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Post by Father on Mar 18, 2020 21:14:06 GMT 1
The setting sun is casting long shadows through the courtyard at Lambridge, a beautiful evening with no clouds in sight, and with the heat of the sun passing away, it is a very pleasant sort of weather, good for being outside, for a walk or lazily lounging with a glass of wine perhaps. The people have mostly settled for the day, though a low buzz leaves no question as to the direction of the pavilions on the other side of the wall, the beer tents have evidently been put to good use by those attending the tourney. Other than that, it is mostly quiet, making the sudden appearance of voices from just around the corner catch one's ears. Not any voices easily recognizable, it could be anyone of the hundreds present for the tourney.
"Please! No!" says a startled young woman, maybe a girl, not a scream, not frightened, but she is clearly uncomfortable, it appears not to have the desired effect if the sickeningly smug reply of a man believing himself able to do as he pleases, and right now, his smooth and slow intonation suggests that it pleases him to torment her with the fear of being taken by force, though who knows if he will be satisfied by savoring the terror in her eyes? "Oh, we're going to have some fun" Another voice speaks up, silencing the chuckles of the man's friends, this one belonging to an older woman, indignant and protective, yet with a hint of desperation, as if cornered and having no other recourse than words to defend the young one with. "Remember your vows, Ser! Show the respect a lady is due!" The appeal seems to fall on death ears, worse even, it sounds like it was interpreted as an encouragement. "Ha! If you want to dress up your pets and have tea parties, that's your business, but don't pretend she is a proper lady."
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Post by Trystane Sand on Mar 18, 2020 22:19:27 GMT 1
A little head-clearing stroll will be nice.
That's what Trystane had told himself as he sauntered lazily outside. He had been remarkably restrained compared to past gatherings of this nature, though he was still feeling the pleasant buzz of the alcohol. Normally he'd be trying to get more drunk and flirting with someone or other who took his fancy, but he'd felt an unusual pull to taking a walk and seeing the sunset for a change.
Hopefully not a sign of getting boringly sensible, he thought, casting his eyes up to the clear sky, turning a pleasant purplish blue hue at the edges as the sun began to set. The colour reminded him of the inner petals of the irises he'd gifted to Lynesse Daverhyl. Gods, that felt like an eon ago. He wondered what she was doing at that moment, and felt a familiar little pang in his heart. It had been there a while, he had realised not so long ago. And not long after that he had realised what it was. It felt so similar to when he had first noticed himself missing Amata Blackmont in her absence. The start of deeper feelings than mere friendship. He had wondered, when he noticed, how long those feelings had been there.
Best squash that if you can, he thought to himself. Even if she wasn't betrothed to one man and trying to find another to save her from that one, she'd never trust your affections because you're Dornish. And even if she didn't dislike Dornishmen, you're indebted to her awful uncles, who would definitely take umbrage.
The woman's cry from nearby jolted him from his reverie, and immediately he identified the direction of the voices and ran towards it with urgent purpose. By the time he reached them, his sword was already drawn.
"Hey! Leave her alone or you will taste steel!" he growled at the woman's assailants, ready to descend on them with righteous fury.
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Post by Father on Mar 19, 2020 11:17:18 GMT 1
Trystane's appearance with sword in hand makes everything stop in front of him. He may have overreacted, or not. Of the five people in front of him, he recognizes only Lady Wenda Footly, whether it was her olive skin or comely features or a combination of those that had caught Trystane's attention in the past, with her is a septa, the very image of the strictest of chaperones, watching over her charge like a hawk, and resembling one, too, no taller than most women, but she is so thin and sinewy that it would be easy enough to add a couple of inches to her height if she stood alone without anyone besides her to compare with. Of the other three, one is clearly a knight, broad of shoulder and clearly knows how to handle himself in combat by Trystane's quick assessment, he has rabbit on his tabard, not a sigil Trystane recognizes, probably not that of a lordly house, though he cannot be sure that he can place all the lesser ones. His companions, however, bears the markings of House Middlebury, whose lord is infamous for his hate of all things Dornish.
"But I haven't tasted the Dornishman's wife" He quips, smug as ever, though he does take a step away from the wall and the two women for the space to maneuver should he need to. His friends takes two steps, but these ones are to back away, preparing to run as they chuckle nervously at the Rabbit Knight's words. "Do you not know the song?"
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Post by Trystane Sand on Mar 31, 2020 22:58:43 GMT 1
Can I back this stuff up with a Persuasion check of some sort?
Trystane gives the rabbit knight a look of disgust, but does not immediately respond to the question. Instead, he looks to Lady Wenda, and addresses her directly, at a volume that he hopes might be audible to other passers-by. He didn't fancy the idea of fighting three to one.
"My lady, if the attention of these men is unwanted, then I strongly suggest you come with me, away from here. Your septa too."
He extends his free hand toward her, though he carefully keeps an eye on the knight and his companions, not dropping his guard.
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Post by Father on Apr 1, 2020 13:07:55 GMT 1
The Rabbit knight does prepare to defend himself, but otherwise makes no move to hinder the two women as they take the offered escape, septa resolutely guiding her charge away. "Going to the brother is too much effort, I take it?" the bully doesn't seem quite done, his every word dripping hatred for those with the "wrong" skin tone. "You just have to take the whore we already found, thinking she'd give you a discount maybe? Might be she won't be rifling your pockets as you are busying yourself between her legs, honor among thieves and all!" Only half of these things said in the hearing of others would require a duel to restore the honor of Trystane and Wenda. None would fault Trystane for punching that foul mouth first either.
If you like, but he isn't doing more than hurling insults either way. He does however want Trystane to punch him in the face or challenge to duel or something. Taunt: 3d6+2 11 Mechanically that roll doesn't do anything. |
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