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[Forum Game] ASoIaF: A Scream of Souls

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A night with the King
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Aegon swung back another bottle of wing, he then looked at the whores lined up for him.

"Choose any you like Your Grace" said the brothel owner.

"Hmm, damn you didn't lie you scoundrel, these really are the best looking bitches in King's Landing" replied Aegon.

"Only the best for my King"

Aegon pondered for a moment, "Perhaps they should, demonstrate there talents"

"Ah yes your Grace" said the brothel owner, he clapped his hands and two whores began to kiss and feel each other.

Aegon let out a hearty laugh, "Now this is a show, alright my good man give me both of them" said Aegon tossing a bag of coins.

"Your business is much appreciated your Grace; Roslin, Minisa, show His Grace a good time and do whatever he says"

The whores nodded and led the King into a bedchamber.


His stent at the whorehouse had brightened Aegon's mood considerably, he returned to the Red Keep to see his sister-wife Naerys waiting for him.

"Greetings your Grace" she said softly

"Why are you up, its nearly dawn" he said

"I could ask the same of you" she replied

Aegon held himself back from anger, it wasn't kingly to yell or strike at one's wife

"Just taking care of business" he said

"I see" she replied

"Well if that is all I'm going to bed"

"There is one thing; I'm have not bleed this month"

Aegon looked back at her, "Very well" he nodded and left.

((Aegon has fun with some whores and his wife is prego))
 
House of Royce
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In Runestone

Kathlyn and Darren sit at the fireplace and enjoyed the heat while they boys played near them. Darren read his notes made in King´s Landing as Kathlyn read them over his shoulder, they both smiled.

"There might be a chance to find the blade, a small one, but a chance still" Darren said. "You must ask The Righteous One´s help" She replied.

Darren stand up and walks to his writing table and writes a letter.

A raven reaches King´s Landing
Greetings The Righteous One, High Septon of the Faith of the Seven,

I humbly ask your aid to find more about The Shepard, a one handed man, deeply religious and obviously insane as I found in my research. Why I want to know more about this man is that he could lead to my family´s lost Valyrian blade. I hope you could find some time or ask your faithful ones to find any info about The Shepard as I can´t reach King´s Landing in winter.

And of course I would be greatly grateful and I would do favour whenever needed.

Yours,
Darren Royce, Lord of Runestone
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Sneakyflaps said:
((Hey Bishop, are orders due today?))
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((I hope they weren't.
Sorry for the inactivity everyone, just wanted to say that I was still here. Holidays and travel have been crazy. I might get some small ICs posted tomorrow, but I probably won't be back fully until next week. Also, sorry for cluttering the thread with OOC, but I can't hop on IRC because of how bad the internet is here.))
 
Qarro Fiero​

The sweet taste of the wine danced on the tastebuds of the First Sword of Braavos, easily rivaling some of the best wine he had ever tasted. Catching his reaction, the Archmaester of the Citadel, sitting behind his desk opposite the Braavosi, chuckled merrily.

"I take it you like the wine, Master Qarro?"

The Braavosi smiled, easing the chalice down upon the book laden desk of the head of the Citadel. "It is divine, Archmaester Weld."

Weld chuckled again, putting his own cup to his lips, and taking a slow drink with a content sigh. "Fine Arbor Red of 170. A horrendous year here in the Reach. Our fields of plenty withered in the face of a persisting sun and absence of rain clouds. Yet the struggle of the grape vines in the Arbor had a curious conclusion..."

"Through struggle, potential is achieved," said Qarro, finishing the old maester's thought.

"Indeed. But you did not come across the Narrow Sea, to the Wall then across mountain and grass to my solar to discuss wines. What can I do for the First Sword of Braavos."

Qarro took a moment to study the old man. His hair was snow white, thin upon his scalp. A beard was trimmed close to his face, a face withered by age and drooping to the floor. His ears sagged, his chins, scarcely covered by his beard, and his jowls. It was hard to believe he sat before one of the most learned men in Westeros, nay, the world. His solar was one that could be expected of a man of his station. Cold and dusty, yet brimming with knowledge in every parchment, book and scroll that littered the room in a kind of organised disorder. Qarro smiled amiably. "Wise Maester, as you are no doubt aware, I have been given leave by the Iron Throne to conduct a murder investigation here in Westeros. I fear I have but one lead left. The killer I chase is keen on Valyrian steel, and I seek counsel with your order. By finding this blade, I believe I can find the killer of Petros Nestor."

"I would be happy to help, Master Qarro. Tell, what blade is it you seek?"

Qarro's smile persisted. "Please do not take offense, Wise Archmaester, but it is the knowledge of one Maester I seek specifically. A Maester Melwyn."

Weld nodded, his chins and jowls flapping. "Ah yes, I shall summon him for you." Reaching for a bell upon his desk, the Archmaester gave a swift ring, and an attendant appeared in the door. "Send for Maester Melwyn." The attendant disappeared to fetch the Maester. "I am confident Melwyn will give you any knowledge you seek. He is the order's chief adviser on matters pertaining to the priceless blades."

"What can you tell me of Melwyn?" Qarro took another sip of the Arbor Red.

Archmaester Weld furrowed his brow as he thought. "Melwyn is a highly respected Maester of the order, once retaining a seat upon the conclave. Though now he mainly keeps to his studies as opposed to administration of the Order."

"You say he once sat on the conclave?"

"Yes. You see.... he had a fall from grace, as it were."

"What do you mean?"

The old maester hummed and hawed. "It is often said that madness and brilliance are two sides of the same coin. Delve to deeply in the mysteries of the world and one may become lost. Melwyn, unfortunately, became lost. He was once a favourite to take my position, you see."

Qarro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Just so. What mysteries did Melwyn lose himself in, if I may pry further."

"The very subject in which he is the authority."

"Soul Reaver," said Qarro, almost in a whisper.

Weld gave him a curious glance. "Why yes. An obscure Valyrian Blade, one I have told him time and time again is likely born from mere myth. Would he listen? Bah! He became a recluse, shirked his duties to the conclave. We had no choice but to strip him of his seat, and were considering the order itself when he finally came to his senses and relented on his mad quest."

"He relented? Just like that?"

"Why yes. After all our efforts to convince him, only a few turns of the moon ago he seemed to gain clarity."

"So he is himself again?" Qarro was leaning forward in his seat now.

"Yes and no. He seems... new. If that makes sense at all. He is changed, but that sort of fruitless and mad quest would change any man, I suppose. If only he listened to reason years ago, he would still be among the most celebrated of the order."

It was at that moment a knock came at the door, slowly opening to reveal a Maester in a brown cloak, auburn hair tinged in grey with a neatly trimmed beard. "You sent for me, Archmaester."

Qarro was up in a flash, his sword drawn and the Maester pinned against the wall with a blade at his throat.

"By the Gods!" Cursed Weld. "What is the meaning of this?!"

Qarro's tongue lashed like a serpent. "Silence, Archmaester! I come on the authority of the Iron Throne to catch the killer of Petros Nestor." His eyes narrowed as he looked upon Melwyn, a feigned look of horror on his face, yet he knew below was the ice blood of a killer. "The man who calls himself Melwyn, I hold you under the charge of murder of a steward of Braavos. You will come with me." The man opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced when a quick strike from Qarro's fist sent him to the floor.

"This is appalling! Are you mad!" Bellowed the Archmaester.

Qarro grinned as he dragged Melwyn to his feet, and out the door. "No Archmaester. I am brilliant."
 
A raven arrives in King's Landing...

Your Majesty,

I write to you to protest the recent unfounded arrest of one of my order by the foreigner, Qarro Fiero of Braavos. Maester Melwyn has been present at the citadel for the entirety of the last decade and could not possibly have committed the act of murder upon the Braavosi agent, Petros Nestor. I can personally vouch for the man's innocence.

I ask, in your wisdom, that you order the release of the esteemed member of my order.


~Archmaester Weld of the Citadel



A sealed letter is sent to Lord Theodore Hightower

Lord Hightower,

Long have your family held the sacred trust of the Citadel in high regard, and in kind my order has always endeavored to provide wise counsel in trying times. During my own tenor as Archmage, I oversaw the tutelage of your younger brother, seeing he received the best lessons the Citadel could offer. I now beseech you, as Defender of the Citadel, do everything in your power to see the safe return of my colleague, taken unjustly for the unfounded crime of murder by Qarro Fiero, the First Sword of Braavos. I have made inquiries and I know he is currently camped in the Vale, among 3000 swords and under the protection of Lord Arryn. Please do what you can to arrange the safe release of Maester Melwyn the Innocent.

~Weld
Archmaester of the Citadel
 

The Magister​

Cera waited patiently outside the solar of Hugo the Andal. The guards at his door held eyes as hard as the shining steel which they bore. These men were well spoken with keen minds for battle. Well trained and well equipped, quickly the possibility of them being sellswords was vanishing from Cera's mind. They were all andals like Hugo, at least those he met and commanded against the Sons of Sarne. His time among them had revealed much. These men spoke often of their yearning for home. He surmised that they have only been gone from Westeros until recently, and their fierce loyalty to Hugo was also telling that they have been long in his service. Yet this did not match the tale of Hugo, a wondering exile spending the years across Essos, his path bringing him here.

Prince Hugo is a mystery, but the truth was beginning to take shape.

"The Prince will see you now," announced one of the knights.

Cera smiled gratefully. "My thanks, Ser."

The solar of Hugo looked much like it was under the former Prince. The banners of Saath hung upon the walls, a great hearthfire burned in the center of the hall leading up to the Prince's dais, warming the cool marble floor and walls. Sitting upon the throne with confidence was Hugo the Andal, watching Cera intently. Cera could feel mistrust in those eyes, and who could blame him. Cera had volunteered to serve him so willingly and yet he was an outsider, not among Hugo's inner circle. In time trust would be earned. Cera knelt before his lord. "My Prince."

"Rise. I hope you bring good tidings." There was fatigue in the Andal's voice, laced with the whisper of a threat. Pressure of conquest was mounting on him, and though he took the walls, the city still bulked at his rule.

"The City of Saath is yours, my Prince. The small folk have been won over by your favour, though regretably, some of your own council were found culpable in rebellious acts against you."

"Is there any proof of this, Cera?"

"The proof is in the arms and armaments given to these rebels, the targets and times in which they strike your patrols. My Prince, it could only have come from the Magister's you have taken into your enlightened council."

Hugo pinched the bridge of his nose, his irritation clear. "Do you have any idea who could be behind this betrayal?"

"I hold all of them suspect. Though the Magisters Quell and Roica I can say with certainty conspire against you. I have tracked agents of this Sons of Sarne to their estates."

"Well then, arrest them for conspiring against the crown and put them on trial. You will present your evidence and give them a chance to prove their innocence. I, along with the advice of the council, will determine their guilt."

Cera blinked. "As you command, my Prince. Though leaving judgement in the hands of suspected rebels might go ill. Might I suggest suspending the council until your peace is absolute."

Hugo waved a dismissive hand. "I will have the final say, but I must show them I am a just ruler." The uttered words hung heavy in the air, like the smoke that burned off the hearth that preceded the throne. Hugo strategy was sound, in this conquest perceptions were key to his victory. The masses would be made to believe his rule an enlightened one, the old ruling class struck down yet their traditions secure, and justice, though a mere show, must be present.

"I bow to your wisdom, my Prince."

Hugo's voice was like steel. "Cera, the man in our prison, will he bow?"

Cera smiled. "He will bow, my Prince. This I assure you."

"Very well, Cera. For your service to me, I name you lord of the Riverside District. Though please understand that I will need all the incomes of this district for the time being, in order to insure that we can pay off our debts to the Iron Bank but when that is done, it will all be yours."

Cera's smile faded. In a few words he was made one of the most powerful men in the city, yet in the same breath, he was made a beggar. "I understand we are in such need, my Prince, but surely I should have something to manage the district."

"I will allow you 10% of the incomes for now Cera but you must understand paying off our debt is urgent we do not wish to give the Iron Bank the excuse to help the old princes supporters find their way back to power."

"You honour me, my Prince, but ten percent? I fear Riverside will fall fast with such a pithy sum to manage it."

"How much would you suggest Cera?"

"History of Saath would tell of up to 10% of the annual tithes given to the Palace. This I see as fair. My Prince, there are other means in which we may pursue paying off the bank, if you will hear them."

The Andal sighed. "Alright what options do you present for me Cera?"

"I offer hard truths, my Prince. I trust your discretion in what words you take out of this room."

"Of course, Cera."

"The very presence of your admiral and his men offends the people of Saath, and only emboldens the Sons of Sarne. Send them from the city, to loot and pillage the shipping lanes under black banners. Let all the trade of the Shivering Sea be ours for the taking, to fatten our coffers and offer payment to the Iron Bank."

Hugo pondered a moment. "And would this take care of our problem with the Sons of Sarne as well? Or can I trust you to take care of that yourself."

"It will help the people to forget the bloody conquest of your admiral, and the rest I can deal with."

"Do you have any contacts in Lorath?" Asked Hugo, changing the subject, likely wishing to give thought to Cera's plan.

"Lorath? I am on friendly terms with a Magister there, but they mostly keep to themselves and out of the affairs of greater Essos."

"Well as you know I have ambitions beyond this city...I wish to bring Morosh to heal by next summer. Do you think you could help me in this?"

Cera's eyes widened. He supposed Hugo's plans laid with rebuilding the kingdom of Sarne along the river valley, pushing back against the Dothraki. Suicidal to be sure, but there were ways of appeasing the horde through non-violent means before falling the axe. But this... This was something different. "I will pave the way for alliances in Lorath, my Prince."

"Do you think there's a way to cause a civil war in the city?"

"We are of the same mind, My Prince. The Karesh family holds great power there, but they may be broken with the correct encouragement."

"What type of encouragement do you have in mind?"

"The seed of a rumour can spring into a mighty oak, my Prince, if properly watered. Give me time to dig and I may find something we can use to cause strife with the three princes."

"Wonderful you are dismissed Cera." Hugo was done with him, seeking solitude to form a plan for maintaining his position of power here in Saath, and expanding beyond. Cera bowed, knowing only time will tell if his counsel will be heeded. For now he must go to the dungeons to learn how to make a proud man kneel. He supposed a sharp knife may prove the key.
 
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Mild Winter Sets In

The winds of winter have begun to blow from the north, rendering the farms of Westeros to yield scarce crops if any at all. Roads across the land become bogged down with snow and trade between the kingdoms slows. Men who would typically suspend their craft to fight for their lord now instead refuse call to service, electing instead to see their families through the winter. The people of Westeros tighten their belts, trusting their lords have filled their granaries over the autumn and preying to the Seven that the winter will not last long.​


((5% penalty to income, levies and banners is levied against the lords of Westeros - stocks of the well prepared are set aside for when harsh winter sets in.))​
 
((Martell is still here))
 
House_Lannister.png

I, Willem Lannister, would wish to announce the bethrotal of my son Timeon with Lady Kaithyrn Tully, daughter of Lord Utherydes Tully. The marriage cerimony will be celebrated in the 167th year, when Timeon will reach a more appropriate age.

Lord Willem Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Warden of the West, etc..
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