[Day 12] The River Lady [Event]
Jan 3, 2019 1:52:00 GMT 1
Parmen Redwyne, Malyk, and 1 more like this
Post by Ashara Starkwood on Jan 3, 2019 1:52:00 GMT 1
Ashara liked the Mander. She had probably spent more time on the bridge in Gardenton than anywhere else in the town.
Looking over the water was oddly calming. It wasn't as good as the ocean view she had in Sunspear, nor as enjoyable as the Water Gardens, but it was better than the din of the pavilions - countless men shouting and talking and sparring... and nothing but thin canvas 'walls' to keep the noise out - or the pomposity of Highgarden.
She needed calming, too. The tourney had been stressful, oh so stressful. She had been dreading it ever since she had gotten the letter from Starkwood that she was to return to the Reach and be betrothed to Ser Quentyn Cordwayner. The reality not only lived up to the dread, it had far surpassed it. the betrothal was just the beginning - the murders, the politicking, the incessant insults, slanders, and derision for no reason other than having Dornish blood. The effort she - and moreso Laena - had put into securing peace with house Blackbriar, largely undone by her own hand - or at least mouth - and that of the Blackcock, the brute of Blackbriar. She hated him for that. His blind idiotic devotion to a political cause he didn't even understand, and his even more ridiculous and ignorant hatred of anything Dornish. His utter lack of morality. And Titus... of Titus. Whatever that was. What she had almost done, to him, to herself. The growing feud with Lady Maegelle and it's utter ineffectiveness at dissolving a betrothal that no one really wanted. The foolish preference so many - regardless of their political preferences - exhibited for war and meaningless bloodshed over peace and prosperity.
"The Black Tourney", she had heard it called. Black indeed, and foul. Her own thoughts and feelings had been twisted and corrupted into an equally dark and foul form. Thoughts of taking justice for that poor friend of Lysette's. Thoughts of blood and steel and carving her her way to freedom. Of trying to end this rebellion before it began with a quiet dagger in the night. Foolish, of course, to think she could do something like that. That she would be able to pull it off, that she could get away with it, or even that she could take a life - in cold blood, no less.
More than once while overlooking the Mander from the Gardenton bridge she had even had the passing fancy to throw herself in - not to die, no, not really. She really didn't want to die. But to disappear? Even be presumed dead? Yes, that had it's appeal. To slip away and live a life of freedom. Yes, that had appeal. To be an independent woman, living in Dorne, or the Free Cities, or seven hells, anywhere but the Reach. Of course, throwing herself into the Mander wouldn't be faking her death - despite the time she had spent near the ocean, she had never learned to properly swim. Yet the illusion of freedom it presented was alluring...
...and so she was headed to the bridge on this gloriously warm day, reminiscent of the wondrous heat of Dorne, dressed in her Dornish silks to enjoy the view and maybe spend some time at the Tyrell's artificial beach when she saw that strange Levalle seneschal, half-stripped out of his garments running like the wind and shouting for help, that a woman had fallen from the bridge and was drowning...
It was a little too close to home. She knew that her family, her few real friends here and in Dorne - they would be devastated if she were to die, more-so if she had taken her own life. She didn't know why this woman had fallen - and accident, or something darker - but she couldn't bear the thought - insomuch as she was thinking at all - of this stranger passing that way.
And so with a determination that she had not felt for days, with a rather unladylike rush she made her way to the river.
Ashara was not a runner, but would run as fast as she could.
Ashara was not a swimmer, but she would do whatever she could.
Ashara knew she might die... but she couldn't not try.
And yet on her way she was passed by the Blackcock himself.
No doubt wanting to see if she is Dornish, so he can celebrate her death if she is.
And yet when she arrived at the river, he had already swum out to the woman, and was in the process - ever so slowly - of bringing her back.
Maybe he hopes she'll reward her rescuer with a visit between her legs. Or maybe he wants to look the hero to impress his way under Laena's skirts, as if she were that impressionable.
She considered leaping into the water to help - that had been her initial plan anyway - but knew that despite her disdain for the elder son of the late Ser Donnel, she also knew that he was more likely to get her to shore than she herself was.. so as much as it pained her, she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
She stomped her foot impatiently. She couldn't help but yell a disparaging remark to the the Blackbriar blackguard.
"If you pick up the pace a bit you might actually get her out before she's dead!"
I should probably try to motivate him instead.
"If you get her out alive, I'll tell Laena how heroic you were!"
Even if the mere thought of you and her together makes me want to retch.
...
Eventually, she was brought to shore. Scarcely before the unknown woman was all the way out of the water, Ashara barged in and pushed Balon away.
"Step back, give me some room to work."
She was about as good a healer as she was a runner, but she at least had some idea of what to do. She may not have learned to swim, but she had seen a young page brought back from the brink of drowning on the shore of the Greenblood, and asked how it had been done. It was the one and only time she had ever talked to one of the Orphans, and was not something she would soon forget. Not the least of which because at first it looked like that woman was attempting to molest or further mutilate the corpse.... right up until the boy spat up water and began to breathe again. truly, if anyone knew hoe to save a drowning person, one who lived their lives on riverboats would be it.
She lay down next to the woman, cradling her with her left arm and began to push on the woman's abdomen rhythmically. Water seeped out of her open mouth, but she was not yet breathing on her own. She needed air, and soon.
Ashara knelt next to her, and tipping the woman's head back kissed her deeply. Or at least that's what it looked like to outside observers, no doubt. She was, however, pushing air into the woman's lungs, breathing for her.
The woman began to cough, and vomit up more of the Mander than anyone would imagine would fit inside a person. Helping her roll over, Ashara firmly but gently pounded on the woman's back until all the water came out.
Then, after helping the woman to lie back down and rest while proper healers came, Ashara sat beside her, held her hand, and - inexplicably to those around - burst into tears.
That could have been me.
R2
River Lady R2 - Running Endurance/Athletics: 2#2d6 9 4
Arrive at end of R2.
R3 to whenever: waiting waiting waiting...
Ashara BURNS a DP to auto-succeed on the Healing test.
EDIT: realized I messed up on the running DoS - 2*(11-10) is 2, not one, knucklehead. I'll say I took a fatigue and call it done. I don't want to have to edit it out the waiting part of the post...
Looking over the water was oddly calming. It wasn't as good as the ocean view she had in Sunspear, nor as enjoyable as the Water Gardens, but it was better than the din of the pavilions - countless men shouting and talking and sparring... and nothing but thin canvas 'walls' to keep the noise out - or the pomposity of Highgarden.
She needed calming, too. The tourney had been stressful, oh so stressful. She had been dreading it ever since she had gotten the letter from Starkwood that she was to return to the Reach and be betrothed to Ser Quentyn Cordwayner. The reality not only lived up to the dread, it had far surpassed it. the betrothal was just the beginning - the murders, the politicking, the incessant insults, slanders, and derision for no reason other than having Dornish blood. The effort she - and moreso Laena - had put into securing peace with house Blackbriar, largely undone by her own hand - or at least mouth - and that of the Blackcock, the brute of Blackbriar. She hated him for that. His blind idiotic devotion to a political cause he didn't even understand, and his even more ridiculous and ignorant hatred of anything Dornish. His utter lack of morality. And Titus... of Titus. Whatever that was. What she had almost done, to him, to herself. The growing feud with Lady Maegelle and it's utter ineffectiveness at dissolving a betrothal that no one really wanted. The foolish preference so many - regardless of their political preferences - exhibited for war and meaningless bloodshed over peace and prosperity.
"The Black Tourney", she had heard it called. Black indeed, and foul. Her own thoughts and feelings had been twisted and corrupted into an equally dark and foul form. Thoughts of taking justice for that poor friend of Lysette's. Thoughts of blood and steel and carving her her way to freedom. Of trying to end this rebellion before it began with a quiet dagger in the night. Foolish, of course, to think she could do something like that. That she would be able to pull it off, that she could get away with it, or even that she could take a life - in cold blood, no less.
More than once while overlooking the Mander from the Gardenton bridge she had even had the passing fancy to throw herself in - not to die, no, not really. She really didn't want to die. But to disappear? Even be presumed dead? Yes, that had it's appeal. To slip away and live a life of freedom. Yes, that had appeal. To be an independent woman, living in Dorne, or the Free Cities, or seven hells, anywhere but the Reach. Of course, throwing herself into the Mander wouldn't be faking her death - despite the time she had spent near the ocean, she had never learned to properly swim. Yet the illusion of freedom it presented was alluring...
...and so she was headed to the bridge on this gloriously warm day, reminiscent of the wondrous heat of Dorne, dressed in her Dornish silks to enjoy the view and maybe spend some time at the Tyrell's artificial beach when she saw that strange Levalle seneschal, half-stripped out of his garments running like the wind and shouting for help, that a woman had fallen from the bridge and was drowning...
It was a little too close to home. She knew that her family, her few real friends here and in Dorne - they would be devastated if she were to die, more-so if she had taken her own life. She didn't know why this woman had fallen - and accident, or something darker - but she couldn't bear the thought - insomuch as she was thinking at all - of this stranger passing that way.
And so with a determination that she had not felt for days, with a rather unladylike rush she made her way to the river.
Ashara was not a runner, but would run as fast as she could.
Ashara was not a swimmer, but she would do whatever she could.
Ashara knew she might die... but she couldn't not try.
And yet on her way she was passed by the Blackcock himself.
No doubt wanting to see if she is Dornish, so he can celebrate her death if she is.
And yet when she arrived at the river, he had already swum out to the woman, and was in the process - ever so slowly - of bringing her back.
Maybe he hopes she'll reward her rescuer with a visit between her legs. Or maybe he wants to look the hero to impress his way under Laena's skirts, as if she were that impressionable.
She considered leaping into the water to help - that had been her initial plan anyway - but knew that despite her disdain for the elder son of the late Ser Donnel, she also knew that he was more likely to get her to shore than she herself was.. so as much as it pained her, she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
She stomped her foot impatiently. She couldn't help but yell a disparaging remark to the the Blackbriar blackguard.
"If you pick up the pace a bit you might actually get her out before she's dead!"
I should probably try to motivate him instead.
"If you get her out alive, I'll tell Laena how heroic you were!"
Even if the mere thought of you and her together makes me want to retch.
...
Eventually, she was brought to shore. Scarcely before the unknown woman was all the way out of the water, Ashara barged in and pushed Balon away.
"Step back, give me some room to work."
She was about as good a healer as she was a runner, but she at least had some idea of what to do. She may not have learned to swim, but she had seen a young page brought back from the brink of drowning on the shore of the Greenblood, and asked how it had been done. It was the one and only time she had ever talked to one of the Orphans, and was not something she would soon forget. Not the least of which because at first it looked like that woman was attempting to molest or further mutilate the corpse.... right up until the boy spat up water and began to breathe again. truly, if anyone knew hoe to save a drowning person, one who lived their lives on riverboats would be it.
She lay down next to the woman, cradling her with her left arm and began to push on the woman's abdomen rhythmically. Water seeped out of her open mouth, but she was not yet breathing on her own. She needed air, and soon.
Ashara knelt next to her, and tipping the woman's head back kissed her deeply. Or at least that's what it looked like to outside observers, no doubt. She was, however, pushing air into the woman's lungs, breathing for her.
The woman began to cough, and vomit up more of the Mander than anyone would imagine would fit inside a person. Helping her roll over, Ashara firmly but gently pounded on the woman's back until all the water came out.
Then, after helping the woman to lie back down and rest while proper healers came, Ashara sat beside her, held her hand, and - inexplicably to those around - burst into tears.
That could have been me.
R2
River Lady R2 - Running Endurance/Athletics: 2#2d6 9 4
Arrive at end of R2.
R3 to whenever: waiting waiting waiting...
Ashara BURNS a DP to auto-succeed on the Healing test.
EDIT: realized I messed up on the running DoS - 2*(11-10) is 2, not one, knucklehead. I'll say I took a fatigue and call it done. I don't want to have to edit it out the waiting part of the post...