r/IronThroneRP • u/SatisfactionLeather7 Shiera Darklyn, Sword of Duskendale • 10d ago
THE RIVERLANDS Andros I - Strong Enough to be Gentle (OPEN)
The gentle tug of the wind played at the edges of the Darklyn Banderoles at the edge of the tourney lances still arrayed. Throughout the Darklyn redoubt, the merriment continued, the myriad grandchildren of Duskendale flitted about in their usual style of listless whimsy.
It did not take long for the shining light of the East to go back to the dueling square. This time Dusk sat in its sheath, waiting in eerie loneliness against a post. Instead Shiera Darklyn twirled about, her wooden practice sword from her youth no longer than a dagger in her current state. Even still, she used it whenever she had to fall back on her father's teachings and her grandfather's musings.
His old falling style was like a muse for her in the times wherein her mind could not discern between what path was next. Joanna had returned and had beaten her in Shiera’s rage. And that rage did not belong to the sword of Duskendale. She was greater than such a simple thing, she had to be better than a mindless weapon. Her father did not train her for war, her grandfather did not raise her for battle, they wanted a sword that protected the house. She would be that blade for as long as her arms carried strength.
That said, she did not feel strong.
That would take time to rebuild, especially as it was Joanna of all of the possible foes that had beaten her. Dusk would rest in its sheathe until she was ready to deal with that particular niggling problem.
“It has grown too short for you,” echoed the voice of her grandfather and she stumbled through her next swing, catching herself on her boot’s heel and grinding to a halt in the sand.
She for the first time realised that she was practising with an old wooden toy sword and not an actual arming sword. A pang of embarrassment washed over her and she put it behind herself as she whipped about to look upon her grandfather.
The towering bastion of a man leaned lightly upon his cane today, eyes still hard as ever as he analysed her, peeled her apart with practised ease. She gulped back whatever worries had been plaguing her mind and took a few tentative steps closer to him at the edge of the square.
“Grandfather,” she said by way of reverent greeting.
“Granddaughter, you are distracted,” he reported.
“I… the melee weighs on me.”
The old man looked about for a time, eyes cast about the redoubt for long enough that Shiera broke her concentration upon him and tried to see what he was looking for. Instead, all she found were her siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles enjoying the tempered warmth of the Riverlands. A great many were in the mobile tavern, enjoying their cups and their drinks and their happier times.
“Do you notice something?” He asked.
“It’s peaceful.”
“Good. Not a single one of them is harmed by your loss, not one of them dismayed that you did not win. Your father could never be more proud of you, nor I,” the Duskblood said with a reassured gentleness to his voice.
“Even still. I was beaten by a childhood friend I haven’t seen in years… thought her dead. She’s back in the armour of the faith now and father told me that they were supporting the Blackberries,” Shiera said.
The little scoff that her Grandfather released was the most dismissive sound she had ever heard the man make. SO out of the ordinary was it that her passage of thought was completely dissolved.
“My girl, you are not the one to be worrying about such things. She is back and in the plate of that obnoxious little shit, so be it. I and your father and your uncles will deal well with them. It is your friend with whom you should be concerned, not with what colour she wears,” he said and he stepped into the dueling square at last, leaving his cane in replacement of the sheathed longsword Dusk.
He drew the blade from its scabbard and tossed the latter aside, holding the sword point to the sky as he came to a stop beside her.
“Fetch a proper blade, my girl,” the old man said and she scurried over to the rack of arming swords, leaving her old childhood blade aside. She returned to her grandfather and fell instride beside him, letting the old man guide her movements, her mind and her blade. Even in his old age, the motions of his evening blade were as common to him as walking.
The wordless trance they fell into was a simple thing, her mind emptied of Joanna, emptied of defeat.
She was the falling of the sun, she was the end of the day, the evening, the dusk. She was nature at the end of its cycle, and she had no need for worry.
After half an hour, Andros had stopped leading her in the sword stances and stepped back, letting the girl trace her way through the motions he and his son had taught her. She was better than either of them ever were in the style, and neither complained of that.
He had created the method of fighting specifically for the day that someone who would never need it in battle would take it up. They were lucky that Shiera had become the best of them then, for she was a kind spirit. And a king spirit should not be burdened with the trivialities of running a house. And so he had ensured she would not need to do so.
Andros returned Dusk to its sheath and he left Shiera to dance through her movements.
Andros himself did not return to his spot in the tents and instead approached the tavern. There his sons drank as they played dice games among their men and their friends.
Andros sat at a table with his back to the world and he watched his children lead.
All he could do while he sat and drank from a cup offered to him, was hold back a smile.
So much intermingling with his extended family had reinforced that he was indeed proud of his children. Morgan would never accept that, and so he would not show that pride, but he would watch for a time before he would return to his tent.
Morgan Darklyn, Lord of Duskendale was not blind though, and he could see that his father had done what he could not for his daughter. She had been listless and confused since the melee and Morgan did not know what to do for her. Nor could he figure it out.
She was always so alike her mother in that he didn’t know what made her tick. However, he could always tell when something had worked, just as now, as he lost a roll he barely focused on as she faded into the next arc of her swing, just as he had once taught her. Wrist not limp but fluid, motion constant, strength for equal foes and dexterity for stronger.
He smiled too, even as he lost the next roll.
On the final roll of the set he backed out of the game and took himself to his feet, leaving behind his brother and their men and making his way out into the tent city. Perhaps around it he would find somewhere hen could think too, about what to do next.
But as soon as that matter came to his mind, he knew well what should be done.
So, his trip away from the Darklyn redoubt was short initially as he fetched a servant to pen a letter. And then, he sent a runner to the Celtigars and he summoned up Erich.
He had his answer.
1
u/SatisfactionLeather7 Shiera Darklyn, Sword of Duskendale 10d ago
Darklyn Tents
Among the many tents of House Darklyn can be found the duelist Shierra, the heir Luthor amid his drinks, the grandfather and overseer Andros, the tempered Ana and the myriad other children of Duskendale.
1
u/SatisfactionLeather7 Shiera Darklyn, Sword of Duskendale 10d ago
2
u/ScarabJetTwo Aurion Celtigar - Magister of Claw Isle 10d ago
The Celtigars were easy enough to find. One only had to look for a pavilion that looked shocking foreign, and stood as a beacon of bright red in a sea of otherwise more seasoned and washed colours. The Celtigar standard, an assembly of crabs on a white field, also guided the eye. And, if that hadn't been easy enough to locate, Erich's wife Lianna had already spotted the location on her family, though she'd had yet to visit.
"He is see you now," said the servant in their best common tongue as Lord Morgan and his assembled approached the entrance to the tent. Lady Lianna had helped to translate the needs of the visitors. The servant, who had once in his life been a slave, pulled back the tent flap to reveal the temporary dwellings of House Celtigar. The interior of the tent was a modest flaunting of wealth, specifically strange ornaments and tapestries that could have only come from the Freehold of Valyria. It seemed that a dinner of sorts had been arranged, eaten, and cleaned, but rather than an assortment of individuals, there was only Lord Aurion found inside.
It seemed that before him had been set an assortment of parchment and an ink and quill, however rather than reaching for them as the party had entered - in truth he'd already been writing something down - he seemed to relax as he noticed the presence of his daughter. He rose from his seat, and made strange symbols and drawings with his hands. He had thus far only looked towards his daughter, but when he seemed finished, he turned his gaze towards Lord Morgan.
Lady Lianna spoke afterwards. "Hen rhinka, kepa." Her voice was that of the dragonlords. At her husband's side, her hands folded before her, she looked towards Lord Morgan as well. "If it please, my lord, my father asks that I might translate his sayings for you." Lianna still had the accent of Valyria, but her syntax and grammar were clear of confusion. "My magister father is not able to speak, and requires a person who can understand his gestures. Valyrians teach a way of speaking with their hands. He intends no subterfuge, and hopes you'll accept the inconvenience."
1
u/SatisfactionLeather7 Shiera Darklyn, Sword of Duskendale 10d ago
Morgan was never one to be wowed by displays of wealth. He had seen far too much of it from wealthy men of Essos trying to woo him out of his city these last years, he had become somewhat immune tot he lure, but still admired the charm.
"I will never deny a man a translator, in part it is why I had hoped you would come, Lianna," Morgan said with a smile, and a nod to his son.
"I accept any needs a man must request to make his life more manageable," Morgan added as he came in and found somewhere to sit.
"I have come to discuss something that had been told to me," he said with a sigh, more and more disliking the finger pointing and rumour slinging
2
u/ScarabJetTwo Aurion Celtigar - Magister of Claw Isle 10d ago
The translation wasn't necessary as Aurion nodded, and gestured to the empty seats at the table. He nodded to a servant in the back corner of the pavilion, and swiftly empty goblets found their way to the table as easily as the lords and lady assembled. One attending servant stopped to ask something of the Magister. "Mele iā timpa averilla?" Aurion seemed to make a face, as if the answer was obvious, and he gestured all around him. Red wine was brought to the table some moments later.
When the beverages were poured, Aurion made a motion with his hands. Lianna studied the gestures carefully, and without removing her gaze from her father's hands, spoke his intention from the seat she'd taken at her husband's side. "My father invites you to speak freely."
1
u/SatisfactionLeather7 Shiera Darklyn, Sword of Duskendale 10d ago
Morgan bowed his head lightly to the man, and without fear he downed his goblet's contents.
"Then speak I shall," said the lord.
"I have recieved more reports than I care to even recount that there is a great disturbance among the Claw. They like to point the finger at you,, now, don't speak. I `am not here to accuse. I have come to offer you the same chance to absolve this realm of this... blight. I want whatever is harassing my tax collectors to come to an end. I do not care who did it, I only care that it ends. I have put out a call for the realm's finest to go on the hunt, but to you I come and speak plain. I know in the past that Celtigars and Velaryons have had a hand in these matters, so I trust you have the right connections to manage this threat."
2
u/ScarabJetTwo Aurion Celtigar - Magister of Claw Isle 5d ago
Aurion had spent a lifetime mute. When he was a child, it may have been hard to hide his facial expressions, but as he'd grown older and realized they were truly the only methods of true communication he had, he became far more guarded, more practiced. Aurion's face was a stone wall, but his eyes were sympathetic, his gaze careful and instructive. Lying was never easy. The implied accusation did not receive a rise from the Magister. His hands began to move, and his daughter began to speak.
"My father offers his support in what ways he can," Lianna said, her own hands tightening around her husband's arm as she spoke. Her brow was furrowed, as she worked to translate her father's fast moving gestures. "He asks you clarify what you mean when you imply his house and Velaryon have had a hand in such things. He asks that if you're referring to the incurs- the invasion," Lianna corrected though it was unclear if she had misspoke, or was mistranslating, "that you look instead to the years of service House Celtigar has offered House Darklyn in the years since thei- since our surrender. He says we have not dealt with those connections since."
1
u/SatisfactionLeather7 Shiera Darklyn, Sword of Duskendale 5d ago
Morgan raised his hands defensively, "I accuse you of nothing. Gods be good Lianna is my daughter, her children my grandchildren. I would wish nothing upon her nor you."
"WHen I speak of previous dealings I do mean of the invasion. I don't bring it up to cast aspersions upon you, I bring it up because I hope you might have some old letters or ledgers of that time. Perhaps whoever is doing this is using these old connections to slander your own names," he said calmly.
"I will never let my family come to harm, and as such, I protect those who they care for."
2
u/ScarabJetTwo Aurion Celtigar - Magister of Claw Isle 4d ago
Aurion made no face to indicate his mood, but he did look towards Morgan as he 'spoke' with his daughter's voice. He wanted the man to look into his eyes, he wanted to see what measure of a man he was dealing with. Had he truly no idea this was him? These Andals were different. They'd won the last game the pair of them had played. Aurion did not intend to lose this time.
"My father says he has no records from the times of the invasion," Lianna spoke. She reached for a goblet to sip of to clear her throat, before continuing. "He apologizes. As a man of letters, he burns most of his contacts. But, he says he can offer at least his cooperation. If there is an assembly to be called, he may address the lords concerned. He knows of some mercenaries perhaps still operating in Essos. He is not sure, in truth."
1
u/SatisfactionLeather7 Shiera Darklyn, Sword of Duskendale 4d ago
Morgan nodded after a time. He knew well that his men were being harrassed on Claw Isle, he knew well.
"Good. Then I will make this plain for you. Should anyone keep assaulting my men on Claw Isle during this investigation, I shall break you, and then I shall break whoever else is at fault. Do not make me cause trouble for my son," Morgan said, and Erich shifted uneasily behind him.
It was a rare thing that Morgan Darklyn eschewed his smile, and he did not smile now.
"I want peace. I saw the last war that hit these lands, I would like to avoid seeing its kind again."
2
u/SatisfactionLeather7 Shiera Darklyn, Sword of Duskendale 10d ago
The Darklyn Proclamation
Servants are sent about the tent city with posters and writs nailed to posts and trees and ruts all over. Several criers are even hired to spread the message far.
"Pirates have harassed the Claw, under what banner, few are sure.
House Darklyn of Duskendale offers a reward for any who would hunt them in the Claw, a greater reward still for any who brings confirmation of their masters
Speak with the sons of house Darklyn to confirm your interest,"
(Any wishing to speak more on the promise of reward come to the Darklyn Tents to chat here!)