fox

The sight of Amber Trevelyan steeping in front of her subjects was a welcome sight in the eyes of Darion. And the fact that she will lead us is even more of a welcome sight, he though for himself. She looked like the person Darion would be willing to follow to the deepest depths of hell. And even further, he thought. Everybody seemed to be inspired by her appearance. Nobody minded the cold anymore. Her presence filled the air with an almost tangible energy, that kind that made everybody want to do their best. Darion Foxworth was not an exception.

The march started soon after her appearance. No speech was given by her, but that was hardly necessary. Everybody moved as one man, one large entity carrying out the will of Lady Trevelyan. Even Darion felt like he mattered where he is right now - something he did not feel for a long time. Actually, he started to feel that way since he pledged his sword to House Trevelyan. I like that feeling, he thought. And I will do everything I can to help this cause.


The countryside was nice and calm, almost too quiet for his liking. It appeared as if the land itself was bracing for something, something ominous. It only took them a few hours to reach the village of Rensworth. A good mood was present in the convoy during the march, but as they approached the village, a more serious mood set in. The march then slowly stopped and everybody realized they reached their destination. Everybody eagerly awaited what will happen next.

Orders reached Darion quickly. To his big surprise, they came directly from Lady Trevelyan. He was to take forty men and flank the village from the west. He was a bit surprised - Lady Trevelyan sending orders directly to him. " Tell Lady Trevelian our group will be ready by the time the horns blow. " The man nodded and quickly left. Darion dismounted and took a quick look at the troops surrounding him - everybody followed him with their eyes.

" You heard the orders, folks. Lady Trevelyan will need us in position to make these folks regret their transgressions. I want forty of you to follow me! We'll march on foot, our steeds would make it easier for the enemy to spot us. Lets' go! "

Forty brave man followed Darion on foot around the village of Rensworth. He made them walk from the village for a few minutes in order to hide their movement from the Blood Brothers lookouts. As night was setting in, the temperature dropped noticeably. Yet nobody complained. They reached the western side of the village in less than twenty minutes. They proceeded to lay low on the western flank and Darion observed the village. Then he called eight man to himself and told everyone to take five more that will follow them.

"You will form smaller groups, we will be able to move more efficiently that way. Once the horns blow, there will be chaos. We shall use that chaos to climb that hill as if our lifes depend on it. That palisade looks though, but it cannot withstand the combined might of forty men. Try not to destroy it though, the village will still need it. Pick your groups and stay low. As soon as you hear the horns ... you know what to do. "

The men nodded and left to gather their groups. Darion remained in front of the group, observing the village. The cold was biting at him, yet he ignored the feeling. His body was tense.

The fox was on the prowl.
And he was ready to strike.​
[/fieldbox]
 
[fieldbox=Jorvan, crimson]
South of Tornburg, exact location unknown.
In service of House Trevelyan.


It had been bloody but short. Jorvan observed the aftermath of the clash and much to his prediction, the guard had been able to wipe out their attackers. Or in any case, send the majority to the afterlife and the rest on the run. With only a few casualties among the guard and one of the handmaiden's death, Jorvan considered it not all too bad. They had been ambushed and likely outnumbered or else their assailants would have thought twice before making a move. By the time that he had ridden back to the site of the camp, the guards were cleaning up the bodies of the attackers. Most of their weapons and gear was not good enough to be considered to take with them. Questions, where Zahara was, had been raised but Jorvan's answer hadn't given too much satisfaction to the guards. The only saving grace that the guards didn't decide to arrest him, or worse, was that he knew several of them and had been spotted fighting against the bandits.

Now it was just the question of what should follow. Jorvan already had a plan but it was just if the guards would agree upon it. Approaching one of the guards that was checking the state of his blade, Jorvan recognised the man. Lothar, who was a few years older than him. Known among the other household guards as a stern but jovial figure. A person you could find either spend his time training how to use his blade better or drinking with his buddies. Somebody that Jorvan considered a somewhat kindred spirit.

"Good to see you're still alive." Jorvan greeted the guard as he nodded towards Lothar. Well aware that the other could be in a nasty mood, Jorvan tried to phrase his following comment as innocent as possible. "So, seeing you're the senior among the guards here, what now?"

"Hm? Ah, yes," Lothar grumbled as he sheathed his sword back into the scabbard. His left thumb would hook behind his belt while he briefly threw a glance at the ongoing activities in the camp. "Our first priority is to locate Lady Zahara. Then to see what we should do. Clearly then it is the question if we should continue on to Frosthold or return to Tornburg."

Jorvan slowly nodded twice while Lothar replied to his question. He doubted that he and Arthur would receive their payment if the entourage would lose Zahara or return to Tornburg. There was no kind of hope within Jorvan that he would receive the pity from Lady Trevelyan if this whole diplomatic mission would go wrong. "We got still got a group of guards and able to ride," Jorvan began as he gestured towards the camp in front of him and Lothar, "If anything, we could send a few riders to act as scouts and vanguard. In order to reach Frosthold, she will have to cross the Weeping Water. There are a few bridges where a pair of guards could stay and keep her there until the rest of the entourage has caught up."

The suggestion of Jorvan caused Lothar to throw a sideways glance at Jorvan. If the sellsword had to gauge the facial expression of Lothar, he was certain that Lothar wasn't that fond of the idea but was wavering on what to do. "And what if Lady Zahara will give another command to the guards? They are to serve her." Lothar stated, scratching his chin.

Shifting his weight from one leg to another, Jorvan felt that he was starting to get irritated again. Loyalty was certainly something he could appreciate and commend in others but this wasn't going to get them anywhere.
"They are to serve her but hard to serve somebody who forsakes her own protection. Regardless what she orders them, their first priority is to safeguard Lady Zahara's safety. Correct?"

The question of Jorvan was answered with a slow nod from Lothar as he slowly uttered the word. "Yes." After hearing this, Jorvan would gesture towards the camp in front of them. "Which means that if she gives an order that goes against that priority then they should have some sway to decline her order. Send the riders in the morning and once they get a hold of Zahara, make them ride towards a rally point. It will take the entire entourage some time longer to arrive there and with a pair of riders, one can stay behind with Zahara while the other warns the other outriders."

The suggested plan caused Lothar to ponder. He clearly wasn't keen on sending some of the men to advance further while there wasn't any certainty that the plan would work. It would divide them and that seemed to sit against Lothar's desires. But eventually, he grumbled and narrowed his eyes while turning towards Jorvan. "If this fails, your head is going on the block, sellsword." The grumbling warning wasn't clearing out if Lothar was just making a morbid joke or actually a real threat. Deciding that he would just see how things would go, Jorvan decided to take his rest.



The next morning Lothar instructed a few pair of guards to ride ahead and follow the plan of intercepting Lady Zahara if she would venture further towards Frosthold on her own. With the clear instructions to not venture of the plan as there was too much at stake. Jorvan simply watched as the pairs were riding out of the camp, while the rest was busy packing again for the next part of the journey towards Frosthold. Hopefully, without any obstacles or trouble.

[/fieldbox]
 
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[fieldbox=Anselm Marric - Frosthold Study, blue, solid, 8, book antiqua]After being dragged away to other business, Anselm would soon move to his study to await for more business.

The study was fairly modest and of similiar size to one of Frosthold's bedrooms, being twelve-by-fourteen feet in dimensions. The plain oaken door, and- to minimal suprise- Anselm found Revenant and Valeria (his and his sister's wolf-dogs, respectively) curled on the rug that covered the room's floor before the closed, empty fireplace centered on the wall to his right upon entering the room. A bookcase and a large chifferobe flanked the sides of the fireplace, whereas the entire left wall was filled with bookcases and the back wall had a bookcase on either side of the window that served as the room's primary source of light. Below the window was a small table with some organized items on it, while ahead of it was a large, dark oaken desk and chair where Anselm performed most of his paperwork. There were also two chairs in front of the desk, as well as a couch against the shared wall near to the fireplace (in other words, to the immediate right of the opened door. The chairs had some padding to them, but nothing over-the-top or excessive.

Underneath the couch was a small chest containing pillows and blankets for the nights wherein Anselm was too exhausted to return to his chambers. Currently enjoying the couch was one of the mouser cats that roamed the castle, an older one that their youngest sister had affectionately nicknamed "Ink" due to its black, ink-like fur. To the immediate left of the door was a small coatrack and a larger table with some drawers beneath its surface, similar to the one beneath the window, wherein Anselm occassionaly left a drink should need it later on. He decided against closing the door, leaving room for the animals to leave and for people to enter.

But, for the moment, the lord walked over to the desk, seating himself as he began to go over the new papers that found themselves on his desk. Some were letters from old friends, others were reports on the state of the standing army (including the Whiteblades) and the state of commerce, while many others were various issues that were deemed necessary for him to review. Pulling out a quill and dipping it in a fresh inkwell, the grey wolfdog looked at the desk as he first heard the quill scribble against the parchment as he wrote various notes, copied some sections of script, and composed responses to the letters he recieved.

All-in-all, there were less papers than usual. Hopefully he could assist the others and greet his guests when he had taken care of these duties, if nothing else. But, either way, he would certainly have time to do so after meeting with his siblings.
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[fieldbox=First Blood!, royalblue]
Near the village of Rensworth.

A collab between Gerontis and Oetje.

Summary:
The host of Amber Trevelyan arrives at the outskirts of Rensworth. Shortly before that, she gave orders for two detachments to be formed and to operate in a different fashion instead of focusing to take out all the Blood Brothers on what will become the 'front' in Rensworth. When she arrives, an envoy of the Blood Brothers approaches Lady Trevelyan's force. A talk follows and blood quickly flows afterwards.




[spoili]

With a blank stare, she watched them come forth from Rensworth. It could not be more than ten or so mercenaries. Amber tried to recognise anybody of higher rank but their gear was vastly different, which she contributed to the fact that there were likely veterans and more recruits present among the send envoy. She would halt her steed and the few guards on horseback were quick to follow.
The envoy of the Blood Brothers was on foot and as they closed in the distance, there was already a tension rising in the cold air. Amber said nothing but kept her blank stare focused on the group. Her gloved hands were holding the reins in a light grip while her back was straight.

"You of the Trevelyans?" One of the older men present among the envoy asked. He had his eyes narrowed underneath his steel helmet and his right hand was leaning on the hilt of his short blade while his right hand clamped around the shaft of a spear. His tone was one that revealed the man's wariness while also lacking any sense of respect. "The captain won't deal with anybody but the woman that leads the House."

Amber stared at the man. Her dark grey-green eyes were locked and for a moment it seemed as if the woman didn't even need to blink. Suddenly, however, a smile dawned on Amber's lips.
"Yes, I am Lady Trevelyan. I am here to deal with captain Torrack of the Blood Brothers. Tell him that I got him his payment."
She subtly gestured to the carts with the boxes behind her, guarded by the men at arms on foot.
"No need for violence today but if the good captain worries about my guard, I hope he understands that travelling with a large amount of coin is a risky endeavour. One, that he must be experienced with."

The spokesman briefly glanced at the carts. And at the stern looking men that guarded it, clearly ready to take any hands or arms of anybody who dared to touch the carts or chests without their lady's permission. "Very well, I will inform captain Torrack." He simply nodded while turning around, followed by the fellowship that had accompanied him from Rensworth.

"Good."
Amber said the word while giving a nod back. She was hoping that both Lionel's host as that of Anderon and Owen would hit their targets soon. She couldn't wait to be done with this issue. Considering that she would use the profits of this endeavour to pay back some other sellswords made her wonder what those men were thinking. Dismissing that thought she would wait for captain Torrack to come meet her in person. She was eager to meet him. And, hopefully, he was 'dying' to meet her.

Soon enough another envoy would travel from Rensworth. This fellowship was a tad larger and consisted of better armed and armoured men, that also seemed to march in a more disciplined manner. There was a large bloke in front of the company that had an amused expression plastered over his face. At least, that was what a person could try to conclude if they could ignore the large beard on his face. That merely seemed as if a bear had climbed the man's chin and had died. "Lady Trevelyan!" The captain spread his arms as a broad smile dawned on his lips. "And here I was afraid that we wouldn't come to good terms! I heard that you brought the money even with you. Though you could have just asked and I would have sent you a company of my troops." Hooking his thumbs behind his belt, the man quickly threw a look at the carts. "I take it that will be every penny that your house owns me and my boys?"

She already disliked him at first sight. Yet, however, she didn't break the facade.
"I made certain myself that everything is in order, good captain. You can collect the carts here while we watch you take your leave. I take it it is only fair after your recent act against my subjects, yes?"
The need to draw her sword and drove it into the man's face was growing but she would hope that the captain would take the bait.

"Heh, sure. I will need to send some of my boys here to the other places. Unless you want to prolong our contract," the captain winked at Amber while a devious smile grew on his lips, "I must say, I have grown to like it here. Might try to sell my services to one of the nearby houses. Heard that there might be a new leader of this region, eh?"

Amber felt how the anger in her started to grow. It was a turbulent beast that demanded the captain and all that followed him to die a gruesome death. But Amber would keep her anger under control as the prospect was that the Blood Brothers would bleed out soon enough.
"Yes, of course. I take it that a week would suffice more than enough for you to rally and make your way out?" Amber asked, deciding to pay no verbal heed to the last comment of the man.

"A week? Yes, that would be enough. Might allow some of my boys to say their goodbyes to some of the farmer girls here, heh." Some of the men behind Torrack snickered as their captain seemed to not fear the Trevelyan present force. He briefly seemed to eye them, likely counting their numbers quickly. "Give me some time and I will march my forces out. I want you and your dogs to back off from the carts. Deal?"

"Of course, as you desire, captain."
A subtle nod as the flash of a smile was given to Torrack by Amber. She would steer her horse and direct it to the troops that guarded the carts and wagons. Once she was there, she gave the order for the next stage. Various skirmishers were already in hiding with their bows and crossbows. The troops that had remained visible would simply take up a distance from the carts and wait.

It would take around an hour before the Blood Brothers marched out of Rensworth. The few banners displayed their company's banner, two axes on a field of red. With Torrack on top of a horse, followed by his troops, they seemed to be almost ready to march to war. While the bulk of the company was marching towards the carts, Torrack spurred his mount towards Amber. A few men on horseback followed him. Once captain Torrack had reached closer to Amber, he grinned and winked towards the woman. "Was a pleasure, Lady Trevelyan. Now, I will have a few of my men check the content of the crates and chests. Some of my men will be in Rensworth. Just a safety measure that this day, there won't be any mistakes. Agreed?"

Amber watched how various men spurred forwards to the wagons. She would keep her attention focused on the men, who climbed on the wagons.
"Agreed. Let us try to avoid mistakes."
Right after Amber finished the sentences, the air would be filled with various projectiles. Bolts launched from crossbows and arrows flying from bowstrings found their mark. When Amber threw a glance at Torrack, he already fell from his horse with two bolts in his neck and face. A horn would soon resonate, heralding the start of the clash.

[/spoili]
[/fieldbox]
 
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Reactions: Gerontis and Lesli
[fieldbox= Upholding Promises | House of Marric, #FA8072]
75864065eafceab0b565bcf8d194e8c0.png

Ida had stood quietly next to lady Meera as they waited patiently for the others to arrive. Once they had, ida was surprised at how short Meera had kept the welcoming interaction before leaving and taking her as well. Ida had quickly smiled at Lord Alexander before shuffling off behind Meera, wondering why she was in such a rush. "Going to get some air? Lady Meera we are out in the open... You'll need better excuses than that." Her eyes studied Meera's face, but the young woman had her mind set on only one thing, which Ida could easily guess.

After walking a bit of a distance, Ida kept her eyes on Meera. Something was troubling her for sure, which made the young woman get an uneasy feeling deep within her stomach. The Lady voiced her worries which confirmed what Ida had been trying to keep in the back of her mind the entire time since the whole banquet had been brought up.
"Lady Meera, you know that I will protect you and your brothers, as I always have. Please try not to think too negatively, and we shall see how it goes tonight.... and of course. I'll get Valeria some food." With a slight nod, Ida quickly made her way back towards the hold, her eyes carefully watching the newcomers and Alex, as well as Baylon, who watched over Alex.

Her mind raced with thoughts of how the night might go, her imagination getting the best of her, painting dreary pictures as she made her way inside the hold. Upon entering, she walked quietly through the corridors, listening to the her soft footsteps in order to maintain her mind busy.
"Ida! Where have you been? Ronan was looking for you to make sure that all of the rooms were to the Marric's liking." The young woman looked up, startled, as she realized who was talking with her. She had completely forgotten to let the other servants of the hold know that the rooms were good to go, causing her cheeks to turn a soft pink color. The shade of embarrassment. "Oh... um, my apologies. Lady Meera found me and took me to welcome the guests at the front gates. Yes, all of the rooms were well done, thank you. Please tell Ronan that; also, if you could please send out some people to help the guests into their rooms. Thank you, once more."

With yet another quick nod, Ida walked around the woman and turned a corner, heading towards where she new Valeria preferred to be.

Once standing near the open, oaken door, Ida cleared her throat so that Lord Marric could hear from inside his study. Valeria typically liked to be with the other wolf-dog, Revenant, which happened to be in Anselm's room most of the time.

Ida slowly walked into the study, a bit weary with hopes that she was not interrupting anything.
"Hello Lord Marric. I hope you don't mind my intrusion, Lady Meera sent me for Valeria." Ida took a few steps into the study and stopped, not wanting to barge into anything. She watched Anselm with curious eyes. Even after serving the Marric's for years, she had never had much interaction with the eldest.

@AceSorcerer

[/fieldbox]
 
[fieldbox=Anselm Marric - Frosthold Study, blue, solid, 8, book antiqua]
Anselm immediately raised his head to glance as Ida made herself known, offering a polite smile as the cat resting in the corner immediately perked upon, mewling in a soft yawn before jumping down and rubbing against the maidservant's legs in the hopes of being petted and loved on as he purred softly. Anselm subtlely pointed to the two large bowls of food and water the wolfdogs ate and drank out of, the former being licked dry. He would speak to her, continuing to finishing the letter he was writing before sighining it and placing it in an envelope to be sealed with wax later.

"Much like the twins, it's hard to find one of them without the other nearby, isn't it? But please, Ida, take a seat and relax for a short time if you wish- you all deserve a break when this is well and done! But either way, I did put some food in their but those two are always rather hungry."

Anselm- despite his best efforts to learn more about the various staff, servants, and soldiers at Frosthold- did not know too much about Ida. True, he knew of her somewhat from his many conversation with his first sister. She had been working in the fortress for roughly seven years and had ingrained herself as a common and kind face, being especially helpful during the past few months as far as Anselm could remember. Otherwise, the nobleman soon set down his quill as he fixated his gaze on Ida, being polite and givig the woman his full and complete attention so long as she elected to remain and converse- Anselm himself would probably have few conversations that didn't have some political or internal goal in mind over the next day or so, it would seem, so he took up the chance for friendly conversation.

"Oh, before I forget- I was told that the Faerson were approaching. Since you are here, is it safe to say that they've arrived? Did anyone else come besides Lord Faerson and Lady Sanah?"
[/fieldbox]
 
[fieldbox= Upholding Promises | House of Marric, #FA8072]
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Ida smiled as Anselm greeted her, kneeling down to be able to pet the cat that rubbed itself on her legs. When Anselm mentioned for Ida to take a seat, if she wanted, Ida shook her head. "I shouldn't be a bother to you, my Lord. I still have to go check on the preparations, but thank you." Her cheeks were a soft pink from feeling slightly embarrassed. She was not used to having many conversations with Anselm, much less being alone in a room with him. Quite frankly, she had gotten used to only interacting with Meera and the other servants.

After petting the cat, Ida stood up and fixed her dress. She looked over to Valeria and clapped her hands a couple of times to get Valeria's attention. The two wolf-dogs perked up immediately, but only Meera's dog got up and walked over to the handmaiden. "I did not see anyone else besides the siblings that arrived. I think they mentioned others would be arriving later? I' will be around tonight if you need anything." With a polite smile and and small, playful curtsy, Ida snapped her finger and left the study with Valeria following closely behind.

@AceSorcerer

[/fieldbox]
 
[fieldbox=Guest arriving - GM post]
Frosthold

Alexander Marric led the Faerson siblings and Ayleen Gracewood to the prepared rooms. After inspecting personally that the rooms were as luxurious as they could be provided for the respected guests, he would assign some servants in order to provide some bread and salt to invoke the guest right. After some formal talk, both guests and Alexander would part ways, as the former parties were likely eager to sit down and rest out after their journey towards Frosthold.

Past Arrivals, prior to the Faerson sibling and Gracewood arrival:
[spoili]

GOsUKun.png

"Strong and Proud."
The arrival of Cedrik Gardway, fourth child of Lord Byrren Gardway.


Another entourage would make its way into Frosthold, the banner of House Gardway held high in the air. Slightly larger than the entourage of Brydan Hornwood, the entourage was following the lead of Cedrik Gardway. The youngest son of Byrren Gardway. A neutral expression was plastered on the young man that couldn't have seen more than nineteen years passing by. His entourage was slightly larger but in terms of quality sufficiently less than that of the Hornwoods. Yet, Cedrik seemed to hold an air of confidence around him. Dismounting, the young man's left hand rested on the pommel of his arming sword while throwing a glance around. There were various servants that each seemed to carry a small chest. The presence of the Gardway guards made it, however, clear that nobody would be allowed near the chests and neither did the looks of the chest made it clear on what the content could be within the chests. The dark brown hair, that reached to the shoulders, of the young man were tied together in a short bun while slowly a displeased expression would flow over his face.


GOsRDcd.png

"Protect, Serve, Progress."
The arrival of Thalina Lockguard, the third child of Lord Lockguard.

Arriving at the perimeter, the entourage of House Lockguard would raise their banners high. The group seemed to be as large as House Gardway but were led by Thalina Lockguard. The woman that was nearing twenty-five and yet the stern expression made her appear slightly older while her raven coloured hair was braided. At the head of her entourage, she seemed barely interested or impressed by the defences or exterior of Frosthold. There were a few maids and servants but unlike the other entourages, there were more guards present. Each clad in a long chainmail vest and clearly vigilant for any dangers, even inside of Frosthold. While being helped by one of the servants with dismounting her steed, Thalina snorted and engaged in a whispering conversation with her maids while waiting for the representative to welcome them officially.


[/spoili]
New arrivals, of House Hornwood and Bolton.

350

"Righteous in wrath."
The arrival of Brydan Hornwood, first son and heir of Lord Harald Hornwood.

The entourage of the Hornwoods arrived and wasn't large in number. There was a small unit of heavily armed and armoured guards, clad in mail and leather while steel helmets hide their facial features. Armed with shields and lances, each guard was armed with a sidearm of good quality. Brydan, himself, was quite easy to distinguish among his entourage. The firstborn son of Lord Hornwood and thus the rightful heir had short auburn hair while a lazy beard adorned his chin and cheeks. His light brown eyes slowly took in the sight and exterior of Frosthold as if he wasn't on some visit but clearly observing the defences and present force. As he dismounted, there seemed an air of confidence and possible arrogance to accompany his movements. Waving off a softly whispered suggestion of his servant, Brydan would wait to see who would welcome him as a herald already stood at the ready to announce the man.


435

"Our Blades are sharp."
The arrival of Manrel Bolton, the third child of the Red King.

No horns sounded in the distance when the banners of the Red King's house were flying into the wind. The only that sounded was the shouts from the wall, stating that a convoy of the Red King was making way towards the main gate. As the entourage of the Red King's house entered the keep, there was a young man riding at the head. Even younger than Cedrik, the Bolton prince that went by the name of Manrel had a smile present on his thin lips. Garbed in wealthy clothing, the young princeling seemed quite happy with arriving in the castle of Frosthold. A curious glance was thrown around before he dismounted while the guards stayed close to the princeling. Clearly, in a good mood, Manrel didn't take long before he decided to step towards one of the other entourages. His arrival made most people bow and kneel but he seemed to be not interested in them in the slightest.

"Good day! I don't think that we had been introduced yet, have we now? Judging from your sigil, I do assume that you're one of Lord Hornwoods children?" Manrel asked as he gave a courtly bow with his head towards Brydan Hornwood.

The surprise was evident and easy to read from Brydan's face as Manrel approached him. Giving a respectful bow towards the princeling, Brydan would respond back with a most friendly tone. "Brydan Hornwoord, your highness. I believe that I was at the last feast of your father but sadly, I was too occupied with your older brother. I hope that Aren is doing well."

Manrel nodded twice, as a smile still remained present on his lips. The light brown hair seemed to make him appear paler than his already pale complexion did to him. "Aren is doing well. I hope that Lord Hornwood was in a good health," the smile shifted into an apologising one for a moment, "And still is when you left for Frosthold. I fondly remember the discussion he and I held. I hope that he and I can meet soon again."

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[fieldbox=Anselm Marric - Frosthold, blue, solid, 8, book antiqua]
After she spoke, the eldest Marric looked to the maidservant with a kind smile and some kind words as she dismissed herself, needing to keep the oncoming meeting private between the four involved. But, before that could even happen, a servant came, announcing to Anselm that House Hornwood and the representative of the Red King had arrived- seemingly one of the Red Princes. Fastening his longsword to his side once more and pulling on his gloves, jogging to the outer walls and using one of the tower. With a whistle, he called four Whiteblades to follow him as he met with the guests as lord looked the guards and nodded, calling for the gate to be opened as he soon made his way forward, meeting with Baylon as he was awaiting them at the gate.

Upon raising his voice, the massive doors swung open and the six people made their way forward. The four Whiteguards wore hardened leather armor and chainmail in addition to their gambesons atop of it all. All four of them carried medium-sized tower shields that were well cared for, while the two carried spears and the others shortswords, walking behind the Marric sibling and their commanding master-at-arms. They continued walking until they were about five paces away from the other noble figures, Anselm at the head of the group as they approached in a triangular formation. The soldiers rendered a salute to the prince and the visiting nobleman, as was customary, while Anselm gripped the pommel of his longsword and swept his arm before his adomen, bowing deeply before speaking up.

"Your Majesty, it has been a long time since we last met- I am pleased to see you in such good health and I should hope the Red King along with Prince Aren and High Prince Rickon are doing well, also. The same is true for you, Lord Brydan- it has been a long time since I have visited your family's holdings, and I pray your family is well. I offer my personal apologies for the recent unpleasantness my father caused- I sincerely hope we can right such wrongs in the time to come.

"But, lest I forget my manners, allow me to introducte Baylon, my Master-At-Arms and one of my advisors."

Anselm motioned to Baylon as he introduced him, ensuring he showed every courtesy to his guests as he offered a polite and reverent smile, raising an eyebrow he saw his sister and two more Whiteblades approach, the lord smirking and speaking up as he pointed to her as she showed her respects to their visitors.

"And joining us now is my sister, Meera Marric. She is the one responsible for planning this banquet, and I'm certain her handiwork will be well worth it."
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Zahara

"You have no coin, we give you no service."

"Of course."

Her muscles were taut with stress and stomach empty. She left the tavern, irritated. Two taverns had denied her meal and drink; not even a meager apple would sway their greed and strong ethic. Afterall, she wasn't a villager; she was wealthy and had all the coin she could have. Why couldn't a damn noble get a simple meal such as meat, cheese, and fruit? Zahara ran her hand through her hair, "I'm sorry, Lily. I can't find anything for us. I have nothing. I'm sure we can go a while without eating."

Zahara regretted her decision. She thought the men and women would be accomodating to her, but it seemed they were more interested in money and preserving themselves than bearing any compassion for a young lady on her own with a horse that had no saddle. She was certain once Ser Jorick found her, if he found her, that is, he would mock her and talk about how he was right. Zahara's mood soured at the miserable thought; he'd certainly had the guts to speak his mind last night though.

Ser Jorick wasn't even a damn knight or anything, just a damn sellsword, and the same sellsword she'd seen at the earlier meeting with Lady Trevelyan and Lord Anderon. He was just 'Jorick', no title granted. What on Earth was Amber thinking? A bloody sellsword asked to protect her; Although she wasn't exactly keen on conversation with Anderon, she felt he could do a better job than Jorick was doing. Anderon would've followed her into the next town over, right? He wouldn't leave her to walk on her own.

"Loaf of bread, three coppers. Damn it."

She glanced around and noticed the store owner restocking his lower shelves a few rows down. A young gentleman was counting coin for a purchase, and a few other customers in the shop were a bit busy with their own shopping. Zahara clenched her fists, eyes wandered towards the apple basket in the corner. Two coppers per apple. Her heart pounded in her chest. If she could at least get one apple for Lily...

Thunk.

The owner grunted and glanced up from his work. "Oh dear!" He set aside his notes to help pick up the apples that Zahara knocked down. She bent down and smiled apologetically at the clean shaven man. "I'm sorry, this was my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going." Zahara glanced over at the other people in the store; they'd briefly glanced over at the sound, but went back to doing their own thing. Zahara took this as an opportunity to discreetly shove a couple apples into her stockings.

"Oh, where's the other ones..."

She picked up a couple more apples and offered them to the owner, "Here. I'm so sorry. Thank you for helping me. You didn't need to."

"Please, don't worry about it miss. I should've put them closer to the wall. Thank you for your help. Not many would be inclined to do so."

She smiled, "The pleasure is all mine. I really must be going though. I hope you have a wonderful day."

"You as well."

Zahara left the store and tried hard not to let a smug smile creep on her face. She knew, if anyone found out, she'd be in trouble. Zahara approached Lily and patted her mane. "Come now. Let's go. The others must be worried about us." The duo traveled further away from the store and when Zahara felt she'd found a somewhat secluded area in the village, near the entrance, she bent down and pulled out an apple from under her dress.

"Here you are. One for you," She fed Lily the apple. "And one for me."

Zahara bit into her own apple.


INTERACTIONS none TAGS none
 
[fieldbox=Only the Wind Knows All || Meera Marric, violet]

-Frosthold-

As the lady made her way back towards the main gates she was flanked by maids rushing after her with food samplings and patches of fabrics, it seemed as though nothing could possibly be done without Meera's approval, something the lady was coming to dread. If it were her in Anselm's place she would just cancel the banquet and demand the bannermen kneel to her, though that was a bit much even for her. She glanced around and began pointing to different fabrics and foods, not truly paying attention as the small gathering walked her back into her duties, all while she clutched the small rose in her hand, running her fingers over the petals to soothe herself. Wondering what Hel was up to and how she wished she could be sparring with him instead of picking fabrics. No one had ever made her feel like she wanted to abandon her lady duties, in fact she loved and cherished being the Lady Marric. So why did a southern bastard make her head spin so?

Once she saw the gates in front of her she sighed softly and watched as the maids began to disperse one by one. Taking her steps towards the awaiting guests, knowing very well she had been a poor hostess. She could hear her mother's lecture from beyond the grave, it made her sick to her stomach. Her eyes began searching for the familiar figure of her twin, though she couldn’t seem to locate him. She hoped his social skills had improved, maybe those ettiequte lessons were paying off after all. Alexander Marric had a charming smile and was a well known a fighter in the North. She had hoped he’d show some interest in some Lady soon, since he’d make a fanstatsic husband and political alliance. She assumed he was off showing the Faersons and the Lady Gracewood to their rooms. She had hoped the Faersons has found Liana again, such a sweet girl.


Her eyes finally settled on the gates on the Frosthold being lifted yet again and watching as the bannerman and the red prince waltzed in, flanked with horses and servants. She gracefully walked over by Anselm’s side and put on her best charming smile. She noticed he had father’s commanding aura about him, and with the soldiers around him she felt like he was really ready to lead the Frosthold into a better era. It was time to loose their father’s crimes.

She smiled more so when Anselm introduced her and curtsied at their new guests. “You flatter me Lord Marric. Thank you all most kindly for joining us in celebration of my brother. We’re all delighted you could attend and we look forward to sharing our plans for a better future.” She smiled again, her eyes wandering from person to person, trying to take in all of them and just who they truly were. She glanced at Anselm and back to the guests to await instructions.

The winds blew through the Frosthold, though they were cold and mysterious.




Interaction:
Anselm Marric

Mentioned:
Hel
Ida
Anselm Marric @AceSorcerer
Faerson Siblings @zane620 @Lesli
Aileen Gracewood @zucca_

[/fieldbox]
 
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[fieldbox=Blood Flowing - Part 1, royalblue]
[ Amber Trevelyan ]
[ Lady of House Trevelyan ]
-Near the village of Rensworth -

The initial volley saw various members of the Blood Brothers drop on the ground. Some already passing on to the afterlife while others were still breathing. Amber simply watched as another volley would be shot towards the ranks of the mercenaries while her own troops would form the two lines, effectively threatening the sellsword company from two directions. The woman's eyes narrowed as she fixated her focus on the hostile sellsword company, who realised that they were outnumbered.

Shouts resonated from within the ranks of the Blood Brothers who formed a formation known as schiltron. Round shields would lock together at the first ranks while the mercenaries tried to figure out which line would attack first. There were a few Blood Brothers that attempted to get back to the safety of Rensworth and its palisade but the arrows and bolts of Amber's men took the few stranglers down.
Resting her right hand on the handle of her blade, Amber would not give any indication that her forces should charge. Another volley would be let loose into the ranks of the Blood Brothers. Screams of agony, anger and pain pierced through the air after the lethal projectiles landed in the midst of the sellswords.

Raising her right hand for a moment, clenched in a fist, Amber would thus signal a halt for the archers and crossbowmen to halt their volleys. The screams and cries of the dying and wounded men didn't sound like music to her nor did it grant her any satisfaction but there was no way that she could undo her decisions. Perhaps her father and kin would disapprove of this but she couldn't really put herself to care at the moment. Throwing a look at her side, she saw the formed infantry formation. The men at arms that fought in the name and fame of House Trevelyan seemed eager. The broad side of swords, axes and shafts of spears were slammed against the rims of shields. Creating an ominous drumming sound while shouts and threats were flung towards the sellswords.
One of the mounted men at arms would allow his mount to set a few steps forward, allowing the respective man to hand Amber her helmet.



"On my command," She shouted with a stern voice, trying to make herself audible while taking the helmet with her left hand. Donning the piece of armour, she would pull out her sword from its scabbard.
"Infantry, get stuck in there!"
Gesturing with her weapon as her voice wouldn't be audible for everybody under her command, the two formations of infantry stormed forwards. Approaching the Blood Brothers from two directions, the infantry would soon collide against the shields and bodies of sellswords.

"Aimed fire at the centre! Cavalry, on me!" Shouting the orders from the top of her lungs, Amber would spur her steed to get moving. Followed by a company of mounted men at arms, Amber would direct the group what seemed first away from the fighting.
Her heart was skipping beats as while riding in front of the company of horsemen. The sounds of battle nearby with the fact that she had to act quickly was giving her a rush like she had never felt before.
Steering her mount, she would make the horse stop while facing at one of the two open flanks of the Blood Brothers. With the sellswords forced to contend with two attacks from north and south of them, Amber would now make their situation even worse.

Once more spurring her horse to gallop forwards, Amber led the cavalry detachment into a charge. Many of the Blood Brothers were already occupied to keep their lines from collapsing as fierce fighting between the sellsword company and larger Trevelyan force kept going on. A few of the Blood Brothers noticed the impending charge of mounted foes, but it would already be too late to brace for the impact.

For a moment Amber thought she was deaf. She managed to register the vibration that went through the horse she was mounting and riding as well when she lashed out with her sword to the nearest sellsword head. The sharp edge of the longsword contacted a steel helmet, unable to slice through but delivering a harsh blow to the victim. Amber's steeds whined out loud as more Trevelyan horsemen would slam into the ranks of the Blood Brothers, wreaking only more chaos and stress among the sellswords.
Now in the midst of the fighting, Amber couldn't concern herself too much with how the battle was going. There wasn't enough spacing to really do a lot and trying to steer her mount to fall back from the fighting was impossible. Certainly, as a spear-armed sellsword attempted to jab the steel end of his weapon at her side. Deflecting the attack with her own weapon, Amber tried to lash out but the sellsword managed to easily parry the attack. Cursing out loud as Amber had to try to fend off another attack. Only for a sudden shift.

The blue eyes of the lady widened as her horse whined and staggered. Crimson drops would fall on the ground as a spear stabbed Amber's mount at its chest. The culprit attempted to drive his weapon further into the animal, while the previous attacker made another attempt.

Unable to parry Amber registered a faint sensation at her side as she tried to cling on to remain saddled. However, the spear of her attacker didn't just glance off the boiled leather. The steel tip would slightly pierce it but enough together with the staggering of Lady Trevelyan's mount to cause the lady to fall off the horse.
The sounds around her became faint as pain shot through her body when she made a hard impact on the ground. Knowing that if she remained on the ground for too long that she would see another day, Amber tried to get up instantly.
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[fieldbox=Jorvan, crimson]
South of Tornburg, exact location unknown - moving southwards to Frosthold.
In service of House Trevelyan.


Jorvan rubbed his neck briefly while he released a heavy sigh. The bulk of the entourage was heading southwards and it was estimated that it would take a day or two before they would even be close to the perimeter of Frosthold. Which would likely take longer if the outriders wouldn't intercept lady Zahara at one of the bridges or crossings. There were some doubt and worry in Jorvan's plan. In that Zahara would have gone back to Tornburg, which would obviously make him the only representative of House Trevelyan. And that was absolutely something he detested to experience. Deciding to not worry himself sick, Jorvan tried to clear his mind.

Eventually, the group reached the rally point. It was just before the river, that went by the name Weeping Water, and served as an excellent position to regroup when Lady Zahara would be intercepted at one of the crossings. First, however, camp had to be set up as there was no indication on how long they would remain around. Jorvan overheard that the guards wanted to wait at most a day or three before sending a part back to Tornburg with the handmaids of Zahara, while the rest of the guard would search the countryside for the sister of Lady Trevelyan. Which was all good with Jorvan as he would pitch in with helping set up camp. It relieved him of some thoughts as being busy with setting up camp didn't allow much time and freedom to occupy himself with wondering what would happen if they would go back without Zahara to Tornburg.

Once camp was set, Jorvan decided to kill some time with paying some attention to his gear. Having a whetstone with him, he tried to keep himself occupied with taking care of his sword. Still troubled with some thought on how this would end, he tried to think back to some other time that he had been in trouble. Though, that had been together with Arthur. In Essos.


Mentionings:
@Oetje and @Kit Kat
Trevelyan sisters.
@Sketching101
Arthur.


A collab between Sketching and Gerontis.

Essos, Disputed Lands.
Four years ago.
The Battle of Silent Field.

Part 1.

Summary:
Being with the Bitter Steel Company, Arthur and Jorvan soon find themselves in some trouble. Being hired by Myr who was at the time in conflict with the freey city of Lys, the sellsword company of the Bitter Steel soon find themselves locked in battle.

[spoili]
Jorvan wasn't feeling that great but they had no choice. Readying his gear and weapons the man threw a look around him. The Bitter Steel company was currently in service of the Myr, who was having a conflict with the free city of Lys. While technically the whole justification of war was nothing but a few border incidents in the Disputed Lands, it led to the situation that Myr hired various mercenary companies and send them to the borders to harass the present force of Lys at the border. This started to escalate from small border skirmishes to the deployment of various large hosts that were sent to win ground and settlements. With both free cities, however, being equally rich and resourceful, there wasn't really a winning side. Making it a gamble for each involving sellsword company. Including the Bitter Steel who took the offer of Pentos. Already they had fought and won various battles against other mercenary companies but their numbers were starting to decline from the various clashes. Now they were attempting to regroup from the border to get some reprieve as trying to enlist some local volunteers to replenish their numbers. A viable plan, if it weren't for the fact that five other mercenary companies had managed to slip past the border clashes and were now closing in on them.

Donning his armour on, Jorvan worried for a moment what the plan would be. He figured that if it was just one mercenary company they would be facing that they could hold their ground. But five? Once he was ready, he would turn a look back into his tent and grumble. "Come on. We need to get ready unless you want to miss out the genius plan of the captain." There was a clear sarcastic undertone present in Jorvan's voice as he spoke towards Arthur. Turning his attention to their surrounding, many men of the company were making ready for the impending battle. After all, they could attempt to run but if they would be caught, they would be mowed down like pigs ready for slaughter.

Pulling the last strap of the padded leather vest, Arthur stood still for a few moments before a wide smirk appeared on his lips. He grasped the leather wrapped around the long metal handle of his war hammer and lifted it over his shoulder. "Hah! It's not so bad," he said enthusiastically. "Let's go see how our lives end."

Jorvan couldn't help but smile as he shook his head. Walking next to Arthur, he would glance at his brother. "If I had to make a bet, I would imagine that it would be less favoured than we both would like it. I prefer my death to be quick and easy. Perhaps drinking too much wine or exhausting myself from a passionate---" He couldn't finish his sentence as the sounds of men cheering sounded. Were they too late? As the two brothers arrived at the centre of their camp, the majority of the company was rallied while their captain was holding a speech. Which was hard to follow as many men were shouting or cheering. Some had the bright idea to slam the broad side of their sword or axe against a shield. Frowning Jorvan tried to understand what the speech was about. "Seems it is going to be a surprise. Are we going to hold a count this battle by the way? Seeing that I still consider the last one false due to you cheating." Jorvan casually asked and stated, throwing a look sideways at Arthur.

"Hah! Whatever you have to tell yourself, brother," Arthur said with a mischievous grin. "We'll settle the score today. Let's see which gets bloodier, your wee sword or my warhammer."

"Oooohooo! You got yourself a deal, you cheeky bastard!" Jorvan replied, evidently amused. "I hope you will swing that piece of metal as good as you can talk trash. Would save us all the effort of fighting ourselves," Once he stopped, he managed to overhear something that the captain stated. He told them that they were outnumbered as the enemy was attempting to approach them from two sides. This made Jorvan softly whistle. The camp was currently located in a valley where effectively an enemy could try to attack from two sides. The steep hills wouldn't work as a lot of stakes and caltrops had been placed to deter any charges. Soon enough the company would be divided into two as they were expecting the enemy to swoop soon upon them. "I guess that it will be a pitched battle then. Shame for you, I guess. Unless you can manage to create enough room for both your ego and swinging that hammer," Jorvan grinned towards Arthur as they would be deployed with others at the northern entrance of the camp. Various troops with shields and spears would form the front row as those who wielded different weapons would be in close support or somewhat behind it, to provide ranged support.

"I think I can squeeze them both in," Arthur said with a grin as they walked to the northern edge of the camp. Arthur wrapped his fingers around the grip just above the hammer, watching as the enemy approached. "I'll take the ones on the left, you take the ones on the right," he said cheekily before twisting his wrist to properly grab his hammer.

"Heh, that is probably what you told that lass when we visited, what again? Pentos?" Jorvan chuckled as he would put on his helmet. Calmly putting on the straps he would also see the enemy approaching. The majority of the first line was ready but there were still members of the Bitter Steel company that quickly rushed to their positions to reinforce their defence. Drawing his sword, Jorvan would scuff lightly. "If this goes as I think it will, you can just sit back and let a real professional handle this." He said, needing to raise his voice as the sounds of the enemy shouting battle cries and taunts started to resonate louder. The clash against the formed spearwall seemed not too bad as they were holding their own. Noticing some movements behind the enemies first charge, Jorvan grumbled. "They got fucking archers. Got a shield?" Jorvan asked as he would grasp his own shield, that hang at his back, watching the air for any projectiles to fly into the camp.

"You'd think I'd learn by now to carry one around," Arthur said with a laugh. "I suppose we'll have to see if my luck holds up." He kept a wary eye on the sky, glancing back down at their front line from time to time. "Come on, already... Go in and get in the mud..." he muttered quietly.

"I for one had hoped for that," was what Jorvan grumbled. He watched how the fighting continued as various small units from their camp unleashed volleys into the enemy ranks. This took out various enemy sellswords, but they continued to form up various loose ranks of men. Noticing that they were preparing for a mass volley, Jorvan would push Arthur back with his sword hand while raising his shield. Not much later, various thuds could be heard as arrows rained down from the air. "Seriously, you just need to find a damn shield and hold it up." Jorvan almost shouted to make himself somewhat audible for Arthur. Various shouts and screams did attract his attention as the enemy was starting to crack their first line of defence. "Our cue, ready?"

Arthur let out a small grunt as Jorvan pushed him back. He looked forward to see an arrow on the ground where he would've been standing before letting out a sigh. He looked over at the clash ahead before turning to Jorvan and nodding. "Let's stack up some bodies."

"You begin to sound like a real charmer," Jorvan mumbled underneath his breath as he would move in with Arthur. Various more would pour into the breaking point. Just as they reached the back of the Bitter Steel spearwall, the enemy managed to break through and attempted to pour into the camp. Jorvan noticed that a man with a spear came right at them. Instead of doing what one likely would do, he would slow a bit down and throw his sword. The weapon would soar through the air and manage to catch the target by surprise, the steel biting through the leather into the man's stomach. As Jorvan's victim would fall on his knees and drop his weapons, Jorvan would ready his shield to bash aside another enemy. "One."

Before the shield could land, the man's head rolled off and slammed into another mercenary's chest. Arthur twisted his wrists to spin the warhammer back around after the wild swing to quickly slam it into the side of an opportunistic enemy who thought he had found an opening. "One and--"

"Two!" Was the word that Jorvan shouted as he moved forwards. As the latest victim of Arthur was trying to recover from the nasty strike, he would fall down after a battle axe had been slammed into the man's neck. Jerking the weapon out as the enemy dropped, Jorvan would quickly turn around to parry an attack from an approaching enemy. His new assailant had a small shield and a mace. The heavy vibration made it clear to Jorvan that he didn't want to experience how painful it was to receive the hit of the mace without his shield. Slamming the shield against his opponent, Jorvan would lash out with his axe. The quick strike wasn't enough to kill the man but managed to cause some damage.

"Duck!" More out of reflex, Jorvan would duck as he kept his shield somewhat up to protect himself for a possible attack. The length of the warhammer showed its usefulness as Arthur swung his weapon over Jorvan's head to slam into the unsuspecting warrior's skull. As he pulled it back, a lean, skinny fighter came up behind with a knife and a sabre, swinging the long blade down towards his back.

"Damn," The word left Jorvan's lips but wouldn't probably reach outside the helmet. Rising quickly up, Jorvan would attempt to step back but noticed some movement from behind as the enemy infantry was pouring through the break that they had made. Not in time to stop the blade of the new foe that lashed out against Arthur, Jorvan would put his weight behind his own strike. Raising his own shield, he aimed to slam the lower rim of his shield against the man's head. The moment that the skinnier man pulled his blade back, probably for another strike, his world would shake. The bash of Jorvan's shield caused teeth to shatter, blood to flow into the foe's mouth as he would fall down. "Arthur!" Jorvan shouted as he would let the dazed man lay on the floor for his brother, remaining cautious himself for any new attacker.

"Got it!" Arthur spun on his heel and swung his hammer down with restraint, caving the man's face in. He pulled it back up to halt the movement of three men charging at them, swinging it just before they would have gotten in their range. He let out a cry in Valyrian, "Well?! Whose next!?"
[/spoili]
[/fieldbox]
 
[fieldbox=Bolton and Hornwood, plum]
Brydan Hornwood, first son and heir of Lord Harald Hornwood, and Prince Manrel, third son of the Red King - Carth Bolton.

Frosthold.



The words of Manrel Bolton caused Brydan to be slightly surprised. A smile courted the man's lips as he bowed to the young prince. There wasn't much that he could give as a response as Brydan and Manrel's attention was caught by the arrival of the welcoming comité. There was a frown growing on Brydan's face as he observed the equipment of the Whiteblades but his lips remained on each other while his hands folded on his back. The slightly raising of the man's chin gave the arrogance even more of an impact as if he was looking down upon the Marrics.

Manrel's reaction was one of curiosity and the smile indicated that he seemed rather pleased. He eyed how Anselm carried himself in front of the welcoming company but would await what the current Lord Marric would say. The head of the prince cocked slightly to the right upon hearing by what title Anselm addressed him. Yet the smile on Manrel's thin lips remained present. When Meera spoke, the attention of Manrel was drawn to the woman for a brief moment. Silence echoed after the response of Meera while Manrel returned his attention to Anselm.

"Your majesty?" Manrel asked, a more mocking expression flowing over his features. He threw a sideways glance at Brydan. "Ser Brydan, who would you address with such a title?" The young prince asked, his tone friendly though. Almost honeyed with a certain sweetness.

"Your good father and the king, your highness." Brydan simply answered, turning slightly to Manrel and inclining his head after his answer. Manrel slowly nodded after hearing the answer while locking his eyes on Anselm. "I am not sure how confused you are, good Lord Marric but my title would be prince or highness. Unless you like to desire to see me on the throne. Which would," the smile widened slightly, "Contradict your statement of hoping that my relatives are doing well."

While saying the words, the guards of Manrel seemed all too ready for any clash. However, the slight tense stance would be dropped as Manrel unleashed a laugh and shook his head, his hands placed on his hips. "But I suppose we can place this on that my presence has flustered you, good Lord Marric! Which is all good! Now, I would be willing to kill for a good bath!" Unleashing another friendly laugh, Manrel would shot a look with a good amused expression at the present Marrics, their advisor and guards. Clearly waiting to be guided inside. Brydan remained silent, simply awaiting what would follow as well.


Mentionings:
None.

Interactions:
@Violet and @AceSorcerer
Meera and Anselm Marric.
@HellHoundWoof
Babylon

[/fieldbox]
 
  • Bucket of Rainbows
Reactions: Lesli and junebug
[fieldbox=Anselm Marric - Frosthold, blue, solid, 8, book antiqua]
Anselm chuckled softly, returning the prince's smile.

"You show great wit for your age, Prince Manrel- a most admirable trait. And I do apologize for using the wrong greeting- it was but a slip of the tongue and shall not happen again. Otherwise, I do believe that the warm beds and bright halls are beckoning us into the castle. Come, my sister and I will personally escort you both to your chambers while my master-at-arms will attend to your entourages."

Baylon made a small motion with the wave of his hand, something the accomapnying soldiers knew to follow as half of the Whiteblades went with them towards the guardrooms after crossing the great bridge (the two lesser gates closing behind them as they passed) while the remainder dissipated as they passed through the mighty gates of Frosthold. The lord gave a glance to his sister, since she had the duty of presenting some of the more traditional hospitalities as the lady of the manor, before speaking up once more as he opened the main door for them, the four individuals entering into the vestibule that opened into the Great Hall, wherein the servants were busy polishing and cleaning the tables that had been brought for the feast in addition to their regular duties, where the family relics sat at their place of honor atop the mantle of the grand fireplace.

"Welcome, Your Highness and Your Lordship, to my ancestral home of Frosthold. Your rooms are on this very floor with on overlook of the waters nearby- we need only cross through the courtyard to arrive there."
[/fieldbox]
 
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[fieldbox=Arthur | Skirmish, #FFBF00]

Trevelyan Forces to the East

As the horn sounded, Arthur got up to his feet and raised the head of his hammer up high. "Onward! Rally to the lady of House Trevelyan and serve," the young smith said passionately, getting the men hiding with him in an excited mood. With a surge of emotions going through the men, they all let out a war cry as they rushed towards the flank of the enemy to save the hostages and catch their enemies off guard. Arthur watched as the soldiers made their way into the fight, starting to box them in between them and the company under Amber Trevelyan. He'd gotten used to riling people up that way. He had done this far too many times. High Valerian, common tongue... Servants and soldiers were pretty much the same all over the world. The only words that needed to change were names.

With his warhammer in hand, Arthur found himself walking steadily towards one of the familiar faces in the crowd. The mercenary looked over at Arthur as he pulled his sword out of one of the soldiers' necks, trying to figure out why he seemed familiar. As the young blacksmith's hammer swung at the air, the man's memory returned to him, if only for a moment, before his head flew clean off his shoulders. "Hey there Jon. Long time no see, huh?" He moved through the rest of the routed enemy with the help of the soldiers. As the perimeter of the fight grew smaller and smaller, with the unexpecting Blood Brothers taking blows to the back. As Arthur slammed his hammer into one of the Brothers' shield, splintering it and snapping the forearm in half, he spied a warrior in full plate armour fall of a horse. Even at that distance he could discern the plates that he mended. Cursing under his breath, he rushed towards the scene. "You're not dying before we get our due!"


A collab between Sketching and Gerontis.

Essos, Disputed Lands.
Four years ago.
The Battle of Silent Field.

Part 2

Summary:
Being with the Bitter Steel Company, Arthur and Jorvan soon find themselves in some trouble. Being hired by Myr who was at the time in conflict with the freey city of Lys, the sellsword company of the Bitter Steel soon find themselves locked in battle.

[spoili]
"Got it!" Arthur spun on his heel and swung his hammer down with restraint, caving the man's face in. He pulled it back up to halt the movement of three men charging at them, swinging it just before they would have gotten in their range. He let out a cry in Valyrian, "Well?! Whose next!?"



The ground was watered with blood, sweat and what seemed to be feces that all poured from the corpses that littered the battleground. Cheers erupted from the Bitter Steel ranks as few arrows would fly and hit fleeing enemies in the back. Panting Jorvan would grin behind the comfort of his steel closed helmet. Sheathing his battle axe he didn't care much for the blood that dyed the steel crimson. "Heh, cowards." He managed to bring out as he managed to find his first kill. The sword was still stuck in the stomach of the enemy, who had likely died from bleeding out. Pulling the weapon out, Jorvan would use the deceased hostile warrior to clean the blood from the blade. "They didn't seem to be that experienced or well armed or even organised," He said, more to himself, before he looked to see if Arthur was still standing.

With a loud grunt, Arthur heaved the warhammer from the chest cavity of one of the soldiers, panting. "That was... a good bout. I actually thought we'd bite the dust this time," he said laughing, leaning the warhammer on the ground. "It looks like we're immortal."

Hearing what Arthur said, Jorvan shook his head lightly as he sheathed his sword. "Sure, why not also state that we have all the luck today? Could bring some of the god's disdain upon us and make some damned surprise swoop down on us," Jorvan stated, trying to sound sarcastic but he couldn't shake of the good feeling of victory. "I managed to get sixteen. Guess that I am getting a tad sloppy but I doubt you got more seeing that I had to save you. I even dare say that some were actually more mine than yours," Playfully, Jorvan would push his brother with his free hand.

Arthur grumbled as he heard the number. "Ugh..." His head fell down before he continued. "Fourteen... And the only reason you had to save me was because I was busy getting the one breaking your shield!" he retorted as he stumbled with the push. Just as he was about to go on, he froze, holding one hand up to signal his brother to stop.

"Fourteen, eh? That is quite bad, even for you, what?" Frowning as his brother holding his hand up, Jorvan wanted to ask what was wrong. Blinking twice, he thought he felt the earth slightly moving. Turning his head slowly to the direction where the enemy had been fleeing, the colour of Jorvan's face started to pale away under the cover of his helmet. "By the gods," he mumbled before screaming. "Form back in line! In line! Now!" This caused others to frown and laugh at the bastard as the cheering, laughter and taunts towards the fleeing enemy drowned the faint screaming and soft rumbling of the earth. Only a few moments later did a silence dawn among the ranks of the Bitter Steel company as the screaming sounds became more audible.

The young smith took a few steps backwards, staring at the coming horde. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit..." He looked over at Jorvan. "I guess we spoke too soon," he mumbled before making his way back into the camp.

"Fuck, quick!" Jorvan gestured Arthur to come with him as the majority would attempt to form a new battleline and formation. Shields and spears would form yet another line of defense while various archers loosened arrows towards the approaching horde. "You think? Damn you and your loose lips! The gods must have grown really sick of your crap, Arthur!" Jorvan cursed out loud as he wanted to move more into the camp. He spotted others running away, clearly not agreeing that they had signed up to face Dothraki screamers.

Arthur stood behind the front line of defense as arrows were loosed. His chest rose and fell, as the ground shook. "Fucking savages," he grumbled as he raised his warhammer.
[/spoili]
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[fieldbox=Darion Foxworth, white]

For Honor!

Darion never felt this tense in his life as he was right now. Waiting for the horn to sound seemed like an eternity. He could have sworn that he heard every single noise around him, as if his hearing was amplified. He was observing the village from his position, patiently waiting. And then, the horn sounded. Was it an eternity, or a few seconds, the though flashed in his mind. He stood, unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the village of Rensworth.

" For Lady Trevelyan! "

His voice was a booming and deep one, making sure for the men to begin their charge. They sprinted up the hill on the west side of the village, their bodies filled with vigor and strength - something they not felt before the charge. They reached the pallisade quickly and one of his comrades gave Darion a leg up, something every group he created earlier done. Despite his size, he was up on the wall in no time, facing a Blood Brother taken completely by surprise.

He tried to reach for his sword, but Darion was faster - he brought his large sword down on his hand. Then he reached for the throat of the mercenary with his armored glove and squeezed it as hard as he could, until he heard a loud crack. He then kicked the mortally wounded man down from the palisade and turned to help his comrades up the wall. They were all up within seconds, and Darion gave them their orders.

" Move fast towards the main gate! Watch your corners and watch your backs! Show them no mercy! "

The small detachment, as if one man, headed out.
The Fox was on the hunt.​

[/fieldbox]
 
][fieldbox="Alexander Marric, #ff4d4d, solid, 10, Tahoma"]

-Frosthold-

After ensuring everything was in order with the other guests, Alexander decided to make his way back towards the entrance. No use just disappearing off like his sister had. Something he made a mental note to talk with her about later. With a small sigh, the man continued his journey back towards the entrance, desperately trying to recall some of the lessons on how to handle such situations. Gods he wished that he paid attention back then instead of dreaming of glorious combat. Which, frankly, wasn't even that glorious once he thought about it. How he wished in hindsight that young Alex had such forethought on such matters. As he walked, his mind wandered to different topics. Mostly what might concern the future of the Marrics and his family. Who would lead them, how to solve the issues they now faced. Hopefully with some way other than throwing gold at them as his brother had seemed to decide. His mind dared roam for a moment into darker thoughts, but Alexander forced those aside for now. He had business to attend to, and it wouldn't do to have him be distracted by such thoughts.

Almost immediately after, Alexander heard Anselm's voice from nearby. Picking up the word Highness, the Marric was easily able to take a guess at who he was speaking with. Deciding it best to make an appearance, lest Anselm attempt to throw gold at the Boltons as well, Alexander made his way into the great hall. Waiting until the trio of Meera, Anselm, and the Bolton Prince seemed to be at a lull in the conversation, Alex calmly waited nearby. Where hopefully his brother would notice him, as he assumed it might be considered rude to suddenly jump into the group. At the very least, Alexander figured Meera might make an attempt to drag him along. His sister always seemed quite adept at doing exactly that. As he waited, Alexander let his gaze drift briefly around the Great Hall, taking in the setup for all the events coming soon. In the back of his mind, he worried how everything would go seeing their relations were not remotely at the best they could be with the bannermen. Perhaps he could seize an opportunity here, speak to them and see if some changes could be made to help restore the beneficial relations.

However, that was something which could be addressed in the near future. At the moment he was more concerned with the prince nearby. Anselm seemed to be handling himself well enough, and it seemed Meera had decided to stick around this time. He'd have to find out where she went later, though his money was on the bastard she was so fond of. Forcing himself to keep a pleasant expression, Alexander listened carefully to the conversation at hand. Waiting for whenever he might be addressed by his brother or sister. Hopefully, he might do a better job here at not offending the guests than he had with the Faersons. Certainly, with the fact that this was the prince, Alex dared not entertain the thought of what offending him might bring about for his family. There was also the heir of House Hornwood to deal with. If he wanted to see the Marrics in a better standing with... well anydboy, Alexander figured a good impression would be needed here as well. For a moment he wondered how both Meera and Anselm had done so far, hopefully rather decent. They needed every inch they could get at the moment.[/fieldbox]
 
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