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Post by Daeron Wildfyre on Dec 1, 2018 5:51:30 GMT 1
Daeron never intended to be caught up in the high drama of the previous night, just as he never meant to find himself carving up a mob of smallfolk merely hours ago, and yet here he was. Marching onto the field he was a terrible sight, little more than a ruby suit of armor still slick with blood. He gives a salute to both Lady Jeyne, “Apologies for my ghastly visage my lady. There was no time for me to clean up. He then offers another to Ser Desmond, “My condolences Ser on the death of your grandfather. He wasn’t here to dispense with niceties, but after the chaos of the day, it was nice to have the illusion of an orderly method of settling grievances in a civilized manner.
CD: 10 AR: 9 Health: 12/12 Burning Bridges-Combat Init-Ignoring AP: 4d6k3-1 13*I know that the timing is ambiguous, but I like the image of him coming in all covered in blood.
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Post by Father on Dec 1, 2018 12:47:53 GMT 1
Ser Desmond makes no reply, focusing on the task at hand.
CD: 9 AR: 10 Health: 12 Initiative: 3d6-4 8
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Post by Daeron Wildfyre on Dec 1, 2018 22:03:10 GMT 1
Anybody that had witnessed any of Daeron Wildfyre’s previous bouts knew exactly what was coming up, a swift and mighty charge into the fray, made all the more terrible by the bloody bootprints left in the dirt. Burning Bridges-Charge: 8d6k4 21 (3 DOS for 21-10=11 damage)
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Post by Father on Dec 1, 2018 22:10:55 GMT 1
After having weathered such an attack, Desmond elects to throw down his sword in surrender. Some voices are speaking of typical Dornish cowardice face to face with an enemy, though is it cowardice or simply wisdom to yield when you are clearly outmatched?
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Post by Daeron Wildfyre on Dec 2, 2018 5:22:13 GMT 1
Daeron expected a quick end to the match, but even he was surprised that it was over already as he was already preparing for a second swing at Ser Desmond. Sheathing his blade he removes his helm and lets it rest in the crook of his arm.
“I accept your surrender Ser.” he intones neutrally before giving another bow to Lady Jeyne and briefly making eye contact with Lady Laena.
As he turns to leave the fatigue on his face is palpable and he mutters not too quietly. “Somebody find me Septa Marei.”
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