Valyrian Horizon [IC]

[Alber]

The sun glints through the overcast sky over the tournament grounds on the newly begotten holdings of House Reyne. The tournament represents the first public gathering of the newly raised house, and the effort put into it shows. The facilities are expansive for a small tournament, and freshly crafted. Across the stands bright banners proudly display the red lion of Reyne, as well as the standards of the other houses participating in the tournament. Quite a few minor houses, and couple of more promiment ones, have their sigils represented across the field, notably the six white shells of House Westerling, and the seven pointed, blue and white star of House Tarbeck. Above the Lord's stand hangs the largest standard, showing the golden lion of the King of the Rock, flanked by two smaller examples of Reyne's own banner. However, the red and gold of Lannister appears to be conspicuously absent from any of the participants on the field.

Atop the hill overlooking the tourney grounds lies the recently built Reyne Manor, the foundling house not having the resources for a proper stronghold just yet. Even so, the manor is fairly impressive for a minor lord's home, featuring a large size and ornate detailing on it's exterior, as well as a large statue garden in the courtyard.

Back on the field, about a dozen or so knights, both high and lowborn, prepare for the tournament's opening joust while the stands fill with noble spectators and the sidelines crowd modestly with smallfolk.

[Lady Tialait]

Euron

Though only fourteen, Euron had found himself a pretty sweet niche in the Lord's service, bringing a gift to the Raynes. He stood pretty proudly as he walked toward the lords, holding leashes to two horses pulling carts. One full of his own Lord's favorite food Turnips, and his specialty the freshest fish from the market. Coming before the Rayne's Masters of House he nodded his head. A smile beaming across his face as he offered the men and women who were to run the newly christened manor.

"This is a gift for Lord Rayne, the finest fish, and Lord Thrinn's favorite dish. Where should I put it?"

His stubborn horse whinnied as he spoke, making his words hard to hear. He looked back, the horse was pulling the turnips, he could have guessed. He cleared his voice, and repeated himself.

"Where do the gifts go? I have the finest gifts that Lord Thrinn is able to give."

He pointed behind him at the turnips and fish. Leaning in to sniff some of the fish checking them for freshness. No need to sniff the turnips, he knew they would be fine. He smiled at the gathered help waiting for their instruction.

[Connington]

Ser Harlan led his horse through the bustling tourney field, one pace behind his father's true born children. A small grin played across his face as he watched the knights tilt at each other from the corner of his eye. Tourneys always reminded him of his hedge knight days, when he would bet outlandish sums and hunt for lords needing a company of sellswords.

Those days were behind him now. He had responsibilities now, to House Thrinn and to the family that he made for himself. But that that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun. He didn't have the luxury of throwing away money to enter a joust he couldn't win, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to knock some heads in the melee and drink his fill after the sun set. Just had to get his hands on a blunted sword, and he'd be set...

[Mr Stereo1]

'Old Alfred', as the servants called him (he was feeble, not deaf!), sat quietly at Lord Mal's side, his walking sticks resting against his seat. He must have made a wretched sight, he knew, compared to all these handsome and pretty young nobles, but even if they were disgusted at his broken body his house still respected his sharp mind.

So he sits, and he watches, and he learns what he can of the politics of the tourney to report to Lord Mal when opportunity arises.

[Dragonal01]

As Alistair keeps watch in stands behind Lord Mal and his entourage, observing the hustling knights prepare for the joust, he smirks. Let them have their fun he thinks my time'll come in the melee. Let's see how much of their 'finest equipment' I can break as he pats his hammer and looks out onto the jousting arena.

[Battlemage]

Joran's height let him easily study the various sights of the tournament over the heads of the crowd. He brimmed with excitement and enthusiasm, his massive body seeming strangely at odds with his features, which still showed traces of the child he had been but a few months back.

"Do you see that knight over there?" he asked noone in particular. "Is that Ser Ramon? I've heard he hired a mysterious swordmaster that showed him ancient and deadly secrets. I wonder if that's true. Hopefully he will take part in the melee and we will find out."

Between all the knights and warriors in their heavy plate, Joran felt quite embarrased about his own padded cloth armor.

Why did that incident with my armor have to happen? I really wish I had a suit of plate now. This is an opportunity to test myself against true experienced knights! I can't just sit around and watch!

"Father, I need to borrow a suit of armor. And a blunted weapon for the melee. I'm sure I can win glory for our house! I've trained so hard!"

It seemed to Joran that he never wanted anything in his life more than he wanted to take part and excel in this tournament. He would certainly die of disappointment if he couldn't, he was sure of that!

[Alexandria]

Wandering through the crowds with her hand resting on the head of her ever present companion Alexis smiled politely at the gathered nobles while thinking to herself.

"I bet none of them could hit the side of a barn from 50 feet with a crossbow."

As she continued her walk through the crowd she noticed Alistair and altering her path slight she flashed a teasing smile at him and ran her hand over his hammer as she passed him.

[Hemnon]

Like a proper lady, Helena was sitting at her designated spot, among the Thrinns. Her seat was next to the venerable Alfred, her teacher and pretty much a sort of grandparent to her ever since she was given away as a ward, a little over four years ago. She didn't really like these kind of things, jousting was a little boring to her and combat frightened her a little. But, being a noble placed certain obligations on a person, so there she was, about to watch a jousting tournament, already feeling slightly queasy at the thought of it all.

[Dragonal01]

As she continued her walk through the crowd she noticed Alistair and altering her path slight she flashed a teasing smile at him and ran her hand over his hammer as she passed him.

As Alistair saw Alexis flash him a smile he pointedly tried to look away and kept his eyes fixed ahead of him, but when she ran her hand along his hammer, he stiffened, only for a moment but it was noticeable enough, and after she'd walked past Alistair looked at her cut a swathe through the crowd as the nobles and common-folk both gave her and her shadow cat a wide berth. Alistair gave a small smile.

"It's a good thing they give Primigenia some space, one wrong move and she'll have their throats out in a blink of an eye. That cat's vicious during the bandit hunts."

However after a few seconds Alexis seemed to notice and put some extra sway in her steps for him. So he looked away blushing.

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Jeyne's wide eyed excitement at the tourney had been hard to contain, and with an effort she had schooled her features to ladylike calm. She sat followed behind Joran, knowing that her younger brother would be far more important to the eyes of the lords and knights. Her other siblings had their own duties to attend to, and so she had to follow along, lacking almost any purpose. Yet when Joran asked for sword and armour she could not restrain herself. She wasn't so confident as to say that she had a plan, but her Courser, Hunter, was amongst the soldiers' steeds, and she hungered for a chance to join in. She had heard of the mystery knights: it would be a dream and more for her to have the chance to be one.

She listened in to her father's response, wondering where she might acquire the armour, lance and shield she would need to enter the joust. Failing that, she had her sword in her saddle pack, and her dagger was always kept on her person. As long as she was disguised, she might be able to enter the melee.

[Shmee]

The Lord of the Drystrand steps out of his carriage giving a weary sigh. The trip may not have been long but for one such as Lord Mal, even descending his tower was a wearisome task. Having his Lady wife supporting him from one hand, he uses his walking stick to help himself stand up. Yet the old man's mind was elsewhere, he was genuinely worried. A Tourney this size would be a perfect place for his rebellious brood to escape his watch, and make a fool out of themselves... and more importantly make a fool of his name, and in front of so many Lords of the Westerlands as well. It seemed to Old Mal that his children lived only to disappoint him.



"Father, I need to borrow a suit of armor. And a blunted weapon for the melee. I'm sure I can win glory for our house! I've trained so hard!"


Mal rolls his eyes at his son's request and clenches his hand around his walking stick.

"Indeed you have. Feel free to use my armour if so you wish, but you will have to fetch it yourself from the Drystrand. Nor am I the Iron Bank of Braavos to lend you the money. Make due with squandering your allowance on futile bets if that is what you want, but I will not have my son, green as grass get his head caved in because he wants to play the knight."

He turns his harsh gaze on each of his entourage, as he speaks

"I expect you all to behave as fits your stations. I should not be forced to do so, but knowing you all, I shall say it only once: remember that you are all representing the Red Rooster of the Drystrand. Don't you dare humiliate our House in front of the Lords of the Westerlands."

Having issued his ultimatum he turns around and begins to hobble, signaling for the rest to follow him.

"Let us go present ourselves to the Lord of Castamere, and accept his bread and salt as is proper."

[Raunchel]

Leona smiles when she steps from the carriage behind her beloved father, there are so many interesting ladies here, and she would love the opportunity to speak to them. She says to her young brother, but also to her dear sister: "I would not do that, these events can be more than dangerous and many of these men have far more experience with arms than you, you would probably be hurt and shamed."

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Her father's words immediately excited that old, slow burning flame in Jeyne that would oppose anything he said and make her go to greater lengths to pursue her goals. It was what had gained her a reputation for stubbornness and rebelliousness and she was prepared then and there to seize a suit of armour from the nearest knight's tent and ride off against whoever would accept her challenge, but her sister's words restrained her.

Her sister knew enough of shame. She bowed her head, the fire in her eyes dimming. "Of course, sister," she answered, though her heart yearned for the excitement of the fight.

[Connington]

Harlan fell in line behind Lord Mal. His fathers words to his heirs had been harsh, but they needed to be said if there was any hope of keeping them on the straight and narrow. They were all young, and he remembered being just as likely to make a fool of himself as any of them, back in his day. Idly, he wondered if his father had ever been young, at least more than chronologically. He had hardly been older than Joran when he began piecing together the ruins of House Thrinn.

Shaking his head, he tried to put aside the image of any of Mal's children, trueborn or bastard, accomlishing that.

"Stick with me once the formalities are handled Joran. I can't promise you armor to joust in, but tourney blades are cheaper finds. Melee's a better place to cut your eyeteeth anyways. You won't go penniless for losing, and you'll get some actual combat training out of it. Jousting's got about as much to do with the real work of being a knight as sewing does."

His father had provided the iron, so now it was time to wrap it in a velvet glove. It didn't occur to Harlan that he might be placating the wrong Thrinn-child.

[Battlemage]

Joran's bright mood darkens visibly upon hearing his father's words. He let's out a long, drawn out sigh, as if he was a long suffering man held back by silly circumstances.

"Of course, father."

We'll see about that! You just don't understand me!

After Harlan's comment, his face brightens a bit once more.

"My thanks, brother. I'm sure one of us can win the melee. Think of what that would mean for our house!"

I still want to joust though. And I'm already penniless since I spent all my money on my greatsword. It's really worth it though!

Somehow, Joran didn't think bringing that fact up again was a good idea at the moment, though.

Looking back at his older sister, he winks and whispers: "I bet you already have a plan, don't you? Let me in on it, we can work together!"

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Discussing any plan in front of their despotic father was less than a brilliant idea, and Jeyne just raised an eyebrow at her hulking younger brother, but she couldn't help but grin slightly: it was just as it had been when they were younger and the two had gotten into mischief together.

Now she just needed to concoct a plan however... There should be a number of tourney lances lying about on a day like this, and Joran was large enough to pass as a grown knight when armoured easily despite his youth, and whilst she would struggle with that they'd just have to find armour small enough to fit her, and a helmet to cover her face. But armour would be harder to come by.