[IC] Rise and Fall

[Callos_DeTerran]

The Roguemont is quiet in the early hours as the servants begin to hustle about and prepare things for the day, the clang of the castle smith's hammer ringing in the air as if to signal the start of all the day. Soon the noise of horses joins the growing ruckus as stable hands trot out the animals to stretch their legs in the pastures outside of the wall so that they don't foul up the bailey's carefully tended garden. Maester Gared can be seen tending to his impromptu garden, having taken advantage of the fact that the Roguemont had never seen a serious assault to re-purpose that central courtyard to make the Roguemont seem less grim then it appeared as well as growing some of the herbs that he requires. It's said that the variety of plants that he grows in the bailey are used to decorate the sept on holidays or given to the smallfolk of Underhill for festivals if they provide adequate coin for the privilege. Men bustle about the courtyard as they head to their assorted tasks as smoke rises from the kitchens in the great hall, preparing a sumptuous breakfast for those working that day.

Seven towers reach high above the stone wall that encloses the bailey and keep, providing a vantage point for the falconers to train their birds as well as keep a careful eye on the surrounding hills for any who approach the winding road that leads up to the ancestral home of House Ordrach. The long summer has gone well though and the family has seen little menace from its neighbors in recent years, a well-received fact but one that has taken a little of the edge off the discipline of the household guard. They keep to their posts but they settle in for another long day of nothing happening as they whittle away at their pay and their hours with gambling or fancy golden chains that they wear as badges of personal pride. Outside of the keep's walls there is the secondary, much smaller, wooden wall that encloses the narrow moat around the stone wall with it's own gatehouse guarding further passage into the Roguemont without being accounted for. Within the keep itself, the thick stone walls do much to quiet the noise coming in from outside and the velvet drapes do so even more until it is just a barely noticeable murmur that is quite soothing in it's own way. The sigil of the house is prominently displayed throughout the halls of the keep as the ladies-in-waiting and pages set about the never-ending task of keeping Ordrach's castle as free of dirt as possible as well as more unsavory details such as emptying the pots. Only then is breakfast prepared and brought to the banquet hall, set out on silver platters in their varied glory for anyone to come in and enjoy...

[Glarx]

The enormous bed Eris had purchased upon assuming control of the House felt too cold, too empty. Already she was eighteen years of age, that anniversary having passed not two months prior, and she was still without child or husband. The enormous wealth of House Ordrach would buy her the hand of many a suitor, but none yet had passed her test. A stupid man, a gullible man, one who would be content to be used in the evenings and fed during the day. A ceremonial husband is what Eris needed, not one who would attempt to control her. That made the sleepy lady smirk into her down pillow. Such a man would find himself quite frustrated, should he attempt to exert his will over her.

Rising from bed, wiggling her way to the edge and letting her feet touch the sumptuous carpet, Eris considered what her day would entail. A list of things to be inspected, justice to be heard, minor administrative quibbles to work out, the output of the mines to be determined, visiting the Septa, visiting the Maester, visiting the pyromaniac, breakfast... but perhaps most importantly would be a morning bath. She rose completely and padded her way towards the master bath.

Nessa and Amelia, her handmaidens for some years now, had heated the water and were prepared. They bid her good morning, and Eris returned the sentiment. Her silver hair was wild and untamed, framing her face in a way favorably compared to a bird's nest -- the treachery of long hair. She slipped into the bath and spoke nonchalantly of the gossip around the castle, learning what she could from their chatter. The stable boy had received a woodcut from Dorne, and had taken to performing lewd acts with the other boys due to the content. Word had come that the tailor's finger was inflamed, yet he was too proud to ask Lady Eris for Maester Gared's help. There were reports of bizarre fish swallowing ships, but that was universally accepted as poppycock, the visual hallucinations of a drunken fisherman too bored with his lot in life to care about reality.

Eris paid these reports little attention, giving them small space in her mind and accepting she'd deal with them throughout the day. House Ordrach had a small lot of land, and she was responsible for the lives of those within it. Such was what the Lannisters had entrusted her family to do, and she was going to excel at the task. Eris had much to prove.

After the bath had been completed and her hair had been combed and styled, her fine dress and corset donned and her makeup applied, Lady Eris made her way down the stairs of the keep into the dining hall. It was time to see who else of note was awake.

[Saulk]

Corbyn was used to waking up before dawn, and had done so for nearly all of his thirty two years. He was not, however, accustomed to waking up in the relative comforts of a keep, with its actual bedding and roof to prevent the rain and dew. It had been some time he had been at House Ordrach, but still the novelties of castle living held their charm and allure. Slipping out of bed he donned a simple tunic and breeches. That clothing would be enough, for now. Later he would summon Raymis, his squire, and armour himself to spend some time in the practice yard. His duty as a knight meant keeping up his skills at all times, even as there was relative peace, and relative calm.

He walked down to the stables, in the very first glimmers of morning light. His horse, Fyrebrand, was stabled there. Corbyn approached the beautiful black horse with his usual sense of pride. She had been with him for several years, and they fought together as one when it was needed. Smiling, he reached down to take the brush and began slowly going over her coat with it. He spoke softly to her as he did so, talking of past glories, of previous tilts. She was a partner in his livelihood, and worth more to him than his own life at times. Without steed and arms, a knight was nothing. Three letters signifying nothing. "Ser". The title made him pause for a minute, thinking on his vows. There were certainly smallfolk here, that would need protection. These were dangerous times. There was a lady here...though whether she needed as much protection as one might think of an eighteen year old girl in Westeros, Corybn was not entirely certain. His duty was to House Ordrach, and he mused upon the meaning of that as he saddled Fyrebrand, and rode out bright and early that morning.

He returned not an hour later, as the sun's rays were now fully up, and stabled his horse, taking great care to put everything back exactly where he removed it from. Even though the stable-keepers were smallfolk, they had their ways, and it was not knightly to disrupt them for no good reason. A powerful hunger building up within him, he made his way to the banquet hall where the smell of food caused his mouth to water. Entering, he filled his plate - plates and silverware; another novelty! - and then turned his attention to Lady Eris. Setting down his food, he walked towards the young head of House Ordrach. He bowed low, respectfully. "My lady, good morning." As he straightened, he had pause to look at her hair, noticing, and not for the first time, the similarities to his own. The blood of the dragon, he'd heard it called. The blood of ancient Valyria. It flowed through the both of them. It was indeed part of the reason he offered his sword to Lady Eris. The Mad King had caused those who had the blood of the dragon to be suspected of all bearing the same madness. The gods flipped a coin with each Targaryen, it was said; madness or brilliance. If Targaryen blood was in both of them, he wondered which head had shown on the coins flipped for each.

[Tao Jones]

Halber awoke in a sour state. Another late night in Underhill, and too many drinks. No longer the young man he once was, he still had to dine with the owls if he was ever to gain the trust of rats. This close to Lannisport, men knew how the game was played, and could sniff out a pampered heir amongst their ranks in a moment. Halber never dressed in rags, certainly, but it was the eyes that told the tale in that crowd, and his were like a hawk's. A merchant prince here, a town councilman there, and slowly the web would weave itself.

Until then, headaches greeted him each morning. At least the beds were warm. He reluctantly hoisted himself to his feet, ambled to the window of his tower, and did his morning stretches. When he'd arrived at Roguemont, he'd been offered a room nestled in the keep's ground floor, but insisted on a tower. He'd known too many old men gone feeble for lack of exercise and refused to join in that particular bit of misery. His servant boy Alyn was off attending to more important matters than dressing a grown man of able body. Halber didn't care for that sort of ceremony behind closed doors, although he wouldn't hesitate to use it to his advantage if the opportunity arose.

He was throwing on a comfortable old robe he'd brought when Alyn returned for their morning conference. What was on the servants' lips, who was doing what with whom, that sort of thing. It was mutually beneficial, as were all of his arrangements. Halber was kept abreast of the immediate goings-on, and Alyn learned skills and insight that were valuable to his station. When Alyn told him that Lady Eris herself was already at the dining hall, he decided a more formal outfit was prudent. He sent Alyn off to his duties and hustled down the steps to meet his benevolent Lady for breakfast.

"My Lady," he said, bowing with as much grace as he could muster these days. "Your radiance is without equal." Lady Eris had a way of making men say things they might ought keep to themselves. Halber cursed his tongue. The last thing he needed was to appear insincere to his benefactor. "Your hair, of course. In the royal fashion, I see. You never told me you'd won Amelia away from the Queen herself." He glanced a wink to the blushing handmaiden before taking his seat. In his line of work, one learned the names of every servant and highborn alike.

[Griffith!]

Ser Martyn Hull

The part of the keep Martyn made his home was perhaps best called "the barrack", though in truth, he was the only soldier with residence there. Most others took quarters nearer the yard, or in the buildings along the wall. Still, he was comfortable with the bare furnishings and low bunks that housed soldiers returned from patrol, or those who came accompanying visiting lords. There was little in the way of comforts, and that suited him best - years of his youth spent sleeping under hedges and in brothel doorways had ruined him for full mattresses and lit fires. Even as he aged, he found himself uncomfortable with opulence.

He sat in his bed near dawn, running a whetstone along the blade of his longsword to the light of a lone lantern. It had been years since he had cause to wield a blade outside of the occasional execution or trial-by-combat, but it never hurt to keep prepared.

As the rest of the keep stirred to life, he rose as well, dressing in the plain, rough leathers of a fighting man. He didn't strap on the bulk of his armor, but took it along in a pack - bracers and greaves hanging by their strings. He had shrugged into the chain shirt and armored jacket, left open and untied - sword and shield slung over a shoulder. Brushing his blonde hair back, he spat on the floor and made for the dining hall - as part of the household, he would be expected to make an appearance, though he didn't much care for the company of the sneak or the red priest.

Feeling social or no, however, Lady Ordrach would be there - and though she was the daughter of on old friend, and almost half his age, he found himself looking forward more to the sight of her than either breakfast or work in the training yards. And so, he pushed through the doors of the dining hall with his eyes cast to the head of the table, looking to see his Lady there.

The hall was hardly filled, and so he had his choice of seats at the table - he chose the far end, away from Lady Eris and the gushing master of secrets. He thumped down into the chair, resting his blade against the edge of the table, and studiously examined his nails.

[Glarx]

"Good morning, Ser Corbyn. Although I trust you've already been awake for some time, haven't you? The girls often wonder about you, asking why you rise so early. I have no choice but to tell the truth -- you help fight off the spectre of night, of course! It is lovely to see you dining with us. Please, enjoy the meal. Our chefs have worked quite hard to prepare something for everyone." She smiled at him, her violet eyes taking a moment to sweep across the platinum hair, the brilliant eyes. The ladies asked about more than his sleep habits, and Eris had dismissed several servants who had the impropriety to suggest Ser Corbyn might have been a relative of the Ordrach house, a bastard of her father's.

She sat at the head of the table, a crystal glass filled with a beautiful blue wine. Fruit seemed to dominate the plate, and Eris used her knife to quickly cut off a surface from the rounded object. From there, she was able to maneuver the knife through the skin, revealing the bright pink flesh within. Syrupy juices spread across the plate, slowly absorbed into the bread and starchier components of her morning. She sampled a piece of the fruit for a moment before spymaster greeted her.

"You are too kind, Halber, thank you. I hope your assessment proves true, lest I find myself without a husband or an heir. Heirless Eris -- it does flow off the tongue, doesn't it? But I cannot abide to allow such a state to continue. My concerns, however, have no place in this hall. I hope you'll try the kaja fruit, it's really quite exceptional. Lightly baked, from what I understand, liberating some of the juice from the flesh and providing a delicious syrup." Eris smiled at the man and gestured to a spot at the table. "Do eat -- we have a long day ahead of us, and I shall need all my advisers to be thinking clearly. Hunger clouds the mind just as surely as lust or pride."

To the other side of the enormous dining hall sat a more enigmatic man. He sat opposite her, examining his nails instead of saying good morning. She couldn't understand Ser Martyn, but it was part of her List to find out. "Good morning, Ser Martyn. I trust the food is to your liking?"

[Saulk]

The knight returned the smile, and his laughter unlike some at courts he had seen was genuine. He unconsciously straightened his tunic, a habit he had acquired around the nobility. "If I do not, then we would be permanently benighted. I cannot allow such a thing to befall your beautiful self, my lady. And..." He reached out to his own plate and took a bite of one of the pieces of fruit. "...your house would be in darkness as well." He wondered for a moment whether he had stretched the boundaries of propriety with his jest, but in truth he had a fondness for the lady of the house. "I was out riding this morning. Fyrebrand was in want of the exercise, and you know how I enjoy surveying the Ordrach lands in the early sun." The lands were absolutely beautiful, that much was true. He was in awe each time he traveled them. He turned with a disarming smile towards the others as they each entered. He knew each from the court, though he was never fully sure where each of them stood.

"Good morning, Halber; Ser Martyn." The older man, Halber, he had some great suspicions regarding, but that was normal given the man's stock and trade. Ser Martyn was a fellow knight, though he seemed to be far more of a military commander than the knights he was accustomed to. He certainly had brought the Ordrach soldiery into line. "I trust both of you are well this morning?"

The pleasantries concluded he returned his attention to his plate, listening carefully for his attention to be called for. Liked he may be, but still he was a knight and his place was to be called upon by those who were his lords and betters. He listened, though, as always, ready to help however he was able.

[Tao Jones]

At Eris' invitation, Halber took his seat and eyed the curious baked fruit set before them. "Quite so, my Lady," he agreed. A hangover clouds the mind as well as hunger, he thought, but served himself a sample of the juicy treat. He searched for something a bit more substantial, and settled on flaky fish, bacon, and bread. "And good morning to you, Corbyn. It seems we could all use a hearty meal today." Eying the heaping portions on the knight's plate, he let slip a wry grin. "We must keep up our strength, eh, Ser Martyn? Who knows what the day might bring." He shot a knowing look down the table while cutting his meat. Though a bastard of dragon's blood sat across from him, everyone in the Kingdoms had heard the rumors surrounding Martyn's role in the sacking of King's Landing. Halber had his own doubts, now having met all of those involved.

Not wishing to antagonize, he returned to the business of the season. "Have we an agenda in mind for the day, my Lady? There is word in Underhill that Lord Farman of Faircastle has a son in need of wed whose hesitation has become his father's great irritation."

[Saulk]

The knight's brow furrowed in thought, midway through a forkful of egg. "Farman? Hmm...three ships on their banner, was it? I seem to remember seeing some of their men this past summer on the tourney fields in the Reach. Decent enough, as I recall."

[Creed]

Marcus Ordrach

It is not far into the conversation when the doors open again, this time belching forth a lean man, who sheds his guards as he passes through the portal. While his clothing denotes his identity as that of the noble family, the large, worn bastard sword belted at his waist shows that he is no bureaucrat.

This man is Marcus Ordrach.

"I do hope I haven't missed anything interesting yet," Marcus says, the dullest edge of sarcasm in his voice, as he strides across the dining hall, giving a nod to each of the assembled men in turn, and saying their names, "Hull, Hill, Caswell," before taking a seat with a stifled groan.

[Saulk]

As Marcus enters, once he is seen, Corbyn rises, out of custom rather than requirement, slightly from his chair, acknowledging the older Ordrach with a nod. "My lord."

[Creed]

Marcus Ordrach

Marcus waves off the formality,
"You've proved your worth to me, Corbyn, no need for formalities. There's only one person in this room you have to continue to impress," he says, then turns to Lady Eris.

"And how nice to see you this morning, niece," Marcus says with a smile.

[Glarx]

Eris smiled at Ser Corbyn and his continuation of her jibe, nodding at his account of his morning. "I'm pleased to hear it. Nothing of note to report, I trust? The way to Underhill is not suddenly plagued by opportunistic men who underestimate House Ordrach's commitment to the smallfolk?" She nodded to Halber as he sat, tilting her head in consideration of his question. "Hmm... Lord Farman of Faircastle..." Corbyn mentioned something about their banner, but it wasn't enough to jog Eris' memory. "Are they a house of upstanding nature? I admit, so early in the morning I am caught somewhat unaware of the name. It is on the agenda now. Perhaps after breakfast we can speak more of them, once I have had an opportunity to consult the great genealogical tomes."

Her uncle entered, and Eris smiled to him. His terse countenance was nothing new, but it filled the silver-haired girl with a mixture of fear and sorrow. She longed for his approval, in some way. She sought the approval of her father, truth be told, but Eris could not look to a dead man for such things. Marcus was a close second. He spoke to her, and Eris replied in kind. "And you, uncle. I trust you slept well?"

[Callos_DeTerran]

Another soon joins those that have gathered in the banquet hall for the morning breakfast, the clanking of a chain announcing the arrival of Maester Gared before the man himself comes into view. Young, for the common perception of one of his kind, Gared walks with purpose into the hall as if his presence deserved to be there as much as anyone else's. Dressed in grey robe trimmed in black fur, Gared has a certain fierceness to him that gives more credence to the term 'knight of the mind' but seems out of place for such renowned scholars that comes from his unforgiving green eyes and well trimmed auburn hair and beard. Even still, the hard lines of his body have begun to soften from the life of luxury that he's been able to enjoy since being assigned to House Ordrach. The maester's chain is worn proudly and visibly, glinting in the morning light through the windows as the man moves to stand before the center table and hand a scroll across to the lady.

"A raven arrived but this morning my lady, a message from House Golen, he offers in a clipped tone as he moves to take his own seat at the head table and begin filling his plate. Before he begins to eat though he takes a moment to fill a goblet with some wine and drinks it with a grimace. "Also word has come from Lord Tywin to warn the lords about a band of sellswords that have been traveling north from the Reach. He's offered a reward for their leader's head and by all accounts they may pass close to your lands. It may be worth it to ride out and see if they can be found."

The fit man turns his attentions towards his breakfast and wine then, leaving the sealed message to be dealt with by other hands. A simple seal, with just the symbol of gooseberries on it, the message is simple and straight to the point.

Lady Eris Ordrach, first of her name.

I hope that this message finds you in good health, it has been far too long since we have spoken with one another. It is my hope that you will accept my invitation to visit our hall and enjoy the tournament that we intend to throw in your honor. I know for a fact that my son would greatly enjoy getting to meet you after all the stories that he has heard.

~Lord Aran Golen, second of his name and master of the Berry Hall.

[Griffith!]

Martyn pulled his plate closer to himself, acknowledging the others with a nod. He poured a tumbler of wine from the pitcher, the cool liquid a comfort after a night of nightmares and restless sleep. The goings-on of nearly a decade ago still echoed in his mind, and though he had been recommended milk of the poppy to still his mind, he refused it - if for no other reason than the hated Clegane's rumored dependence on the substance.

"It's well enough, my lady." he replies to the query put him, "Though I'd see less fruit and more meat as a kindness to your late Lord father. Strength is born of meat, not sweet things."

He stabbed a piece of fish on the end of a knife and held it up, "And strength," he went on, turning his attention to Halber Caswell, "as any fighting man will tell you, is all we have, whether it be in the back, heart or head."

He lapsed then into silence, eating his meal as the head of the table bantered. When Marcus came to the hall, he returned his brief greeting with one of his own, and a grim smile, "Commander Ordrach. How fare the men, after that last beating I left them? Has young Connel found his seat, or is he still hobbling about, afraid of every chair?"

And finally, joined by the maester and his news, he volunteered this, "I would gladly rid the westerlands of these sellswords, should they venture close to Roguemont. And should any ride out to meet them, I would offer my swordin aid. It has been so long since I've slung a blade for anything but practice." He pulled the blade half loose of it's scabbard before snapping it back into place as a form of visual punctuation.

[Saulk]

Corbyn could not help but smile at the words expressed by Martyn, and he nodded, draining his cup of wine. "I'm with you, if these brigands come. A show of strength cannot hurt when they are mere ruffians, and a promise of reward from Lord Tywin is nothing to be scoffed at. By your leave of course, my lady."

[Tao Jones]

Halber couldn't keep the grin from his face at Martyn's bristling. It was good to have men around with such spirit and eagerness to volunteer their lives in service of their Lady. "And how safe we would all feel with you outside the castle walls, sword cleaving through the flesh of... was it our enemies, dear maester, or Lord Tywin's? It seems to me a House with such an ample treasury as ours might have better use for a band of sellswords than a band of corpses." It was an unlikely gambit. He knew how his highborn fellows turned their noses at sellswords, yet the potential could not be ignored, and it was his job to seek out such opportunities. He sipped some wine and continued. "The honor of House Ordrach is beyond question. Winning the service of a vicious sellsword band would show the realm that our dear Lady will not be tamed, nor quelled by threat of violence."

[Griffith!]

"And show Lord Tywin that House Ordrach considers itself above Lannister concerns? Have you forgotten what happened to the lords of Castamere when they refused Lord Tywin?" Martyn countered, crossing his strong arms over his chest, "I could sing the song, if you like. Every child in the westerlands knows the words - and the fates of House Reyne, and House Tarbeck, and House Hull."

He pointedly raised his knife, gesturing across his own throat. "Ample as their treasuries were, their honor beyond question, and each of them Dead, almost to a man."

"It has been a long time since I walked the halls of Casterly rock, but of Tywin, I know this: if Lord Lannister wants a dead sellsword, we ought deliver a dead sellsword, not induct him into our halls."

[Tao Jones]

"You're right, of course. If a dead sellsword is what our liege lord demands, we must deliver without question. You clearly know the man and his interests quite intimately. I only suggest that, rather than blindly slaughtering them to the last man, woman, and child, as Lord Tyrant has ordered some to do in the past," he pauses for a moment to let it sink in. "Perhaps we might hear their tale first. They must work for somebody, and wouldn't it be useful to know who that is, who dares send these bandits to terrorize our lands? Sellswords are always bought by someone, and if gold moves their swords, it will move their lips as well. Although I'm sure any fighting man has more civilized ways of procuring information from his enemies." He grows quiet with that. He may have crossed a line, but it was his duty to his Lady to provide his best counsel. There were always two sides to every coin, even the ones minted at Casterly Rock.

[Creed]

Marcus Ordrach spends a great while pondering the information, then speaks up,

"Lord Tywin has not demanded the death of the sellswords. By all accounts, he has only warned us of their presence. They wouldn't be mighty foes, to be sure, but our military force is small as it is. We can't afford to take losses against them. Any action we take will have to be swift. I leave the decision to our Lady," he says, settling in his chair.

[Glarx]

A whirlwind of activity had picked up with the Maester's arrival. "Good morning, Maester Gared," she greeted, nodding to the chained man. "Thank you for the missive. As for the information... it seems my advisers have already discussed it somewhat, haven't they? Lord Tywin has offered a reward for the leader's head. Presumably the others will fetch a price; or, at the least, they will need to be crushed before the leader can be found. Uncle, Ser Corbyn, Ser Martyn, do you believe we should kill these brigands? Answer plainly, please: I crave the use of your counsel." She opened the missive and read it, nodding. Another name for the list. I'll have to investigate his breeding.

Putting that to her side, she turned her attention to Ser Martyn. "I appreciate your concern for my diet, but I disagree with your philosophical claim. Any fighting man can say whatever he likes, but that gives him no additional authority than does his manhood. We have far more than strength, and you've conflated physical strength with mental strength and endurance. If you wish to expand the definitions of things to make a pithy statement, I fully support such actions, so long as you are aware of what you do." She sipped her wine before looking to the next individual who had spoken. Corbyn she had already asked a question of, so it was Halber's turn.

"While I appreciate the cunning and ingenuity of your plan, Ser Martyn is correct -- a bounty on the head of a man turns him into anathema to us. Our honor can be beyond reproach, but unless our military is stronger and our bannermen more numerous than any other, we must follow the commands of our betters. Hiring these men does not seem to me to be a solution to this particular scenario. If we capture some alive, we can pull the answers you seek from their lips."

Finally, she looked to her uncle again. "I fear the act of placing a bounty on his head has doomed the sellsword leader to death. It must be seen as a directive to remove the threat, no?"

[Creed]

Marcus nods,

"The bounty does imply that we are to take action, but the bounty only lies on the head of the leader. Military action can be averted if someone could draw their leader into a man-on-man fight to the death. It's too bad that we don't know of any well-trained knights who fight for sport," he says, then looks pointedly across the table to Caldyr.

[Saulk]

Corbyn all but grinned at the military commander's words. "A foe can fall in many ways. I suggest you let me ride out to meet him, and call him out in front of his men. He'll fight, lest he be seen a coward. If I win, he will yield his men's swords and lives to me. If he wins...well, you will not need to spend as much on breakfast, m'lady. Of course...a few dozen men riding with me might not go amiss. And, if he yields, I shall bring him back here. I am sure there is some value in questioning him before death stills his tongue." He then paused to guage the other's opinions.

[Tao Jones]

"A splendid plan, Marcus. No need to bloody our soldiers on such rabble." If Halber was upset, it didn't show. "Ser Corbyn, if there is any small help my expertise might offer you in your stand, consider me the dagger behind your shield." He gave a mock toast of his wine cup to the knight. He'd never seen Ser Corbyn in single combat, but he supposed they didn't knight bastards without good reason. In the meantime, his contacts in Underhill might have the information he sought.

[Griffith!]

"As you say, my Lady.", Martyn shrugged off Eris's reprimand with raised eyebrows. He hadn't meant anything more of it than what he'd said - that her father would wish for her to eat less fruit and more meat - and though she'd over-examined his simple words, he wasn't fool enough to correct her. The temerity of youth ran strong through her, and her affront was understandable, if only from that view alone.

Instead he turned his attention to the gushing sneak, and made to reply; "I will remind you, Caswell, that our Liege Lord answers to the name Tywin." Hull answered dryly, "Not "tyrant". If you must malign his name, do take care it is not in the face of those who consider themselves loyal to the Realm - or worse, to the man."

He paused and ruminated for a moment, before offering his considerations, "There is honor and prestige to be claimed with this bounty - if not by us than by another house. I think they should die, that whatever gold is on offer finds it's way to our coffers and whatever honor there is falls to our knights. If that can be accomplished by killing the leader, then well enough, though what fool would answer a challenge alone when he has other men at his back I do not know. It is poor military sense to put honor over advantage - your thinking is best suited to bands of knights, more than common fighters."

"I would also issue that it does not matter who sent them or for what cause - that they are marked by the Liege of the Westerlands is cause enough to mark them as our foes. But knowing is an advantage, so question those that survive if you must."

"That being said, I do not object to sending off Ser Bastard to kill the brigand. I will even gladly offer my sword as second, as I am the better fighter, on foot or in the melee. That..." he paused again, thinking it over, "is all my counsel offers. Take it with salt, for I am not known to be a great leader of men. And of course," he inclined his head, "I bow to your wisdom, Lady Ordrach."

[Glarx]

"I admit fully I am not learned in these matters. If my uncle and advisers believe we can trust sellswords whose leader we've executed, then by all means go on. I will fear for your safety, however -- these bandits may have no honor, and fall upon you as soon as they sense their master is losing."

[Saulk]

"A thought does occur to me. It is well and good to speak of hunting these men down, but we do not know who and where they are. An estimate if their numbers and their ways would be valuable. Knowledge of their leader moreso. Circumstance can cause a man to become a sellsword, and there are many possibilities. If these men are undortunates of some house, say, that was disgraced, they may wish to swear loyalty. If they are bandits through and through, it is likely force would unsettle and unman them. Once we can take the measure if their leader, and know what he fights for, the right challenge can be issued.

Ser Martyn speaks aright, though. If they are degenerate enough that the honour of single combat means naught to them, it will take a military force to overcome them. Perhaps if someone..." Corbyn very lets his gaze fall for a moment longer than normal on the whisperer "...could find out those things, Ser Martyn and I could scout for this band, and see their faces."

[Tao Jones]

"Gladly, Ser Corbyn. As to you, Hull," he turns to the fighting man across the table, "Our dear Lord Tywin does not rule the Realm, though he clearly rules you even in your exile. If you are to be his eyes and ears within Roguemont, and persist in making threats to those within the House you do serve, I heartily agree that it should be you who stands against these bandits, all at once if necessary. We are none of us high septons here, so unless you care to prove your saintly innocence and dignity, kindly take the sword out of your arse and show some damned respect!" Halber had had enough of the knight's odious condescension. He rises from his seat, meal half-finished.

"My lady, if you'll permit, I would attend to this menace in my own limited capacity and leave the particulars of strategy to more capable minds. If you would seek my counsel in the matter of the good Maester's letter, you need but send the word. My Lady, Ser Marcus, Ser Corbyn, Maester Gared; a pleasure," He bows deftly to each in turn and strides out of the hall, his servant Alyn scurrying behind.

[Griffith!]

Hull watches the man go, and sighs. The idiot has no understanding of the state of things - that however well regarded House Ordrach may be, they still owed allegiance to House Lannister, the Wardens of the West and Great House of the westerlands. To suggest otherwise was stupid, and to take affront at a warning was blind folly, "My Lady,", he said aloud, "your man Caswell is a fool and, for a keeper of secrets, far too loose with his tongue. He compounds treasonous talk with blind arrogance and insults - he forgets his honors and speaks as though House Lannister were not our Liege. For now, at least, it is Lannister and not Ordrach who rules the Westerlands, and if your ambitions stretch so far as that seat or higher, it would be foolish to risk so much so early in the game. We've neither the strength nor the wealth to uproot the Wardens of the West, and to believe otherwise is folly. Such talk will bring the Lion down on us, and we want no part of that fight."

"So I beg of you to curb his tongue before I have to remove it from his head - and should he insult my honor again, know that I will not hesitate to take that head with it. I am a Lord and a knight, sworn in service to House Ordrach since your father's time. I have no reason to take the insult, save the forgiveness of The Seven and your own wishes."

[Glarx]

Eris closed her eyes and sighed silently as the men bickered. Halber left in a hurry, not giving her time to speak about desiring his counsel on the subject of potential marriages, and she considered Ser Martyn's words. "Ser Hull, I understand your frustrations. When he returns, I will pull him aside and remind him of the nature of the Game -- although, I would have presumed he should already know of it. Alas, what times we live in! No king on the Iron Throne, seneschals speaking down to knights, threats of treason uttered in dining halls... but you're certainly correct. It is impolitic to speak against House Lannister, especially considering their generosity and benevolence towards our own. However, please refrain from ripping the tongue or beheading anyone, Ser Martyn -- there are times and places for such things, but I fear it is not yet that time. When we recover these sellswords, then perhaps will be the time. We shall see.

"Ser Corbyn is correct. If Halber can fetch the information about these sellswords then we can respond in a more measured manner. I am still somewhat leery of the thought of accepting sellswords into our ranks after killing their leader, but such decisions need not be made yet. We can evaluate the situation after we have better intelligence.

"Now, I really must ruminate on marriages. If any of you would like to help me with that process, I wouldn't mind the help -- it is extremely important that I find a proper match, and there are none I trust more than you all."

[Saulk]

"Of course, my Lady. What are the prospects you currently entertain?" There might have been the faint hint of distaste in speaking of these would be suitors, but it would have been deeply concealed. He knew his instincts would be to think none of them worthy but that was not his place. "And most importantly, what exactly are you seeking in this suitor?"

[Legionary]

"What times we live in indeed," answered an grim baritone voice from the corner of the hall. "Dark times for those without a guiding light," states Ronus of Volantis as he made his way towards the table where the non-believers were seated. As if making most folk uncomfortable with his foreign faith wasn't enough, the Red Priest had recently developed a bad habit of mysteriously appearing unannounced. Who knows how long that man had been listening from the shadows. "Lady Eris, Lord Marcus." Ronus politely acknowledged the Ordrachs as he took a seat beside Martyn Hull, knowing very well just how little the man thought of him. The Red Priest was never one to shy away from offering his own opinion, however this morning he seemed uncharacteristically quiet. Instead he sat in silence observing the quarrelling heathens that comprised House Ordrachs' council.

[Creed]

"Ronus," Marcus says with a nod, acknowledging the man's arrival, as his niece turned her thoughts towards marriage.

"With all due respect, niece," he says, "Now may not be the wisest time to execute such an arrangement. With the Seven Kingdoms in this state of turmoil, you could very well marry into a House being targeted by another, binding our fates to that of a sinking ship, so to speak. If your wish is to marry, then I can only advise the strongest caution in the selection of your groom. Let the Crone, rather than the Mother, guide your eye in such an endeavor."

[Saulk]

"An alliance to a particularly powerful minor noble, however, would allow us to have a larger measure of security in these troubled times, if you don't mind me saying, Lord Ordrach. We are one house, and a house run - and I trust you take no offense, my Lady - by a woman. There will be hungry eyes turned towards House Ordrach and its lands. We stand alone, with no bannermen, and no allies save what we can effectively create ourselves. Those are allies of water, not of blood. A husband and a child by that husband would bind us to another house, by ways far stronger than words."

Corbyn leaned back in his chair, running his finger below his chin, ruminating on the words he just said. "Of course...the man needs to be the right sort. We can't let him be getting ideas that he is in control of this House. That would not do well for either the Lady, or yourself, Lord Ordrach. It is times like this that I confess myself glad I need not worry about such things. For the moment at least."

He ended that statement with a particularly rakish grin that fell slightly at the entrance of Ronus. He looked and spoke with no malice, but a rather matter-of-fact air of surety. "Good morning, Ronus. I do hope you remember our conversations about blasphemy within my presence." The conversation had been very brief, but expressed quite clearly, in an unusual display of temper from Corbyn, the fact that he did not appreciate the direct contravening of the Seven. He was a knight after all, and he had stood in a Sept near Dragonstone to receive his vows. He had stood vigil, and he knew that the Father made him know what the other rider in the saddle was going to do a fraction before it. He knew that the Warrior strengthened his arm. He even knew that the Stranger had shown him the courtesy of forgetting about him in place of others on the field of battle. While he certainly was no Septon himself, he respected the gods and knew as a knight he was sworn to uphold them.

[Callos_DeTerran]

"They both bring up good points my lady, but I wouldn't place too heavy an importance on apprehending the sellswords unless the chance presents itself," Maester Gared speaks up after having his morning cup of wine, setting out a plate for himself before beginning to tuck into the food he had gathered. The man seems to be measuring his words before he speaks, like always, and doesn't quite seem to like what he comes up with. "However I have to speak against Halber's suggestion of bringing the sellswords under your employ, the missive mentioned that they slaughtered their last employers on the road and took their children for ransom; A ransom they didn't uphold their end of the bargain on. I don't doubt we have enough in our coffers to lure them into service, I doubt that they would be content with the steady work and that they wouldn't use the chance to pillage what they could from the house and absconding to other lands like they have in the past."

"As for marriages, I can not speak to the propriety of any such match myself but instead just the material concerns. In regards to that...there are many wealthy houses in the westerlands and even some that can call banners to their name, but perhaps you could look farther afield then your neighbors? As odd as it may sound, if you were to bring in a husband from another of the kingdoms then they would have to rely on your knowledge of the region in order to deal with other nobles. It seems like that may be a desirable trait for you," Gared finishes in a slightly muffled tone as he eats.



Knowledge is fairly straightforward. You know that House Golen is a small westerlands house. They have orange gooseberries on a golden field and their words are 'Bend with the Storm'. Faircastle is of the Fair Isle and has three silver ships on an azure field, you don't remember their words.

Status tells you a bit more, but of a different nature. House Golen has a darker past despite the fact it is a relatively young house. It was founded in the destruction of another house that they were implicated in but there was little proof to support that but recently the small house has been on the rise due to the efforts of Lord Johen in currying favor and alliances with his neighbors. You don't know much of his son, but the family itself seems rather wholesome. Faircastle has a slightly more troubled relationship with the Lannisters since there was an incident not long after the Tarbecks and Reynes were annihilated. They've also had trouble with the ironborn in the past, but most along the coast of the westerlands have had trouble with the ironborn.

[Glarx]

"That is interesting counsel on both fronts, Maester Gared. Do you have any suggestions insofar as which house in a different kingdom might be amenable to such a match?" The idea of bringing murderous, treacherous sellswords under their banner was not one she was particularly pleased with. An interesting piece of information. "We may yet wish to attempt a duel, but I would have you take as many as we can spare to such a meeting with these loutish mercenaries. These traits you mention seem relatively useful in a wartime soldier, but for a guard..." Eris gave a delicate shrug.

"Thank you for your counsel, Uncle. I do believe I need to be married soon, before I am no longer an enviable prize for some nobleman." She smiled at the ceiling, eyes closed. "How terrible a plight, to be rich and without husband. I will continue to search, but your call to caution is not without merit and I'll certainly take heed of it."

She looked at the Red Priest and raised an eyebrow. "Good morning, Ronus." Simple and direct, a conversational tactic she only ever used with the Red Priest.

[Saulk]

"My Lady, my Lord..." Corbyn rises from the table, stretching as he does so. "If you will pardon me, I believe I shall go assist the spymaster. There are places I might be able to go that he would have some difficulty, as I am sure vice-versa. I hope I shall return to you shortly with news of these bandits, and even more so, perhaps Underhill might have word of any bachelors. Last I was there I thought I heard the beginnings of some tournament talk. Perhaps I shall find some truth to it, and if so, that may be a venue to find a suitable prospect. Though, if there are none, rest assured I shall unseat them all to declare you the Queen of Love and Beauty...as is of course your right."

With that comment passing his lips he smiled, bowed, and exited from the room. He wondered briefly at the propriety of his statements, but dismissed such wondering as an overly concerned mind. He was, after all, a knight and such behaviours were, to a degree, expected of him. They were part of what gave the knights their charm, and wove the tales that enabled them to traverse Westeros with safety and at least some marginal amount of comfort.

He walked once more to the stables, finding his horse and once again showing much blandishment towards it, before beginning the ride towards Underhill. A brisk day, and he did not intend for any trouble, but there was no way he was going to be seen outside of the Roguemont without his armour, for that was what gave him purpose. He looked somewhat dashing as he rode, the livery of House Ordrach bright in the morning sun. With some speed he urged his mount, making haste to see what fortune would grant him in Underhill.

[Glarx]

Eris couldn't help but smile at the man. Vain as she was, flattery went far.

"For the time being, I need to look over the reports for the lands and administer justice and resources as necessary. Our mines don't run themselves. If anyone has need of me, I'll be in the upper study." She rose from the table and ate one last bite of toast before heading off to the staircase. Her private study had sumptuous luxuries in it, but most of all it possessed a table representative of all the lands the Ordrach family controlled. She had plans for the land...

A series of cities, fed by controlled farms and orchards. Pastures enclosed and protected from rustlers and highwaymen, fisheries along the coast -- notes covering nearly a hundred pages of parchment scattered around the study. Improving the Roguemont, increasing its size and grandeur, while also erecting a series of watchtowers around the Ordrach lands to expand the reach of the law. She tended to leave musings on the military to her men, as they tended to have more appropriate thoughts on the matter -- Eris thought archers were all the rage, but apparently cavalry was important, as were pikemen and swordsmen and axemen and macemen and...

Taking a seat, Eris turned her attention to the ledgers and reports of the week's mine output. The maester had already made his marks on the paper, giving his advice and input. Now all that was necessary was to make all the numbers obey her will.

[Creed]

Marcus Ordrach, seeing most of the others vacating the table, took the opportunity to have a slow, quiet meal.

He never had much of a taste for the lavish, sweet meals of most noblemen. He found them excessive, and, in his opinion, large breakfasts attributed to the overall girth that was so characteristic of nobility in the Westerlands, as well as throughout the realms. Marcus preferred to begin his day with a thin piece of ham steak, cooked to an almost charcoal black, along with a few pieces of rough, hearty bread, spread in a small amount of fruit preserve. To wash it down, a cup of milk, and a nip of a smooth, honeyed mead to get the blood flowing, a practice Marcus's father, the Lord Ordrach, had presented as a healthy way to begin one's day.

His morning meal finished, Marcus drew himself to his feet with a stretch, then proceeded to the yard, to drill the guard. To most, Marcus's stern expression and resounding voice was like every other day, but the Marauders sensed something was more than a bit off with their fearless leader's normally calm demeanor.

[Callos_DeTerran]

The Roguemont

Corbyn is going to be gone for a couple of days so, barring those still at the castle doing something of importance, we can make due with just a summary of what they're up to during the four days to and back it'll take for Corbyn to attempt getting his information. If you do have something that deserves greater attention then that, we'll play it out as normal! Use this chance to show how your character's handle the mundane tasks of your jobs such as how Eris handles matters of crime, Marcus' training of the troops or matters of potential strategy, Ronus' trying to spread the word of the Lord of Light, etc. Or, if you want to go with him, just lemme know!

------------------

Underhill

The road between the Roguemount and Underhill is well policed and safe for travelers, often frequented by the various merchants that find their way into port who take the chance to stop by the castle for a chance to impress the lady. There's even a small little inn along the road for the travelers that Corbyn takes refuge at with warm food and people loyal to the Ordrach name that show the proper respect to a sworn sword of the house, though there's no escaping the sidelong glances and murmurs about the dragon-bastard. Despite the ease of the travel across the hilly terrain, Underhill and the small inlet it rests on is still a welcome sight since it means an end to his travel and the chance to pursue his actual purpose in leaving the castle to begin with.

Dirt streets are packed with smallfolk as they go to and from their homes to their various trades and diversions, a cacophony of shrieks of laughter, animals braying, and children storming through the street in pursuit of stray cats and dogs that find themselves awkwardly pursued for some reason or another. As could be expected, the smallfolk are surprised to hear about a roving band of sellswords-turned-brigands in the area, considering the lack of such events in recent history but can provide little information about such events. The only rumors that the sworn sword is able to pick up is that of a pair of Dornishmen who have been lingering around the port with seemingly more gold then sense.

As for talks of tournaments the reaction is almost always the same, a brief flash of excitement and eagerly asking if the Lady has intentions to host one but then the inevitable disappointment when they learn he is asking if they have heard of any being hosted. Only large events of that kind are noted and the only one that the smallfolk have heard mention of is a joust to celebrate the sacking of King's Landing to be held at Lannisport in two fortnights (two weeks). Few people from Underhill will be capable of attending, but there is still a lot of talk about it nonetheless, especially from merchants who are carrying trade goods in that direction.

[Saulk]

The road was a long one, despite its relatively short distance. Every mile had taken its toll on Corbyn's form, and were it not for his familiarity with such travels, he would have arrived in Underhill more exhausted. As it was, he arrived comfortably, having enjoyed his rest at the inn greatly. The smallfolk had stared, of course, but it was their way. There were names that they used behind his back, and he did not mind. He had heard them all before. Dragon's Bastard, Seed of the Dragon...many that were more colourful and less wholesome. There was a time when that would have been seen as a benefit, as a boon to his life as a knight, to his prospects as a man of respect. Those times died at the point of Jaime Lannister's sword.

This was not the time to ruminate on ancient history, however. The Usurper's reign, if such it could be called, had ended as shortly as it had begun, and now the realm was divided into the Seven Kingdoms once again. The future was yet to be determined, now, and there would be a place for him within it. Provided, though, that he was able to get the information he sought. The smallfolk were most talkative, but they had little information to deliver to him. He tried not to worry them with his questions, but too many of them were prescient enough to read between the lines and see possible danger. He tried to convince each of them in turn that he would not let anything happen to them.

Their words regarding the Dornishmen, however, were the only lead he had to go on regarding things that were...unusual in Underhill. He went first to the Inn within Underhill, and acquired for himself a room for the night, and then went down to the Port where the men from Dorne were reported to congregate. He did not have high hopes of seeing them immediately, but it would serve him well at least to get the lay of the land so to speak. If he should spy them, then that was an unanticipated benefit.

[Glarx]

Eris enjoyed passing judgment on the quibbles and squabbles of her lands. It was her duty to see Justice done, after all, and Eris took such responsibilities seriously. While the sept could do so as well, acting as an ancillary court and as her satellite in the town proper, there were some cases that required the journey to the Roguemont, to stand before the Lord -- or Lady, as the case may be -- of the land and be heard.

This was not such a case.

"Nimble" Gimble Fallowson was a young man, perhaps fourteen years of age, and he was being charged by Elder Fraunk of stealing one of the precious gems that helped provide House Ordrach with their considerable fortune. As Fraunk had explained, the only reason they were before Lady Eris at all was because the Roguemont's guards had apprehended Gimble near the Roguemont, and it was more expedient to have him sentenced here than to ride back to Underhill.

Gimble claimed his innocence, and the jewel in question could not be found. Gimble protested it was because there was no such jewel to begin with, whereas Fraunk declared Gimble had either hidden the jewel or passed it off to one of his gang members.

This gang, Gimble countered, was a group of young boys who wanted to join the Ordrach military whenever they were old enough to. They wouldn't steal from Ordrach's mine.

Eris offered Gimble a place in the military in lieu of a punishment, explaining that if he was telling the truth he and his fellows already intended to go that route. If he was lying, his lie would be found out during his service -- he would either betray his true intentions, or (if he were guilty, but his guilt was never certain) pay off his debt to the family with his sweat and blood.

[Callos_DeTerran]

Against what Corbyn had thought, the Dornishmen did not prove difficult to find once he had begun to search for them in earnest since the rumors of them being free with their coin seemed to be well-founded. Or at least true enough that the two have drawn a small group of people to follow along after them hoping to pick up the scraps the two leave behind in their extravagant spending. They seem to have set up camp on one of the dockside taverns but, despite only a cursory inspection, the sworn sword doesn't spy any ships bearing a Dornish flag on them in the harbor itself. Still, it is easy to shadow the two because of the raucous commotion surrounding the Dornishmen as they drink wine by the goblet and settle down in front of their adoring 'court' with pleased smiles on their faces.

Despite the coin that they bring into the inn though, the innkeep doesn't look pleased to have the business and it isn't difficult to tell why with the growing chaos surrounding the 'festivities'. The otherwise clean floor is dark with spilled ale in many places and the loud, obnoxious laughter turns the expressions of those not with the group to sour with each outburst. Of the two serving wenches, comely enough girls, one is held firmly in the lap of the larger of the two Dornishmen while the other is left to pick up the slack with irate patrons. The sandy men themselves look like the unsavory sort, with an unpleasant look to their smiles though that is more of an instinct than anything else since they carry themselves in a very boisterous manner. Their clothing stands out vividly compared to the more utilitarian greens and browns of the local smallfolk, dyed in bright shades of red and orange that are practically garish in the otherwise drab surroundings...

[Saulk]

Corybnn enters the inn and takes a seat at a table, some distance from the Dornishmen. He shifts his sword in his belt, positioning it so it is easier to reach should he need to draw it. He watches the entire scene, observing the discomfort of the innkeeper, the serving women who are trying to take care of all of their patrons. He summons the other serving wench, raising a hand with three stags held between his two front fingers. He smiles pleasantly at the girl. "One for my wine, one for yourself, and one for the innkeeper. Please send him my regards." He waits until she walks away for a step, before announcing his next words with some volume. "Some men simply do not know how to enjoy a civilized drink." He smiles, hoping some of the coterie heard his words, even if not the Dornishmen themselves. They would certainly pass the more genteel insult towards them, and it would grow in the telling. He watched, staring long and hard at the pair of Dornishmen.