[Phase 3] Another Stone in the Pond [Laena]
Dec 9, 2020 23:04:31 GMT 1
Parmen Redwyne, Daeron Wildfyre, and 1 more like this
Post by Laena Pyre on Dec 9, 2020 23:04:31 GMT 1
[OOC note: I declared to Father in my private forum that I would do this action waaay back on the 30th of May. He asked that I delay until 'Ratcatcher' was complete, because it could have made the entire thing moot (I can't recall if I'd not read that thread, or if I'd just forgotten about it at the time). But now that thread is done, I can finally reveal the scheme I came up with literally over half a year ago.]
Laena sat silently in her tent, leaned back on her chair, legs resting on her writing table, staring at her lone gold dragon as she practices moving it back and forth between her fingers. Slowly and carefully, for now, for it is mostly something for her hands to do while her mind is occupied.
Her mind is ruminating on a report her informers have given her. They'd actually found the Hooded Man here in Oldtown, spreading pamphlets, and even located where he was based out of. The smart play would undoubtedly be to keep eyes on him, and divine Lord Gorman's intentions through his proxy's actions.
But she was not in the mood for 'smart'.
Firstly, she was angry and frustrated over her losses at the gambling table. Secondly, aside from provoking a rather fiery septon (and, to a lesser extent, tricking Ser Guyard into making a fool of himself), this whole event had been rather boring. Thirdly, her favourite stress-relief tool was currently waving itself around the Riverlands, hopefully not too freely.
In short, she needed to vent. So, someone needed to suffer. Someone deserving.
And she had just the candidate. The whole Florent situation had rankled her, ever since it happened. She had originally seen it as a masterful scheme, spoiled by requiring one to accept one implausibly 'lucky' coincidence. Now that Bloodraven had revealed to her that the entire thing was bungled from start to finish and that Lord Gorman barely managed to scrape a victory from defeat, and it was clear the victory was undeserved.
Time to see if she could undo it.
Swinging her legs to the floor, and dropping the coin back into her pouch, she gathers quill and parchment and begins to write in the clinical, maester-like hand she uses when she wishes to conceal the source of her writings.
Dear Lord Reynald Florent,
I hope this letter finds you and your kin in good health. I write to you to offer you some information. Specifically, I have uncovered the current location of the man who, over the course of the Black Tourney, gained the moniker 'The Hooded Man'. Given his trespasses against your kin, I felt you were aptly suited to recieve this information.
She then carefully details everything her people had reported about his location, and current appearance.
Should you wish to question him, I leave to you exactly how to thread the needle of using enough men to block off all the exits a man as cunning as him would have prepared, without using so many as would alert a man as perceptive as he is, with all of them having more loyalty to you than they would to coin or partisan cause. If you are half the man I hear, you are up to the challenge, but I wish you luck, regardless.
Laena considers carefully before writing the next paragraph. But a man like Lord Florent would likely be suspicious of an unasked-for gift arriving for free. Better an implausible motive presented than none at all.
To be clear: you need fear no subsequent demand for payment in any coin from me, no matter how events transpire. This information is freely offered, simply in the hopes of achieving justice. This may come across as a rather naive motive - indeed, in an age where it seems all too many are violating every social norm in pursuit of self-advancement, it may be considered outright insanity. Perhaps with good reason. Despite that, I will continue to do what I believe to be correct, because I believe laws and societal norms are there for good reason, and wish for them to be respected, even in times of chaos like these.
She rolls the quill back and forth between her fingers as she decides if and how to sign the letter. Her own name is obviously right out. She considers 'L', but dismisses it as being too indicative. Then, she considers a random other letter, like 'R', but feels no connection to it. Finally, an idea strikes her. A set of initials she feels connected to, but don't connect directly with her name, have plenty of innocent explanations, and one that is risky and exciting enough to send a thrill through her body and a smile to her face.
Yours,
T.F.
She carefully folds the letter, then stares at it for a few moments. It was not too late to be smart, and this was anything but. Isolated, near-destitute, and she's giving away one of her only things of value for free, as well as quite possibly provoking a reaction from two very powerful lords, which could very easily blow back onto her, given their cunning and resources. There was even a very good chance nothing would come of it, for a multitude of reasons. So, should she give it to her network, to start a delivery chain to obscure its source, or should she simply use it to feed her fire?
After a few moments, she finally decides, and with a soft smile on her face she whispers her answer to the air.
"I want to live a life that will shake the heavens."
Laena sat silently in her tent, leaned back on her chair, legs resting on her writing table, staring at her lone gold dragon as she practices moving it back and forth between her fingers. Slowly and carefully, for now, for it is mostly something for her hands to do while her mind is occupied.
Her mind is ruminating on a report her informers have given her. They'd actually found the Hooded Man here in Oldtown, spreading pamphlets, and even located where he was based out of. The smart play would undoubtedly be to keep eyes on him, and divine Lord Gorman's intentions through his proxy's actions.
But she was not in the mood for 'smart'.
Firstly, she was angry and frustrated over her losses at the gambling table. Secondly, aside from provoking a rather fiery septon (and, to a lesser extent, tricking Ser Guyard into making a fool of himself), this whole event had been rather boring. Thirdly, her favourite stress-relief tool was currently waving itself around the Riverlands, hopefully not too freely.
In short, she needed to vent. So, someone needed to suffer. Someone deserving.
And she had just the candidate. The whole Florent situation had rankled her, ever since it happened. She had originally seen it as a masterful scheme, spoiled by requiring one to accept one implausibly 'lucky' coincidence. Now that Bloodraven had revealed to her that the entire thing was bungled from start to finish and that Lord Gorman barely managed to scrape a victory from defeat, and it was clear the victory was undeserved.
Time to see if she could undo it.
Swinging her legs to the floor, and dropping the coin back into her pouch, she gathers quill and parchment and begins to write in the clinical, maester-like hand she uses when she wishes to conceal the source of her writings.
Dear Lord Reynald Florent,
I hope this letter finds you and your kin in good health. I write to you to offer you some information. Specifically, I have uncovered the current location of the man who, over the course of the Black Tourney, gained the moniker 'The Hooded Man'. Given his trespasses against your kin, I felt you were aptly suited to recieve this information.
She then carefully details everything her people had reported about his location, and current appearance.
Should you wish to question him, I leave to you exactly how to thread the needle of using enough men to block off all the exits a man as cunning as him would have prepared, without using so many as would alert a man as perceptive as he is, with all of them having more loyalty to you than they would to coin or partisan cause. If you are half the man I hear, you are up to the challenge, but I wish you luck, regardless.
Laena considers carefully before writing the next paragraph. But a man like Lord Florent would likely be suspicious of an unasked-for gift arriving for free. Better an implausible motive presented than none at all.
To be clear: you need fear no subsequent demand for payment in any coin from me, no matter how events transpire. This information is freely offered, simply in the hopes of achieving justice. This may come across as a rather naive motive - indeed, in an age where it seems all too many are violating every social norm in pursuit of self-advancement, it may be considered outright insanity. Perhaps with good reason. Despite that, I will continue to do what I believe to be correct, because I believe laws and societal norms are there for good reason, and wish for them to be respected, even in times of chaos like these.
She rolls the quill back and forth between her fingers as she decides if and how to sign the letter. Her own name is obviously right out. She considers 'L', but dismisses it as being too indicative. Then, she considers a random other letter, like 'R', but feels no connection to it. Finally, an idea strikes her. A set of initials she feels connected to, but don't connect directly with her name, have plenty of innocent explanations, and one that is risky and exciting enough to send a thrill through her body and a smile to her face.
Yours,
T.F.
She carefully folds the letter, then stares at it for a few moments. It was not too late to be smart, and this was anything but. Isolated, near-destitute, and she's giving away one of her only things of value for free, as well as quite possibly provoking a reaction from two very powerful lords, which could very easily blow back onto her, given their cunning and resources. There was even a very good chance nothing would come of it, for a multitude of reasons. So, should she give it to her network, to start a delivery chain to obscure its source, or should she simply use it to feed her fire?
After a few moments, she finally decides, and with a soft smile on her face she whispers her answer to the air.
"I want to live a life that will shake the heavens."
