Game of thrones roleplay

[mrimatool]

Ser Duncan Tulgrad

Duncan was deep in thought about the tourney when he could hear his squire shouting. Duncan turned down the hall before noticing Baelor Hightower, an oaf Duncan thought. He began a slow walk towards the arguing siblings gripping the hilt of his sword in one hand and clutching his helmet in the other.

"You're dismissed, handmaidens." Duncan said in his authoritative tone. "Shouldn't you be tending to Sansa Stark?" Duncan continued.

The handmaidens quickly dispersed from the hall, much to Baelor's dismay.

"How can I help you Lord Hightower?"

[F_sphere]

"Oh, no, Ser. I was just leaving," Baelor stated, pushing past Aeron and continuing down the hall, "I look forward to knocking you off your horse in the tourney." he said, not turning his head back, though his cheeks visibly moving into that of a smirk.

"He's a brutish fool, Ser Duncan," Aeron replied as Baelor strolled just out of earshot, I hope a competitor cuts off his fingers, so he can't wrestle around with those spoiled handmaidens." Aeron once again leaned his back against the wall, his face illuminated by a lantern burning across the narrow corridor. "I, for one, hope you may have the honor of personally maiming him."

[mrimatool]

Ser Duncan Tulgrad

"That's the heir to Hightower? Gods help us..." Duncan replied quickly, he thought for a second. "Is your brother any good at jousting?" Continuing.

Duncan had little motivation in the tourney before today other than riding against Ser Barristan, but The Lord Hightower had sparked fierceness in him that he hadn't seen since he fought the Grejoys. His mare was a patchy, lazy horse but she had never failed him before. All of a sudden Duncan's excitement for the next day grew more and more.

Lord Michael Tulgrad

Michael had arrived at Kings Landing to find there was no more room left in the red keep, something he was not surprised about, Michael and his bannermen managed to find a small, inexpensive inn to stay at. Michael would make his way up to the Red Keep each day to watch his son Gordon practise in the yard with the gold-cloaks. Michael had personally requested Barristan to spar with Gordon and due to their companionship on the trident, The Lord Commander agreed. Michael leaned over the walls to watch Barristan and Gordon train once a day. Barristan was pleasantly surprised by how quick Gordon was, but Gordon's lack of shield-love often led to Barristan bruising his lean body.

Michael's yearning for a fight often overcame him, but he couldn't wield his hammer one-armed so he'd opted to fight using a Longsword, luckily Michael as left handed sadly this meant no shield for Michael. Michael heard footsteps behind him on the wall, he turned and was greeted by the pale face of a northerner, this particular northerner had auburn hair and brown eyes, he was followed by three guards with light leather amour and full metal shields emblazoned with a direwolf on the face. fucking Starks, fucking northerners Michael thought to himself, he'd never been a fan of them they were proud, honourable and fierce in many ways they were like Michael, except one. They were intolerant, to everyone else Michael was a bastard, born from infidelity.

Despite Michael's real father being a gold-cloak and not Lord James Dilgan, Lord Dilgan sacrificed personal appearance to make Michael's life better, claiming he was the Lord's bastard. Michael never asked for it, but he was ever grateful, sadly in Dorne bastards aren't frowned upon so much and so neither was Michael. In the Northerners eyes, Michael should never have been given a lordship.

After a couple more seconds Michael noticed who he was looking at, Ned Stark, newly appointed hand of the king. Michael nodded to the man as he walked past. Fucking hypocrite Michael thought to himself.

[F_sphere]

"I have not seen him compete in years, but unfortunately, he's not exactly an amateur..." Aeron replied, "But you will defeat him, won't you, Ser Duncan?"

[mrimatool]

Ser Duncan Tulgrad

"Aye lad, he'll fall to my lance. Your brother is... Well he's a show-off. I've got experience in war. Don't you worry lad." Duncan patted his squire on the head and returned to his position at the door, nodded to the fragrant eunuch that walked past him into the throne room.

Game master

Today is the first day of the Hands Tournament, the tournament begins in several hours and many of the best fighters in Westeros are expected to compete, some of the more famous competitors are Thoros Of Myr, Loras Tyrell, Jaimie Lannister, Ser Gregor Clegane and many others.

[Gollee]

Amelya and Inyse watched on from a sheltered stand while Varane tutored Golthis and Sarin in the finer art of the longsword.

"No! You can't slash like that, it's isn't a short-blade, the damned thing is near five foot long, stop trying to use it like a big knife." Varane sidestepped a wide slash, before clashing the blades, disarming Golthis with the shock of the impact.

"And hold it properly! Not loosely, or you're going out in the first round with a sore head and bruised ego."

Varane spins about, driving Sarin back with a flurry of blows before disarming him as well. "Flanking is a good move, but you need to be better with your weapons, and you might not have the opportunity in the melee."

Spying a one-armed man on the walls, Varane waved with one hand, while fending off a series of attacks by Golthis with the other. "Lord Tulgrad! How goes i-"

Varane jumped back as Golthis yanked a shortsword from his belt and unleashed a blistering wave of attacks; Golthis scored several hits, tapping his uncle on the left arm, and his side. Varane scowled as Sarin also pressed the advantage, pushing Varane back further; but both of them jumped back as Varane pulled Aetherys half out of it's scabbard. "Your short-blades serve you well at sea, in the confines of a deck, but in the scrum of a melee, and a man with a sword like this comes at you, you will appreciate knowing how to use a longsword."

The two of them sheathed their shortswords irritably, snatching their longswords back off of the ground. "Now, first position. Start!"

[mrimatool]

Lord Michael Tulgrad

Michael chuckled at the poor display of martial prowess from the two Cevals. Feeling like he had no other alternative to spend the last few hours before the tournament, he had been convince by his youngest son that the melee was a good idea even without the arm, Michael began the slow and steady descent from the walls of the keep as he sauntered over to the Cevals, they weren't hard to spot with their flowing silver hair and violet eyes.

Michael carried with him a castle-forged sword, it was gifted to him by Tywin Lannister as a pseudo-badge of office for Michael's lordship of the Hammer hills, the bronze pommel was shaped like a miniature head of a hammer and an ivory emblem was forged onto the guard with the insignia of House Tulgrad a stalwart castle with two keeps. The blade of the sword was single edge, similar to a knife but much longer, and better balanced for combat at reach. The handle was a deep crimson ((for reference it's a like a German Messer)).

Michael sauntered over to his old friend, a man he hadn't seen in about three years, they'd communicated via ravenscroll but only to arrange the betrothal of Gordon and Inyse. "Varane you old git! Looks like those two have you bested!"

[Gollee]

Varane turned slightly at the call, "Two against one, and these two buggers have to cheat to gain the upper hand; it either speaks well of my chances in the melee, or poorly of theirs. I think the latter. Hold!" Varane holds up a hand towards Golthis and Sarin, "A pause."

Varane gestures between Lord Tulgrad and the two men, "Lord Michael Tulgrad, Lord of the Hammer Hills, this is Ser Golyhis Ceval, and Ser Sarin Jothun; my nephew and my first niece's husband respectively. My daughter, Lady Amelya, and my other niece, Lady Inyse, are over in that stand."

Varane gestures towards the covered stand, and two women within it emerge into the sunshine.

Edited May 4, 2015 by Guest

[mrimatool]

Lord Michael Tulgrad

Michael smiled gently, bowing to the two gentlemen that Varane had introduced him to. "Fightin' in the tourney then I imagine?"

He looked over to Inyse and nodded to himself before gesturing to the boy getting beat about the yard by Ser Barristan, "My fourth Son, Gordon, Heir to the High-lordship of the Hammer Hills." Gordon managed to get one or two hits into Ser Barristan before Barristan whacked him with his shield and knocked him flat on the ground. Michael scoffed. Oh Gordon don't make me look bad now Michael's head told him.

Gordon, seemingly awoken by the blow by shield quickly rose, turning to his father and seeing Inyse. Gordon stopped unable to move his cheeks went rouge as he realised how he'd embarrassed himself in front of the mysterious girl. Gordon thanked Ser Barristan who quickly wished him luck in the Tourney. His steps were light and awkward as he walked towards his father, knowing that they were looking at him. "M-morning Father!" Gordon said as he struggled to take his eyes off of the Valryian woman. "Who's the fair lady?" He asked quietly.

[Gollee]

Varane nodded, "That we are. These two are in the melee and the archery. I am in the melee and the joust."

Golthis and Sarin voiced respectful greetings to the one-armed lord, taking the time to have a short rest from the sparring. Varane chuckled as Gordon was knocked down, "Looks like your son and my two have something in common, a distinct lack of grace with certain weapons. When we get back to Karynn, Ser Farkun is going to have words with them about longswords."

The two women approached the four men; one seemingly overcome by boredom, while the other appeared to be enjoying herself. Varane looked at Gordon with an emotionless face, "Fair lady? Which one? That's my daughter and my niece."

After a moment, Varane's face splits into a smile, "That is Lady Amelya and Lady Inyse; Inyse being the younger, happier one. Isn't that right, Amelya?"

Amelya shrugged, looking about disinterestedly while Inyse curtseyed.

[eragong]

Ser Nathaniel ducked through the doorway into the training yard, the Mace of Tarth over his shoulder with its head wrapped with cloth. He glanced over at the talking lords and ladies, gave a perfunctory wave and a short greeting; he then moved over to the sparring targets, readied his stance and drew his mace.

After adjusting his stance Nathaniel stepped forward and struck the target a resounding blow that sounded through the courtyard and causing the target to sway backwards. Grinning he began to swing his mace around in preparation for his second strike.

[F_sphere]

Aeron and his mentor had arrived at the tourney, which was now gathering people robed in all sorts of attire, many of them lavish with wealth, making them natural allies of the King. They made their way to the training grounds, where many of the to-be competitors had gathered. The clashes of swords swarmed around them, garnished with masculine grunts and the stiff stench of sweat. Ser Duncan led the two of them to a small open area, the grass underneath stripped away by boots and a haze of dust floating just above the surface.

"Now, boy, ready your sword. You have been training, have you not?" Ser Duncan commanded. Aeron looked at him astounded, his hand gripping the pommel of his blade.

"Without my armor, Ser?" he asked.

"Of course boy. If you do not wish to be harmed, you will parry my movements. You must be ready to protect the King at a moment's notice."

Aeron drew his sword from the sheath at his hip, admiring the swish of the metal against the crafted leather. He readied it in front of him, his knees bending slightly and his feet shuffling in the dirt. Before he was fully prepared, Ser Duncan thrust his sword, slowly for a knight, at Aeron, which was pushed away by the opposing blade. As Aeron pushed away the lunge, Ser Duncan quickly brought the blade over Aeron's head and sliced at his flank. Aeron, now moving his sword across his front, once again shoved off the attack. As he looked in front of him, he saw a few possible routes: he could take the small distraction of his parry to lunge at Ser Duncan's breastplate; however, this would not be a very effective attack, as the sheer white metal couldn't be easily punctured; he could also throw himself across Ser Duncan's view, perhaps allotting enough time for him to aim his blow at the neck. He decided on the latter, stepping to his right, one leg crossing over the other, and with a heavy grunt pushed his sword upwards towards the back of Ser Duncan's head.

[mrimatool]

Lord Michael Tulgrad

Gordon's jaw drops as he realises the woman he is set to marry is the most beautiful maiden he's ever seen.

"I... M'lady may I ask for your favour in tomorrow's tourney?" Gordon asks Inyse much to his fathers surprise.

Michael chuckles, "I look forward to the melee quite a lot, my dear Son Duncan has convinced me to fight oh and Varane, I need to speak to you about something before the tourney if you don't min-" Michael was swiftly interrupted by a loud resonating blow on a target, Michael turned to face it being greeted by the distant practise of one of the tallest men Michael had ever seen, only two had been of similar stature, Gregor Clegane and Duncan the Tall.

Ser Duncan Tulgrad

The knight realising his young squire had gotten the best of him froze, but before Aeron could react Duncan's sword came clashing with his to parry, Duncan's sheer strength was one of his main advantages and the Knight attempted pushed Aeron back to the ground. The boy had a certain resilience and strength of heart for someone from Hightower, they'd always been mysterious so maybe Duncan's observation was false, either way Duncan was proud of his squire.

[Gollee]

Inyse's pale face flushed red at Gordon's request; reaching behind her head, she unties a blue ribbon, before extending it towards Gordon, "Uh, yes, my favour, here." She looks both shocked and happy to be asked something normally reserved for ladies of a higher calibre.

Varane looked over at the immense man as a second resounding slam echoed across the court, "I thought this Tourney was for knights... Not for thunder gods, I pity the man to face him in the melee." He turns back to Lord Tulgrad, "You were saying?"

[F_sphere]

Aeron grunted as his body hit the ground, his unprotected spine rattling in his skin as if he had fallen on a thousand small rocks.

"You have bested me once again, Ser Duncan..." he said weakly, attempting to catch his breath before even considering the possibility of lifting himself off the ground. His blade lay at his side, and he realized then that the deafening clatter of its metal spiking the ground had caused his ears to ring slightly. He grunted again, lifting himself to a sitting position, and resting his hands on his knees, puffing air to get his lungs filled again.

"With your permission... Ser... I would like to go see... if I can find my brother. I will survey his actions so you can be ready to defeat him in the games." he requested.

[Hackie]

Gregor Clegane

Gregor walked high above most of the smallfolk on the way to King's Landing, his fiesty horse clopping slowly as an armored column of the Mountain's Men followed him. He had been eager to come to the Hand's tourney, hoping for a taste of bloodshed and violence. Chiswyck slowly gained speed as an eager puppy, watching Gregor's every move excited to see if he would do anything. Gregor trotted along until the sight of King's Landing was in view, looming walls and great towers were far in the distance. With a small halt he noticed a tipped wagon, and an old frail woman shouting at a boy. As he came closer the mad ravings of the woman began to annoy Gregor, and he drew his sword. With a short sweep of his blade, he struck her neck and watched the blood slowly ooze out of her decapitated body. The boy barely noticed for at least ten seconds before he looked behind him, to see a large looming man with a bloody sword and his grandmother a headless corpse. His men began to roar into laughter as he bolted from the cabin and Ser Gregor Clegane the mountain shouted, "A flagon of ale for the first man to bring me the boy's head!"

[mrimatool]

Ser Duncan Tulgrad

Duncan nodded, he often felt bad when he fought against his squire, Duncan's stature and the boy's admiration for his Knight made the fights often unfair, but Aeron was the best squire Duncan could have wished for.

Duncan nodded to his squire "As you wish, be careful. I'd hate for you to have to break Baelor's nose"

Duncan grinned at his own jest and sent the squire on his way. The tourney would be starting soon and he'd need to prepare his stallion.

Lord Michael Tulgrad

Gordon smiled, taking the favour and tying it around his wrist proudly, it was unlikely the young boy would win in the lists or the melee but encouragement was always welcome. Before Gordon could leave to go back to practise with Barristan, Michael began to undo one of his belts, the belt in particular holstered his sword. Michael was quick to hand it over to Gordon who then tied the ribbon around the handle of the fantastically crafted sword. Gordon rushed off in a hurry, running back to Ser Barristan as they began to spar once more.

Michael looked at Varane, "My boy Gordon, Silar has asked me to make Gordon lord of the Hammer Hills and I cannot object, Gordon will rule when I'm finally gone. But he needs to see more of the world, I was wondering if after the tourney he could come stay with you, maybe you could teach him some things about strategy and sailing, until his Marriage to Inyse is finalised?"

The Dragon of Driftmark

The slender blade dripped with blood as the body hit the ground, Dothraki were never good at fighting a knight on equal ground. The Knight turned to the other Dothraki who challenged her apparently the Khal's throat being sliced wasn't enough of a deterrent. His Blood riders charged at her, there were only two luckily the first swung his arakh wildly dancing about the Knight. The Knight raised their shield and the white seahorse of House Velaryon stood stalwart upon the aqua field. The first blood rider didn't hesitate, his arakh hacking to the Knight but on his third strike the Blood rider had lodged his arakh in the shield. The Knight was quick to bring their sword down low, gutting the poor blood rider, when he fell he pulled the knight's shield away from them and he was left undefended against the second dothraki. In a second the Arakh clashed with the dark Valryian steel and was split in two, before the man of six foot could yield he felt a cold blade go through his neck and he fell to the ground, leaving nothing but gargles.

[Gollee]

Inyse watches Gordon excitedly as he leaves, before turning to return to the covered stand with Amelya, murmuring quietly to the older woman, "That was exciting! Do you think he will win?" Amelya's scathing reply was lost amidst another shuddering blow by the immense knight.

Varane looked back at Lord Tulgrad, now that the two girls were away, "An exchange of wards? I am afraid I don't have a great deal to send with you... My brother, and heir, I need him with the fleets, Golthis and Sarin, I need them to keep my captains in line... I can hardly send Inyse if Gordon is coming to Karynn... I certainly can't send Caylais, Kiera would take my head off for sending her away from Sarin... That... Only really leaves Amelya.. And I am sure you know about that... The knife incident..."

[Hackie]

Gregor Clegane

Ser Gregor Clegane began to approach the Dragon Gate, as his men followed behind him. Chiswyck had chosen to wear the Old Lady's and the boy's head on his belt, as a sort of ornaments. As they approached the Mountain paused and turned to his men, he shouted, "Joss! Tell the lords of my arrival and prepare my chambers." Joss nodded and galloped in a hurry, he then pointed at a tall balding man and said, "Polliver, find a place for the men to rest. And tell me of recent events within King's landing." Polliver then trotted off silently. Gregor began to trot along before the smell of the two rotting heads began too strong to bear, and Gregor roared, "Get those damn heads off of your belt! They smell worse than a horse's shit!"

[F_sphere]

Aeron wandered through the dusty fighting areas, his eyes scanning for the all-too-familiar face of his brother. Finally he spotted the boy, hacking away at a sword connected to the arm of none other than Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell. Baelor, despite being formally trained in combat, was obviously no match for the young Ser's skill, and Aeron watched with a smug expression as the Loras batted around his brother's blade like swatting at a fly. In his backwards movement, due to Loras' brisk advance, his foot was caught on a stray rock, sending him flying onto his back, armor clanking about on his defeated body. Aeron gave a quick laugh, being careful not to attract his conquered sibling's attention, and returned to Ser Duncan.

"You have nothing to fear, good Ser," Aeron reported with great pretension, "As my brother is nothing more than a oaf with a weapon."

[mrimatool]

Lord of The Hammer Hills

Michael nodded slowly, "I imagine it's proving difficult to get her married ay?" Michael's mind began to wonder as he thought of his own unmarried son Silar, although Silar had always claimed I'm married to my greatsword father! Silar's dedication to his weapon was very reminiscent of the way the Bearded Priests of Norvos that are literally married to their axes.

"What about Silar? Maybe he could whittle her down. He's kind and gentle and strong, a lord in his own right, surely a match worthy of her? He could ward her for a year so that she can get used to the idea.?" Michael replied after his long pause. As he and Varane conversed the band began to play the song Iron Lances as the Kings own brother Renly Baratheon began to shout "We shall be drawing the tilts now!"

The Stag's Hammer

Duncan had his lance and shields ready by the time his squire had returned, Duncan was wearing his signature white plate armour and already mounted on his patchy stallion. Duncan however was not wearing his cloak, for fear of it getting ruined. He did however have a helmet that wasn't standard issue kingsguard. The helmet was white enamel, matching his armor but on the forehead was the sigil of house Tulgrad and on the sides were embellished hammers that were often associated with the house.

"They're drawing the first bouts Aeron, carry my shields and lances over to the lists and I'll bring the hammer" Duncan's hammer was Castle forged steel that had been improved with Valryian steel fittings, a Valryian steel spike and A long Valryian Steel handle. Duncan trotted towards the King's tent where Renly Baratheon was about to announce the fight order.

[Gollee]

Lord of the Karynn Isles

Varane considered Lord Tulgrad's words for a few moments, "The last time I got her engaged, she locked herself in her room for a week and stabbed the guard who I sent to get her out. He lived, but the engagement didn't."

As the music began to play, and Lord Baratheon called into the crowd, Varane grinned, "Time to watch young fools get knocked on their arses. Shall we sit together on the stands?"

[F_sphere]

Aeron complied, stuffing his arms with various shapes and sizes of lances, some of them a spotty red with flecked paint, others a bright metal, hot to the touch from the sun. He pushed his way, limbs still tired from his spar with Ser Duncan, through the masses, finally settling upon a strip of grass near a collective of brightly colored tents, their flaps gently swaying in the breeze. There he carefully laid out each of the armaments, before sitting himself down in the grass, studying the commotion of contestants around the tents.

[Hackie]

Gregor Clegane

Gregor stomped towards the arena, towering over most of the spectators. The crowds went silent, except for a few whispers. He looked around before locking eyes with Aeron. Before proceeding to the King's tent. His squire trotted behind him nervously, scratching his arms as the crowd stared at the pair.

[F_sphere]

Aeron perked up as the crowd suddenly hushed. Lifting his eyes from Ser Duncan's equipment, he accidentally locked his gaze on The Mountain, the infamous beast of a man who could easily crush any of the competitors like a royal roach. A shiver ran down his spine as the gargantuan man's stare pierced his soul, which seemed to last several minutes, though really only taking away a few seconds, before Gregor had left with his young squire.