|
Post by Laena Pyre on Mar 9, 2019 19:14:20 GMT 1
The party was finally done, and Laena's body was satisfied, at least for the moment.
Right now, she hungered for something else.
Vengeance.
Wearing a warm cape to stave off the night chill, with the hood up, and wearing the mask of The Stranger, Laena discreetly makes her way to an old, abandoned water mill. The river splashes and burbles, still turning the large wooden wheel, spinning uselessly in the night air. The old structure creaks in the night breeze, half-overgrown with moss.
Carefully and quietly, she makes her way up the half-rotted steps to the first*-floor entrance, restraining her grunts of effort lugging a satchel up, especially over the missing steps. It was heavier than she'd thought it would be, especially after carrying it this far, but if she could just use its contents as she envisioned, it would all be worthwhile.
She waits outside the door a few moments, attuning to the groans of the structure in the wind, before opening the door, slipping through, and closing it again while the structure masked the noise.
The Stranger looked down at the floor below, while she remains concealed by shadows, releasing a breath of relief when she sees things are as she expected. Everything, from the implanted spies, to the forged note, had successfully lead to this, had lead to now.
While there was still the risk of treachery from within, so far, everything was going as she'd hoped.
She silently lowers the satchel onto the floor, and, slowly so as to not attract attention, shakes loose her aching arms. And she watches and listens to the events going on below her.
[*Second, if you're American]
|
|
|
Post by Father on Mar 9, 2019 22:32:20 GMT 1
Ysilla came strolling in, whatever costume she had worn, Laena did not recognize any parts of it, now she was wearing practical hunting leathers. Tailored to fit her snugly, but well worn all the same. But it does not take long before she grows bored with the work of Marq's man and begins practicing her marksmanship, aiming at cones it would seem, and hitting more often than not from an impressive distance. Laena has seen enough archery to know that she would outperform anyone at Starkwood, including those men who hunt with bow and arrow almost every day. The bow also looks suspiciously like one of the fine bows made of Yew that Lord Tyrell had offered as prizes in the archery competition, one of these claimed by a masked mystery archer, a boy all agreed. Or maybe a lady? It is hard to imagine Ysilla being able to resist the chance of competing even if she only was half as good as she seems to be.
There is no sign of Marq, which means he is unlikely to show. Some of his men lounge about outside, playing some sort of dice game, occasionally they look after their horses, one entertains himself by carving a toy horse out of a piece of wood, presumably Marq's men, but who can say? Laena is certain that the scroll upon which everything Helicent says is being meticulously recorded will be read by him. Only maesters, mayhaps septons or brothers of the faith, are known to have the discipline and training to write so fast, but the man does not bear the trappings one of those would wear. It is the other man who interrogates Helicent, but there is no sign of hot pincers, flensing knives or anything that might be used to harm or threaten her. Instead, the man introducing himself as Gwayne offers her wine, white bread, cheese, dried fruits, fare that Laena would find at least satisfactory. He spends a very long time becoming her friend. Morning turns into afternoon long before he even starts asking about House Bridges, but by then Lady Helicent has started to sing. As if she utterly trusts Gwayne, believes that he wants to help her, maybe something else, it doesn't matter.
What matters is her confessions, no she did not kill Lord Bryce, of this she is adamant, and Gwayne works with her, simply by asking one question after the other, he makes her think, compile all that she knows, and the plot thickens. She did not kill Lord Bryce, no, but she knew exactly how to act upon the opportunity presented with his death, and what little evidence there was. Ser Farman was, after all, eagerly provided detailed reports of the inner workings at House Bridges in return for gifts of gold. She had shared the most important details with Lord Gormon, though he seemed to have limited interest, Bittersteel was considerably more intrigued. She acted quickly, in concert with Bittersteel, after the death of Lord Bryce to engineer the trial against Ser Dagos, and it almost worked, but Lord Leo was swayed by the "opposition" to load the dice in Ser Dagos' favor. A pity, but one cannot fight a war without expecting to lose a few battles, one needed only to win the last one, no?
But analyzing the situation with Gwayne, a man well skilled in helping without leading, she voices a realization that perhaps it was Farman who wanted her to act as she did. That he provided her exactly what she needed to know to set in motion the plan to indict and condemn Ser Dagos at the opportune moment. If Bittersteel had a part, she knows not. In the bid to have Ser Farman be named lord instead of his cousin, surely, but had Bittersteel been played just as she herself was? Or was he more of an equal partner? Who can say. Maybe Bittersteel murdered Lord Bryce on his own accord? Maybe he was simply murdered by someone holding a grudge, it was not beyond Lord Eldon's power to have another lord poisoned and none being the wiser, but that fat sack of larder seems to forget slights and insults the moment some frightened girl is dragged to his bed. Nothing can be a certainty, but it seems likely that Farman at least had made plans for what to do should Lord Bryce be murdered in a way that at least vaguely might be blamed on Ser Dagos.
Was it truly that obvious to Farman that Helicent would act as she did? Maybe, if so he must be a far more capable adversary than Helicent, or Laena for that matter, have ever suspected. He always seemed the hedonist seeking gold and the luxuries and leisure it affords. Ser Farman Flowers, master schemer? That seems rather unlikely.
|
|
|
Post by Laena Pyre on Mar 10, 2019 18:29:11 GMT 1
Laena's thirst for vengeance turns to ashes when it is clear that no, Lady Helicent really did not murder Bryce. The ashes turn rancid when it becomes clear that the path leads to Ser Farman. Kin. She looks outside to where Ysilla is still practising her archery, blissfully ignorant of both facts. She quietly chews an apple in contemplation as she goes over the facts. It is clear that Farman was deeply involved. But as puppetmaster, or puppet? Ultimately, it made no difference - the path either leads to or through him. She looks out at Ysilla. While their talks had made clear Ysilla and Farman were not close, her pranks on him were not malicious. And, while hot-tempered, she was no monster. It was clear she would likely have severe moral qualms over killing her fullbrother, even if she were utterly convinced of his guilt. After all, it was entirely possible Farman was just another puppet dancing on Lord Gorman's strings (or someone else, but Gorman's lack of interest nudged her towards that idea), ignorant that his actions would lead to his grand-uncle's death. But Ysilla would not be denied her vengeance. Her rage blew hot, still. She could well destroy herself should she turn it on Farman. And take her co-conspirators down with her. Laena's gaze drops down to Lady Helicent. Guilty of nothing more than minor spying, and political opportunism. Not a good person, but not a monster, either. For all that she had to die to preserve their secrecy over what they're interested in, she arguably didn't *deserve* even a quick, painless death. Rather shit for her, then, that the only way through this mess Laena could see involved Helicent's slow, agonising death. Still, that required her to be secured, while right now, she was free. Now, what was the best way to correct that? Unsure what orders had been left, Laena steps up when Gwayne looks finished, if he doesn't seem to be securing her of his own accord. "Good work." She speaks softly, in an androgynous voice, carrying a distinct King's Landing accent. Should Helicent catch a glimpse through the shadow, she would simply see a cloaked, hooded, and masked figure. All indicating that she was safe - why go to such lengths to conceal your identity, if you were going to kill her, after all? "Blindfold her, gag her, and tie her loosely to the chair. She should be able to wiggle free in an hour or two, by which time we'll be long gone." Once she's sure that neither person will put up a fight over her orders, she leaves, and heads over to her sister, picking up her satchel once more. She only approaches the last few steps once Ysilla doesn't have an arrow drawn. "Well, that took longer than I thought it would, but she admitted it. Long, boring, story short: she killed him over an old grudge, and the hope of better relations with would-be Lord Farman, securing that border in the upcoming war. So," and she opens her satchel, and shows her sister the contents - material for a small fire, along with a handful of coals, and the tools for handling them. "are we doing this?" Whether or not Ysilla would still wish to use the execution method she'd suggested at the height of her grief, Laena hoped her remembering it would be a pleasant gesture towards the grieving woman.
A Stranger Calls - Tricking Ysilla - Persuasion (Act): 6d6k4+2 19Should be Bluff, but roll is correct.
|
|
|
Post by Father on Mar 11, 2019 13:01:22 GMT 1
Ysilla is startled that Laena decided to go through with her immediate plan for what was in store for her. Isn't that, you know? evil? With Lord Bryce's death in the distance, her rage and craving for revenge appears diminished, if Laena thinks it best that the bitch must suffer to her last breath, then maybe she should, but grannynuncle wouldn't have wanted that on anyone. Maybe they should just, well, what do mean people do to just get such dirty work done? Slit her throat or something?
|
|
|
Post by Laena Pyre on Mar 11, 2019 15:23:16 GMT 1
Laena comfortingly rests her spare hand on Ysilla's shoulder. "I understand that your pain is so much greater than mine. I just wanted to make sure that this was" not 'pleasing', what's the word? "something that successfully brought you peace. If you want to do things that way, then that is how we will do them. You have the first right to the killing blow, but if you'd rather I did it, I will. This should bring you *peace*, not more upset."
If that satisfies her sister, they'll re-enter the mill, lugging that heavy, useless satchel up the stairs *again* - since she doesn't want to leave it out of her sight. Laena keeping her eyes open for any treachery - Marq has what he wants, now. If he considers them 'loose ends', this is when he'll act to tidy them up.
|
|
|
Post by Father on Mar 11, 2019 20:47:12 GMT 1
Ysilla takes a knife, but can't bring herself to actually slice Helicent's throat open. It is enough to make their victim understand what is going on, struggling desperately at her bonds and making muffled pleas.
|
|
|
Post by Laena Pyre on Mar 11, 2019 22:14:54 GMT 1
Laena gently places a hand atop Ysilla's shaking knife hand, lowering it. "It's fine. It's fine." She whispers. "Go on back home, I'll finish matters here. You should stay in the heart of your lands. Somewhere the rule of law still exists. You will not survive here. You are not a wolf, and this is a land of wolves, now. Go, and sleep well." She gently pushes her sister towards the exit.
As soon as the door closes behind her, Laena doesn't waste time. Standing behind Lady Helicent, her left hand slips under her chin, and pulls her head back, while her right hand, wielding the dagger Ser Mikel gifted her - surely not a use he'd predict or approve of - stabs deep into her neck, opening up her arteries. She tries to drag the knife across, but she lacks the power to cut through the gristle, but it's enough for a fatal wound.
Withdrawing her blood-caked hands, she looks at them in disgust. No wonder women preferred poison - this way was just so *messy*! Once the worst of the spurting was done, she steps in front of Helicent - staying on the less-bloody side, although blood seemed to have gone *everywhere*, and rips off the blindfold, staring into the eyes of the dying woman. The fear. The panic. The pleading. The acceptance that this is her death. And finally, her eyes went from seeing a mask of the Stranger, to seeing the Stranger himself.
And with that, it was done.
For now.
Wiping the worst of the blood off her knife and hands onto her cloak - thankful for the foresight to make it a dark colour - she sheaths her dagger and goes to see if Marq's men already have orders for the disposal of the corpse.
|
|
|
Post by Father on Mar 11, 2019 23:53:53 GMT 1
Helicent's final moments are filled with shock and pain, or so Laena interprets the look of her eyes before it is as if a shadow rolls over them and they simply stare at Laena in a blank and lifeless expression.
He did not leave any such, no, but if they see how much of the blood can be washed away and cover the rest with sawdust, and strip and dump her in the woods. Dead and naked, makes no difference who you are, like as not, her bones would be all that ever is found.
|
|
|
Post by Laena Pyre on Mar 12, 2019 13:43:23 GMT 1
If you want to kill someone, you should be willing to do it yourself, and look into their eyes as they die. Laena half-remembered Lord Ulbert saying something like that to Symon, some Northern tradition or something. She wasn't sure what she expected, except for somehow ... more.
Still, the men sounded like they knew what they were doing, and it's not like she had any experience disposing of bodies, so she left them to it. Instead, she cleaned her hands, arms (how had blood got all the way up *there*?), and mask in the river, and once she was safely away from the men, disposed of her bloody attire.
And finally let herself process what she'd done and learned.
Ysilla is probably afraid of me now. "Fuck."
All that effort, and Helicent wasn't even the murderer. "Fuck."
The trail leads to Ser Farman, my brother. "Fuck."
It's entirely likely Farman was just acting on the orders of someone outside my reach. "Fuck."
The good mood she'd had at the end of the party was entirely gone. Instead, a cold, sick feeling had lodged in her breast, and had begun to spread.
[If there's no surprises, I'm happy for this to be /scene]
|
|
|
Post by Father on Mar 12, 2019 14:53:51 GMT 1
[/scene]
|
|