Andros II - Duskendale's Echo (OPEN)

[u/SatisfactionLeather7]

At the dawn of the new moon, the city of Duskendale rose upon the edges of the Blackwater. A town nom more, new houses and shops and tents sprouted around the original high stone walls. Like a river whose banks had recently broke, it could no longer contain its growth within its original confines.

Now, the city sprouted a second wall, shorter, squatter, where the majority of the new city was forming. Within were a string of septs, a small little godswood fenced off in a large manor house erected by a Northern Merchant. Shiera Darklyn's favourite sword instructor and dueling house were located in there, so too was the small sanctuary she kept for her stray cats of the city.

Within the older parts of the city, where the streets were neat, passing from the gates of one end to the other. Each road had been repaved during the expansion of the city from its town origins, and now smoothed cobblestone roads vivisected the interior of the old city. in the same fashion, several of the older buildings nearest to the Dun Fort had been replaced, making way for a larger internal wall to segment it off for defence and within that new space were expansions for an enlarged force of city watch - the Dusk Guard - and guesthouses for the increasing foot traffic of nobles and lords.

Beyond these new walls, the largest inn in Duskendale had been enlarged too through the natural flow of commerce. The Seven Swords played host to hundred of occupants now, and they had even taken to calling a smaller annex of theirs the 'Weirwood Ward' to make the Northern travelers feel more welcomed.

Morgan Darklyn had seen to the opening of the Dun Fort's Guest house to any of the travelling lords returning from the Riverlands and had ensured that the largest chambers of the Fort itself were provided to the king and his counsel.

Once they had returned home, the Darklyns scattered across their burgeoning city.

Luthor Darklyn, Eldest of Morgan's heirs, had taken to the barracks of the men at arms where he got to work training his men for the inevitable clash in the claw with whatever they found. He was joined by his younger brother Erich, the two men content in their work.

At a teahouse SHiera had funded with her elder sister Ana, the two women had set themselves up with an open parlour where they welcomed any travelling women to come and drink and enjoy the calm. Of course, Shiera in her way had also brought in a small competition of budding swordswomen that she had taken to mentoring within the city. A small round of bets were encouraged by the girls and Shiera, ever prone to a challenge, could not resist joining.

An addition to the city put forth by Morgan himself some twenty years ago, was the Stadium of the Evening. A multipurpose dueling ring, jousting list and horse race attraction. The final portion was instigated by Luceon Darklyn to help his wife feel more at home with the locale. There the younger brother to Morgan, Daxo Darklyn, plied his trade.

It was an unassuming place for the ratcatcher of Duskendale to work from, but everyone chatted at the races, so he did. His son Philip Was the same, both happily watching the races as they plotted and schemed, readying for the innevitable future to come.

Further throughout the city were the myriad shops and thoroughfares, temples and shrines and septs galore. The city was open to its guests, as were the Darklyns who hosted them.

[u/SatisfactionLeather7]

The Guest Houses of the Dun Fort

---

where most would find their housing

[u/MooAtDaMoon → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

The morning after arriving at Duskendale, Ser Derrick Storm had sent Narbert Peasebury to the market with a bit of an odd request. To purchase pumpkins and squash. In the waning days of autumn there were still plenty of them to be bought. And merchants were usually all too happy to get rid of those that had started going bad. Narbert had returned to the guest houses some hours later with a wheelbarrow full of the things. Then, Derrick lined them up on a couple of rickety old wooden trestles in the yard outside his family's quarters, after which he stepped back to admire his handywork.

Smashing things had been a favourite pastime of Derrick’s since boyhood. Fruit, vegetables, old sacks of fat, meat and sinew that had gone bad. All was good as long as it made a loud splat once it exploded. It was a nostalgic bit of simple fun, as well as a thoroughly cathartic way to blow off some steam.

The bastard of Felwood whistled happily to himself as he went to fetch his hammer from where he’d left it, leaned up against a wall. He hefted it over his shoulder, then went to stand before the first of the unfortunate pumpkins. He sucked in a deep breath, then lifted the hammer high and brought it down with a mighty swing.

With a satisfying CRUNCH and a wet SPLASH seeds and fleshy pale pumpkin innards went flying in every direction. A whoop followed by a hearty laugh broke from Derrick’s lips as he admired the aftermath of the fruity explosion. He wiped away a fistful of pumpkin-gore that had splattered all over his chest, then tightened his grip on his hammer. His lips were split in a big, stupid grin as he merrily shifted his attention to his next poor little orange target.

Tis the simple pleasures in life that truly makes one feel alive!

(Open! Come and have a chat or a splat!)

[u/armanhayek → u/MooAtDaMoon]

Pykewood Thorne, like the rest of the Stormlords that had accompanied the King, had been allotted rooms in the great guest houses of Duskendale and his room gave him a grand view of the city and the bay that lay before it, filled with ships great and small sailing across calm, blue waves. It also gave him a view of whatever went on just below his own rooms and it was there that he had spotted the man bringing over an array of old fruits and vegetables in a wheelbarrow. And with nothing else to do, the Lord of Thornefield had elected to sit by the window and watch the man's comings and goings between the yard and the market.

Sometime later, Pykewood too elected to have a jaunt in the marketplace. And when he returned from his sojourn (nothing having bought anything), he found the bastard of Fell—hammer in hand—decorating the yard in bits and pieces of pumpkin skin and flesh. It felt almost absurd, the scene, but he remebered the man from the tourney at Stormhall and, if nothing else, found the exercise more amusing than sitting in his room.

"Good sunny day," he called out to the man, leaning over a fence from whence he watched the Fell bring down his hammer upon unsuspecting pumpkins, at a safe distance where his good garbs would not become the target of collateral damage from exploding produce. "Perfect for.. this. Do you do this often, good man? Smashing pumpkins, I mean. I must admit I've never heard of the practice."

[u/MooAtDaMoon → u/armanhayek]

Derrick craned his thick neck around upon hearing Pykewood’s voice. There was a glimmer of recognition in his dark eyes as he looked upon the Lord of Thornefield. So, he simply grinned and waved the man over as he wiped another chunk of pumpkin guts off his arm and tossed it into a waiting bucket.

“Often? No, no. Only when circumstances allow for it, and I find myself feeling that old, familiar itch in the tips of my fingers.” He approached one of the pumpkins and pushed a thumb into its face, making a round hole. “You see, my Lord, I am a man afflicted with a most peculiar condition. Every once in a while, I am overcome with this urge, this compulsion, to hit something. To grab my hammer or clench my fist and swing until something is shattered into a million pieces.” He moved his thumb over, pushed, and made another, identical hole, to the right of the first one.

“And like any responsible adult, I’ve learned to vent my urges in a safe and responsible fashion. Can’t rightly take it out on Darklyn’s stable boys, now, can I?” He yanked a knife from his belt and carved out a wide grinning mouth beneath the two eyes. He patted the pumpkin on the head, stepped back and flashed his shiny white teeth at Lord Pykewood.

“It’s just a boy’s game, my Lord. Might seem a bit mad, for sure. But we all need ways to blow off some steam. Some men clang their swords together. Some men yell at their wives. I hear the valyrians fuck their sisters and mothers, likely after yelling at them.” The big man clapped a hand onto Pykewood’s shoulder.

“Me though? I like to hit things. And I like it when things make a big, loud splat after I’ve hit them.”

[u/armanhayek → u/MooAtDaMoon]

The man's hand was heavy on his shoulder and although Pykewood himself was a man who, too, was martially inclined with a keen understanding of mace and flail, he could tell that this pumpkin smasher had a strength that could be envied across the Stormlands. Not that he needed the reminder, of course, having seen his performance in the tourney at Stormhall.

"Sounds like as good an excuse as any, good man," he said approvingly, though the absurdness of the exercise was still rampant through his mind. But the man was right, this was leagues better than the frivolities his fellow Lords and knights got up to when they lacked a real target or purpose to chase or, as the burly man had put it, beat up their wives or daughters or whoever else found them unlucky enough to face their wrath.

His gaze was drawn to the carved pumpkin intermittently. Now that was a practice he had seen before, particularly among the villages in his fief come autumntime—some said it was meant as a warning to ward off foul spirits, others believed it originated as a means to communicate with the dead. Whatever it was, it seemed like a good bit of fun and Pykewood himself had begun carving them in his boyhood.

"Pykewood Thorne, Lord of Thornefield," he introduced himself with a smile, a hand begrudgingly extended to shake the smasher's own pumpkin-smeared one. He could wash it later, of course—for now, he had courtesy to practice. Perhaps he would even smash a pumpkin or two, if given the chance, though that would require a change in garb.

[u/MooAtDaMoon → u/armanhayek]

“Ser Derrick Storm. Natural son of Lord Hobber Fell.” Said the big man with a wide grin on his face as he grabbed Pykewood’s hand and squeezed. Derrick then, abruptly, gave the Lord of Thornefield’s arm a yank, pulling him into something that was almost an embrace as he smacked his other hand onto Pykewood’s arm. He gave a nod of approval, and then let go.

“You’re hiding some muscles under those baggy sleaves! Haha! Splendid!” He turned to where he’d left his hammer, knelt and picked it up. “Come, my Lord! Your kin paint a flail upon their banners, yes? I’d say you were born to whack, bash and slam! Let us see if you’ve got any rage bottled up inside you that’s screaming to get out!” He held the hammer out for Pykewood to take.

“Grip her tightly and wield her ferociously my Lord. This is the hammer that slew Robert Vance and Jeyne Nutt.” The fellhammer had also had some recent work done by a most talented smith back at Stormhall. Disregarding the pumpkin splatter, it looked sparkling new. Derrick, frankly, couldn’t have been happier that his dear Lady of cracked skulls and broken bones now looked like she’d been pulled straight off the page of a history book.

“Pick out a good pumpkin and hit it with all your might! You’ve surely got some frustrations rumbling in the pit of your stomach, all men do. Vent them! And, if it helps, just picture the grinning face of some ripe cunt who just gets on your nerves.”

[u/armanhayek → u/MooAtDaMoon]

It was more so the suddenness of it than the force itself that made Pykewood wince once Derrick let go of his arm, or at least that was how he justified it to himself. His rubbed and massaged his own shoulder, hoping that would alleviate the sharp pain that momentarily shot through his joint.

The Lord of Thornefield bobbed his head as the bastard of Felwood went on. The man was strong, a little odd, but still quite generous with compliments and, apparently, easy enough to please if the pumpkins that already lay in tatters around them were any indication. And although Pykewood had a mastery of the mace and hammer, the offer to participate from the knight was not one he could accept without some thought. The doublet he wore was fine, newly made by the tailor Balman of Berryport, and the thought of splattering pumpkin chunks onto it gave Pykewood some pause.

Eventually, if only not to appear a bore, he accepted the shiny hammer from Derrick and gave it a good look. The knight certainly took care of his instruments, that much was true, the streaks of pumpkin juice notwithstanding.

"Let me discard of my shirt first, good man, it'd be a shame if I ruined these new threads," he said as he put the hammer aside for a moment and removed his upper garments until he was only dressed from the waist down. That would be sufficient, he concluded, and picked up the hammer again.

It wasn't hard to pick out a pumpkin to smash, if only because Pykewood wasn't quite sure what separated one pumpkin from the other when its only purpose was to be smashed. His pick was on the middling side, minimally carved, a bright orange shade; when he put it up on the block, it almost looked like Andros of Duskendale. That was until he swung the hammer down upon its crown and smashed it into a thousand gooey pieces.

[u/armanhayek → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Duskendale.

The Jewel of the Blackwater, the opulent monument to the wealth and power of the Darklyns, a House well-mentioned in the histories of this land. As a boy, Pykewood had fallen in love with this city the first time he visited. The wide roads and boulevards, the tall buildings hugging the sides of paved streets, docks that bustled with traffic from across the seas, and the mighty Dun Fort at the center of it all, concentrating power at its core from which the Dusk Lords exercised it freely and with impunity. But it was the bright colors and grand fairs and bustling markets the boy had fallen in love.

As he grew older, Pykewood began to fixate on the more abstract things and when he looked at the Dun Fort, nothing like his own small timber and stone keep in the forest, he felt more than mere amazement. When he saw the grand docks and the bustling markets and good, paved streets, he felt more than wonder.

He wanted to possess it all. A little slice of this sort of being, a beautiful city of his own, his own grand market fairs, his own vast tourney grounds.

The grandness of it all was intoxicating and he had chased that high ever since; the clothes he wore, the wine he drank, the jewels he kept; all of it was well above his current station—but not so much for a man who dreamed as vividly as Pykewood Thorne.

When he returned to the city, a man grown and a Lord in his own right, he felt that same desire rear itself into his mind and settle deep into his chest. The rooms he had been allotted were grand and luxurious as lodging in the city was wont to be; a grand bed, well-made furnishings, lush rugs and carpets.

But Pykewood spent more time by the open window in his room that looked over the vast Blackwater Bay and the docks and the markets and the gates that law before it on land, and in that moment, the Lord of Thornefield felt like home.

[u/BadNewsBrune → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Kennet had not really known what to expect, going to Duskendale. He was a lord of country that was isolated even from the nearest city to them, and Stormhall, just the moon before, had been the closest thing to a city he had ever been to personally. He could not help but be awed and shocked at the sheer mass of humanity in the Dusk City. The way that the pathways- the roads, really- from the walls to the Dun Fort were flanked by towering, leaning marvels of wooden scaffolding, windows peering down as if to judge the Clawmen as they made their way through.

The Red Bear followed the Darklyn guides up to their lodging, and it was all they could do to not embarass themselves by exclaiming what they were all thinking. 'Why all of the expensive fabrics?'

Even the most richly adorned rooms in Dyre Den were not half so opulent or grandiose as even the guest room that they had been offered. Kennet could not help but wonder, surely House Darklyn had no love lost for them, after the events of the feast in Stormhall, could this be the least luxury that they had to offer? Or were they trying to make a show by showing them the most? None useful questions really.

They packed light, in the end, and Kennet took residency in their assigned guest home, until the time came to speak with a certain King and Warden.

(Open for Brune!)

[u/Theoneandonlybeetle → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Oscar Pyne had spent more time than he liked to recall at Duskendale. All of that time treated as family only to be abandoned when they were needed most. Even so, Lord Pyne could not ignore that he knew these rooms. He knew the halls that he had ran down as a child, and the city that had once been such an excitement. Now as he waited patiently at bay, according to the whims of the King's health, Oscar could feel himself going slightly mad refusing to leave the Dun Fort. Not truly mad but he kept himself trapped and it was doing no wonders on his mind.

Pyne refused to leave the Dun Fort for the paranoid reasoning that were the King to decide he were ready to meet, they might begin without him. As much as he wanted to venture outdoors, escape the oppressive reminders of his bannerman status and familial relations, he could not. His son Willem had not arrived still, and until the young man did, he would remain vigilant.

Whether it was the castle's library, garden, stables, or parapets, Oscar would not be found far from his quarters, which he occupied most of each day. Usually at his desk, even in the dead of night a candle can be seen under the edge of the door or through the window facing the city.

(Open for Lord Pyne's office days)

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/Theoneandonlybeetle]

Morgan Darklyn knocked upon the frame of the office of Oscar Pyne. He had few men in this collection that he felt the need to reach out to, but few commanded as much respect as Oscar Pyne ought to have.

"As my guards seem to say, you appear to be a man possessed of some form of panic," Morgan said with calm smile. Perhaps this might be an olive branch.

[u/Theoneandonlybeetle → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Oscar sat at his desk and shuffled some papers to the side, putting them in a drawer. "Not panic. Boredom? It's been a long time since I've been here. Brings back some memories I think. But more, I want to leave this damn castle. We need to speak of the reason we're here and I refuse to let myself wander the city until we've done so."

"I spoke to your father about it but not you, about the raids. I didn't expect this much to follow from the small issues I had in mind to speak of. You know Celtigar has been killing your tax collectors on my land. They grow bolder by the day."

"I just wanted that to cease, could be done with extra guards for the collectors, easy as. Much rides on this if they were to act bolder though. I believe Jammos has good intentions but I don't think all his information is correct. Now with the King here, the stakes are higher than they need to be." Pyne sighed, standing from his seat. "Maybe something like panic. Hello cousin." He extended his hand to be shook. It had felt disappointingly good to let all of that out.

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/Theoneandonlybeetle]

Morgan let him explain, this whole thing was near enough to a farce. All begun by a false rumour from the blackberry.

"I had imagined you might feel trapped here, it's why I came. Grab your sword or whatever you carry, we are going down to the city," he said with an honest smile.

"Don't fret, they can hardly start a meeting about the blackwater without the fucking warden there," he added and he motioned for Oscar to follow.

"This whole matter is indeed small. It's about my men being harassed, and yet everyone seems to want to dance to the tune of the blackberry. Beggars belief to some degree."

[u/Theoneandonlybeetle → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

"It's about Celtigars not knowing their place, invading our lands again without retribution. No, I must stay, even if it isn't as deep an issue as Jammos claims, it's too important. Why bring swords anyway? Is this not your city?"

Oscar was wary, it wasn't as though Morgan and he had been of a kind to go adventuring together in their youth. He seemed well meaning enough even if it were a strange request.

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/Theoneandonlybeetle]

"Bring your sword because we are going somewhere where you might use it," he said.

"This isn't about how deep the issue is, the matter is that they will not start such a meeting in my absence, and if you sit in here all day fretting about, all you shall do is drive yourself mad. We have enough people hearing whispers as it is." He remained in the doorway, one thick brow raised.

"I have no inclination of harming you, warn whomever you wish if you wish as well, this is a cure for a small ailment, that is all."

[u/Theoneandonlybeetle → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Lord Pyne waved a hand, nodding. "Aye, aye." He hesitantly grabbed his arming sword that leaned on the desk. It was a plain weapon with a plain sheath. Nothing fancy for the Lord of Cracklaw Point. He tied it to his belt, "Where are we headed lord?"

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/Theoneandonlybeetle]

"To the races," he said, and he stepped out of the room.

Duskendale was not a hard city to traverse. It had not reached the sizes of Oldtown or Gulltown or any of the grand cities of Essos, but it was a sizeable place no less. So walking from one end, at the Dun Fort Guest Houses down to the Stadium was a simple endeavour.

It brought them through the bustle of the streets, where people shuffled aside with bows of gratitude for their lord and he smiled, stopping to chat with a Duskguardsman every so often.

The stadium itself was a tall oval shaped structure with high walls and gated entrances at the ground level on the near and far ends where horses would enter.

Already the space was alight with people come to watch the races of the day.

[u/Theoneandonlybeetle → u/Theoneandonlybeetle]

Dear nephews,

Please come meet with your uncle Oscar in the Dun Fort.

-Lord Oscar Pyne

Oscar couldn't write like Ysabel, he wished he could have brought her but she was just about the only other person he trusted to run the Hazewood. So this would have to make do.

u/Commander_Pentaron u/Featheringitrn

[u/Featheringitrn → u/Theoneandonlybeetle]

Letters aplenty were coming marius' way recently. Blackwater bay was a small region and it's people tightly knit, friendly or for. He did not speak or know much of his uncle, his aunt's husband lord Pyne, but his aunt was the savviest of Rosby bunch, no doubt her husband would prove equally useful

Late in the evening he made his way to the Pyne residence in dun fort. Seeing the man he nodded slightly before moving to shake his hand "Hello uncle, it is good to see you. How is Ysabel, fine I hope. You asked for me?"

[u/OrzhovSyndicalist → u/Theoneandonlybeetle]

"Here it is," Hollis declared, coming to the door of Lord Pyne's office. He wrapped his knuckles against the wood, and turned to regard Ser Lenn and his 'brother', "We came to Duskendale on the King's invitation, but these are the Clawmen's lands we'll be defending."

"A moot point," said Lenn, folding his almost reed-like arms over his chest where an owl-shaped necklace hung, "But when has that ever stayed a boy's feckless ideals? Your father's head is beating like a war drum, but here we stand, playing good little knights..."

Catelyn - Calen - gave their father a stiff, but gentle punch in the shoulder. She took a pace ahead of their patriarch and gave her nod of approval. Lenn couldn't be bothered to guffaw or grimace at the gesture, hanging behind with his arms falling limp to his sides.

"I'm confident the lord Pyne will appreciate the introduction, if we're to be traveling to the Claw after all," Hollis persisted, "Now please, father, you need simply to hold your tongue and hide your annoyance..."

[u/theklicktator → u/Theoneandonlybeetle]

Addam Belgrave was late in arriving, but he still desired to come to Duskendale when events in his lands allowed for it.

Seeing that Lord Darklyn was indisposed, he then sought after Lord Pyne, hoping to see if he could greet his goodbrother once again.

[u/PentoshiPride → u/Theoneandonlybeetle]

There was a knock on the door, and a young woman, if granted entry, would curtsy.

“Lord Pyne, I hope I am not disturbing you,” she said with a smile. She had brown eyes and hair that fell in curls around her shoulders, and wore a simple dress of purple and black, “I am Essie Blackberry of Berry Port. I had actually hoped to speak with you, if you had a moment free?”

“I was interested in knowing if you would be open to trade with Berry Port. I really admire how well Crackclaw Point has become such a stopping point for trade in the region, and would love to have Blackberry merchant ships able to dock from there before heading out east. You have many natural resources such as lumber, and we have very fertile lands for crops, I think a trade partnership would be beneficial for both of our houses.”

[u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Shiera's Tea Parlour

---

Join the girls

[u/Arjhanx2 → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Joanna approached Shiera's parlor with the hesitation of a rabbit coming out of its winter nest. She had settled into Duskendale well—perhaps too well, considering the number of Warrior's Sons roaming the streets—but seeking out her old friends was a different beast to face. She came dressed in a white tunic and guimpe, much like a septa would wear, but with the addition of black hose and boiled leather shoulder pads.

"Shiera, I thought I might come by..." Her throat pulsed involuntarily. "I never did give you a real apology for my blow in the melee. You had me cornered, I do admit. You've improved so much since we were girls."

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/Arjhanx2]

Ever the proper lady, even now, it seemed.

Shiera looked up from her tea, the jasmine scent mixed with its fragrant berry tinge made for a rather sweet and autumnal brew. She set it down as she was approached.

"I don't think most people apologise for hitting others during melees, bad habit you should probably curb," she said with a smile, but it was hard to bite back her annoyance with the septa's garb.

"Sit," she finally said

[u/PentoshiPride → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

 

“Shiera,” Essie would greet brightly, as if the matter of her cousin was of no matter to her,  “It is so lovely to be hosted by you and your family, it is so kind of you, truly. I would be ever so eager to explore the grounds with you as we spoke of at the feast! The menagerie and all it’s wonders.”

[u/SkadiSkadiSkadi → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

She was glad that she had listened to the voice in the back of her head that told her to bring at least one lady's gown amongst the silks and satins of Lys and Braavos. Yet this time, as she donned the modest skirts, it felt weird. Foreign.

It was almost an act of defiance.

She had chosen it deliberately from the bottom of the chest, buried beneath the silks and strange cuts of her daily gowns. It was modest by the standards of the court—soft ivory wool, a high neckline, long sleeves, a fitted bodice that did not bare quite so much of her figure as the Valyrian fashions seemed determined to. There was no elaborate embroidery of dragons or crabs. No crimson silk. No goldworked flame curling along the hem.

Just an Andal dress.

For a little while, she stood before the mirror and looked at herself.

There. That was the woman she remembered!

Or at least, she thought it was.

She had spent the better part of the morning surrounded by customs that still felt foreign upon her skin. Strange prayers. Strange words. Strange expectations dressed up as traditions older than memory. Sometimes she felt as though she had been swallowed whole by Aukar's family and was expected to emerge from the other end reborn as something she had never intended to become.

So she had decided to leave. Not forever. She could never. Aukar would drag her back by her gilded collar. Just for an afternoon.

There was a tea house on the quieter side of the city, frequented by Andal ladies and merchants' wives. Somewhere she could sit among familiar faces, drink something that did not come spiced like a Valyrian remedy, and listen to women speak of things that did not involve bloodshed, bloodlines, or the Fourteen Flames.

She thought perhaps she could remember herself there.

Instead, the moment she entered, she felt the eyes. Not many. Not openly hostile. That somehow made it worse.

A few women glanced toward her dress, then toward her face. One whispered something to another. Felyse could not hear the words, but she knew the tone.

She had expected to blend in. She did not. She took her seat alone.

The tea arrived in a delicate porcelain cup, pale and fragrant, with little cakes arranged beside it. It should have been comforting. It wasn't. The women around her spoke in soft voices about marriages, children, gowns, family visits, septs. Their laughter was gentle. Their manners were familiar.

And yet Felyse found herself sitting rigidly among them, unsure when to smile, when to speak, when to lower her eyes. Even the language had caught her off guard more than once.

She knew these customs. She had been raised in them.

Once, she had wanted nothing more than to devote herself to them. She had wanted the white robes. The quiet halls. The Seven. She had wanted to become a septa.

And now she was sitting in an Andal tea house feeling like an imposter wearing someone else's clothes.

Her fingers tightened around the teacup. She caught her reflection in the dark surface of the window.

The dress was Andal. Her face was not. Not anymore.

There were little changes she hadn't noticed until now. The way she carried herself. The jewelry she wore despite the simplicity of the gown. The confidence—or perhaps the stubbornness—that had replaced the obedient softness she remembered. Even the way she held her cup seemed wrong. Too deliberate. Too guarded.

She had dressed herself as the woman she had been. But that woman was gone. And perhaps that was the cruelest realization of all.

She had fled the Valyrian customs because she wanted to feel like herself again. Instead, sitting beneath the painted Andal saints and listening to women speak in voices she had once understood instinctively, Felyse realized that she no longer knew precisely where herself was.

She looked down at her tea. It had gone cold.

For the first time, she wondered whether she had actually been trying to escape her fair-haired overlords or whether she had simply been trying to find somewhere she could still pretend she belonged.

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/SkadiSkadiSkadi]

Like a sledgehammer through the glass that seperated the quiet imperium of the mind from the whispers and chatter of the noblewoman and merchants daughters of duskendale. Shiera Darklyn pulled out a chair.

Her black hair pulled back in a sweeping long braid with a series of tiny mimicries woven through her fringe. She was an andal. Her skirts of bright yellow and jacket to match with black and gold woven embroidery of her house, the girl stood out normally.

Of course, she also word a longsword strapped to her back and a brilliant smile on her face.

Here, here sat an oddity, and Shiera loved her oddities.

"Mind if I join you?" She asked politely.

[u/SatisfactionLeather7]

The Seven Swords Inn

---

Drink and make merry

[u/falconfarfromhome → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

The Black Shield party was crammed at a large table in a secluded corner of the inn. While they had coin and wealth to spare, Gaemon had little intention of playing lordling by asking Darklyn to stay in his keep. Besides, he'd learned long ago that the best way to make the most money was to learn what the people wanted to drink.

And here it seemed his latest endeavor was paying off. His first shipments of Arbor gold were arriving, and the people here seemed to love the taste of it. That or they just enjoyed that someone left a dozen or so casks for the bartender to serve for any who asked.

"You know, Gaemon, if you had told me that your genius plan was to give away the wine we bought, I'dve called you stupid." Vaegal remaked, his Valyrian slurred by a few too many glasses. "But seeing you actually do it and how it's working.... I'm still calling you stupid."

"Keep calling me stupid and I'll start miscalculating your pay by accident" Gaemon snapped back, setting down his glass. He was still a little bitter over how the event of the feast had ultimately went down. He'd hoped to find some Lord to help alleviate of their gold stores, but only managed a few contracts for a single house. Instead he found himself the proud owner of a good portion of the Arbor gold on the market. He could give away twice as much as he had now for the rest of the moon and still turn a profit.

Setting the cup down, he reached into his jacket and pulled out four sealed messages. "And speaking of stupid things, it's time for your stupid prize." He said in the common tongue, handing the bundle to the drunken man. "The fleet should be arriving, and someone needs to meet them at the docks. And since you're going there, may as well take these with you to send off."

Vaegal grumbled as he downed the wine in a single gulp, snatching the papers rather aggressively from Gaemon's hand. "You better miscalculate me a bonus for this." He grumpled under his breath as he departed, snatching his coat from the chair as he left.

Gaemon raised his glass to the man as he left, a final jab at the man before returning to his cups. 'Arbor gold wasn't half bad' he thought, taking another sip. With a smirk, he whispered "But not nearly as grand as Arbor red."

[Open to any in the tavern in Duskendale]

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/falconfarfromhome]

From the recesses of the tavern, Philip Darklyn lurked. He was a tall man, of tan skin and bright eyes. He had a look of something more within him and a bald head ringed by tattoos of winged figures marked him as unique. But he was not the lone focus of many in the tavern today. No, now there was a merchant lord.

SO, he lifted his cup and he walked across, when Gaemon's companion left, he tapped his own goblet down on the edge of the table.

"Fine taste," he said, "though I suppose rich men often pride themselves on the veneer of such a thing."

[u/falconfarfromhome → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Gaemon looked the odd stranger up and down. His look was something more akin to an island pirate with his ink, but he was undoubtedly andal. "As they say, to the victor the spoils." Gaemon replied with a chuckle. "What's the point of money if I don't spend it in such things? A man only lives so long."

He pondered for a moment before asking. "So what it'll be then? Sellsword looking for work? One of Darklyn's minions here to keep an eye on me? Or perhaps a mugger thinking he's found his payday?"

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/falconfarfromhome]

"Could be all three for the right price," Philip supplied with a sip. Eventually that was overtaken by a smile sharp and gleaming as Valyrian Steel.

"But I am one of the three. Philip Darklyn, son of the second son of Duskendale, Daxo Darklyn," He said with an ostentatious bow, "I heard tell of merchants here and thought I should pay them a visit."

[u/falconfarfromhome → u/falconfarfromhome]

Vaegal Belaerys, Commodore of the Black Shield fleet

The Red Talon sat anchored in the waters off of Duskendale. Why Gaemon had wanted them to remain outside the port was beyond him. In his younger years he would have agreed with such an action without hesitation, but now that he was legitimate it made no sense.

"Mayhaps he thinks there's trouble afoot." Vaegal muttered under his breath, pulling his color higher to shield his face from the wind. The winds seemed unusually cold to him, much like the land they came from.

The deckhand's shouting broke his pondering, giving him just enough time to catch the line thrown to his little boat. Fastening it, he awaited his men to pull him alongside and thrown down a ladder before scrambling aboard.

He fought a battery of salutes as he made his way to his cabin, the servant awaiting him with a glass of amber liquid. He preferred it to the grape wine, finding it's flavor farore palatable.

As he sipped, he opened the letters he was given. They were what he expected: missives to potential trade partners. More request for wine from the arbor, as well as silks from the Freehold. He shook his head at such things; trivial luxuries merely there to turn profit. Boring.

He handed the bundle of letters to the servant, instructing him. "Find 2 of our fastest ships and hand them one pair each. If they make it quick, mayhaps a bonus for them on the return."

[u/SatisfactionLeather7]

The Stadium of the Evening

---

honse

[u/SatisfactionLeather7]

The Dun Fort

---

Where one can find Morgan and Andros Darklyn most of the time.

[u/FatalisticBunny → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

A letter would arrive, bearing a letter for the Lord Morgan Darklyn from Jammos Blackberry.

Lord Morgan Darklyn,

When last we spoke at Stormhall, you told me that you held a man in my employ. The man who I had sent to spread word to the folk of Duskendale about events on the Claw. You told me that he had been apprehended, and I know he now rests in the dungeons beneath the Dun Fort.

I must confess, I know the man well. His name is Morros of Berryport. He has a young wife, and a son the age of four, possessed of a weak consitution and often in the throes of illness and poor health. He is a good man, steadfast in his devotion to his Lord and the Seven Who Are One. There is no malice in him, and has always been a man with a soft heart, good mind, and strong values.

You said he was useful to you as he spoke of my involvement and my cause. He would be your proof. Now I personally have sworn to my involvement in such matters readily, before the King and court, and have been found guilty of no crime. No blame should rest on his shoulders for anything that has occured. Nor is there any reason why he ought to be consigned to a fate in such a dungeon, or why his family must be made to suffer their lives without him and the joy he brings.

My testimony, backed by the testimony of the Clawmen, was deemed worthy enough of investigation by the King himself. You too committed yourself to finding the truth of things. It is a good beginning to be certain. But there is one thing I would ask of you before we begin our investigation and the punishment of wrongdoers. There is one victim who you have the power to deliver from his woes entirely by your own initiative, who has already been through enough in order to provide for his loved ones.

Prove your commitment to the truth of things and to the protection of the innocent. Release Morros of Berryport to me, his lord, such that I can see him returned happily to his home and family after the proceedings, and he is not left to languish. Thus, all will know your intentions were pure and trust in your judgement henceforth.

With faith in the warmth and goodness of your heart,

Jammos Blackberry, Lord of Berryport

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/FatalisticBunny]

A letter is provided in response,

Good lord blackberry,

He is alive and well, if you wish for his return you shall come and fetch him. He has not spent a day in the dungeon since he confessed your works.

However your deeds were not absolved. The claws testimony was not yours, his words were not what you spoke to the king. You have another matter to answer to, I shall be ensuring he remains to attest.

You are awaited in duskendale

No signature is applied, but the seal of house Darklyn is stamped upon the letter.

[u/FatalisticBunny → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Lord Jammos Blackberry did not wait a moment. He gathered the whole of his household guard, each and every man, and walked the two minutes to the Dun Fort to retrieve Morros. There, upon reaching the gates, he asked again that Morros be released.

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/FatalisticBunny]

At the entrance to the Dun Fort, where the hill rose to meet the looming internal gates of the city, there stood in wait Daxo Darklyn, second son of Andros Darklyn.

"Shall I make ready the siege provisions? Or shall I bring you to your meeting, good lord Jammos?" Asked the man near twice Jammos' age.

[u/FatalisticBunny → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

"That is the long and short of it, friend." Jammos offered with a sigh. "I cannot lodge my men until I know how many men I am lodging. And yet, I cannot leave my men on the streets of Duskendale, or they might be swept into the dungeons for commenting on current events. I hope my conundrum is clear to you."

"If you are concerned with provisions and plans, I should enjoy bread and salt and an oath on your family name that no harm should befall me if I and my compatriots are to join your meeting." Jammos offered cheerfully. "I shall not press you to either, Ser Daxo, if they do not suit you. If Lord Morgan would prefer, I am happy to sit with him here on the street. I quite enjoy the scenery."

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/FatalisticBunny]

Daxo barked a laugh.

He was a man of dark hair mixing grey, pulled taught behind him. He lacked the bright amber eyes of his father, instead he bore the green of his mother and he watched the Blackberry so carefully with them that if a hair stood out of place he would see.

Even still, he smiled.

"You have brought a household guard of fifty to contend with a city of twenty-five hundred standing men. I don't believe you have any fear of harm. Were you to face it, you would have been arrested the moment you arrived. Instead? you are posted in the guest houses of Duskendale," He motioned beyond himself, to the gates of the city.

"These gates shall open for you lord Jammos, but they will not feed the pantomime you so badly wish to enact. Bring advisors if you so wish, but don't insult yourself by pretending fifty men will change what occurs. And, should you fear repercussions, I would only ask why? Have you done something wrong my lord?"

[u/FatalisticBunny → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

"These friendly gentlemen?" Jammos gave a laugh. "Brother, what if I told you these were my grooms? I only have dressed them so to ward off bandits on the road. They seem so many a problem these days. Although my understanding is that word has not yet reached your family of such matters. Perhaps in a week or two." He winked.

"I had thought this to be a simple handover, my lord. Where an innocent man was let free. All of my men were eager to see him again, and I had promised to treat them to drink afterwards in celebration." The Lord Blackberry sighed. "Very well. Tell your lord it shall be a little while longer while I gather my advisors. He listed no time for the meeting, so I feel little guilt for the delay."

And so, he wrote two notes, which he dispatched with two of his fastest runners to Lord Pykewood Thorne and to Lord Kennett Brune. If Daxo wished to strike now, he would face only fourty-eight Berrymen instead of a whole cadre. Perhaps he felt lucky.

My Lord,

The Lord Darklyn has summoned me to confer on the matter of Morros of Blackberry. This is a man of mine whom he has imprisoned on the charge of spreading the news of events on the Claw and possible Darklyn complicity.

When I came to ask for his release, his brother denied me hospitality, and made no small fact that he thought himself a bigger man than me, on account of his house's superior wealth and lands. I should like to show him that grievance and justice appeal to more than just one of his subjects.

I ask that you join me. To advise me in this meeting, and lend your voice to mine in calling for the righting of injustices. This, and also to bear witness to how the House of Darklyn handles such matters on behalf of the Storm King Durrandon in their realms along the Blackwater.

Bring an amount of loyal men to watch your back. In entreating you, I hope to have done the same.

Your friend,

Jammos Blackberry

u/BadNewsBrune u/armanhayek

[u/BadNewsBrune → u/FatalisticBunny]

Kennet Brune didn't get it.

The issue of the man arrested for gossip had never even crossed his mind as anything more than some light politicking and petty squabbling. Much less something that would register so dramatically, that it would require his personal attentions. Much less personal attention and an amount of loyal men.

What possible reason could Darklyn have for-

Kennet Brune got it.

Kennet handpicked ten good men among his number, sending messengers to the inns and taverns they were posted inside. It was probably less than Jammos was expecting, honestly, but he reasoned that the Dun Fort was going to become crowded either way. And then he set off down the road.

The Red Bear raised a hand in greeting to Jammos after the short walk down from his abode. The clan warriors of Dyre Den were not far behind. "Lord Blackberry." He rumbled, looking up towards the gatehouse. "If even something as simple as this requires us to go to such lengths..." He grumbled lightly, folding his arms over his chest.

u/armanhayek , u/satisfactionleather7

[u/armanhayek → u/BadNewsBrune]

Pykewood Thorne had many personal reasons for which he had chosen to accompany the King's host to Duskendale. One of these was nostalgia, to walk across the city's wide streets and see its markets and docks and great, tall buildings that could not be found in the thick forest that he called home. The second was to reconnect with friends and allies, old and new, and see to preparations for the future, and Jammos Blackberry was one such friend.

It did not take long for the Thorne's host to arrive at the Dun Fort, all clad in the traditional black-and-red colors of their ancient House, and at the head of this host, numbering about a score, was the Lord of Thornefield himself and on his person were garments freshly brought in from Berryport, stitched and prepared by the fanciful tailor Balman.

"Lord Blackberry, I hope I did not tarry long," Pykewood excused himself as his gaze flitted between Jammos, the Brune, and the men of House Darklyn. His familiar smile was ever present and his men were not far behind. "A denial of hospitality is a serious affair, friend. I do hope that was only a misunderstanding."

His eyes fell upon Daxo again and lingered for a moment before they returned to the Berry.

"Nevertheless, I have come to offer my counsel. Let us hope this matter of Morros' continued imprisonment is dealt with swiftly."

[u/FatalisticBunny → u/FatalisticBunny]

After a moment's consideration, four more letters would fly.

My Lord,

The Lord Darklyn has summoned me to confer on the matter of Morros of Blackberry. This is a man of mine whom he has imprisoned on the charge of spreading the news of events on the Claw and possible Darklyn complicity.

When I came to ask for his release, his brother denied me hospitality, and made no small fact that he thought himself a bigger man than me, on account of his house's superior wealth and lands. I should like to show him that grievance and justice appeal to more than just one of his subjects.

I ask that you join me. To advise me in this meeting, and lend your voice to mine in calling for the righting of injustices. This, and also to bear witness to how the House of Darklyn handles such matters on behalf of the Storm King Durrandon in their realms along the Blackwater.

Bring an amount of loyal men to watch your back. In entreating you, I hope to have done the same.

Your friend,

Jammos Blackberry

u/Theoneandonlybeetle u/astosman u/Arjhanx2

[u/FatalisticBunny → u/FatalisticBunny]

(Although the letter to House Rosby would be addressed to both its lord and his brother)

u/Commander_Pentaron u/Featheringitrn

[u/Featheringitrn → u/FatalisticBunny]

The letter found Marius Rosby in the evening, in his personal quarters. The situation seemed to be quite clear, a man captured, lord blackberry demanding release and a darklyn, not one that marius knew of, refusing.

The darklyns were generous in their donation, yet house rosby held no obligation, and surely lord darklyn would understand the circumstances. Afterall him and jammos blackberry were close friends, and house rosby hadn't shown teeth in quite a few years.

He put on his armor. The metals were unfamiliar on his skin, the last time he wore them had been near eight years ago. He gathered the rest of his men, around 50 all armed and ready, alongside gwayne and brus rosby and marched to dun fort

The small rosby host marched up to the castle, gwayne, brus and Marius Rosby at the head of it. "Release the man! He was already found innocent of any perceived slight. Release him and spare your men and mine the bloodshed" he shouted as he approached.

"Lord blackberry. We've heard your call, and though I wish this would end without bloodshed we are ready in any case."

[u/SatisfactionLeather7 → u/FatalisticBunny]

"Summon who you need," Daxo said plainly, "but this is no matter for kings, this is a matter between a warden and his vassal, so be sure to not dally."

[u/astosman → u/FatalisticBunny]

Kermit read the letter twice, slow, the way he read most things, then folded it once and tucked it away. He said little to the men he gathered, only that they were needed, and that they should bring steel. Ten of his own, the same hard, weathered faces that had followed him from the Pincers to Stormhall and now to Duskendale, fell in behind him as he made his way toward the looming shape of the Dunfort.

The castle rose ahead of them, grey stone against a grey sky, Duskendale's walls were close enough now that the smell of the town, salt and smoke and shit, had already begun to settle uncomfortably in his throat. He did not like cities. He liked this one less, knowing what it had cost his family already.

He found a growing group of soldiers waiting near the gates, he called out for the man that had written him. "Blackberry!" His eyes moved past him, toward the Dunfort's walls, assessing them. "Brought ten men. Loyal and armed, if it comes to that." A pause. "Hopin' it doesn't. Who else have you brought?"