A New Challenger Has Arrived!
After finishing their toast, Qhortho gets up and walks to the bar. He speaks loudly enough for all to hear.
QHOR: Barkeep! I want to buy an ale for everyone in the room!
INNKEEPER: How very kind of you!
The innkeeper accepts the coins then presumes to pour the first drink for himself. Qhortho walks back to his table, ales in hand, just as the merchants clamber up to the bar to get their drinks. This leaves the area around the Assembly’s table rather empty. Ornogrim, seeing his drink in Qhortho’s grasp, switches tables to be back with his crew.
No more than a few seconds later, Jonah walks up to the table with a man of solid stature with decently heavy armor, brown hair, and brown eyes. Jonah’s companion carries with him a large glaive; a war hammer is fastened to his hip. A very small cape covers the top third of his back with an insignia that conveys some rank in an organized armed force.
QHOR: Jonah Bick has a friend??
JONAH: Not sure I would call him a friend just yet, but he certainly is no enemy. This is Aran Westbrook. He seemed interested in your troupe here.
ARAN: Seems like you have an interesting story. What brings you into town?
QHOR: Great accomplishments call for great celebrations.
ARAN: We haven’t had many travelers recently, so I’d like to hear about it, if you would tell?
QHOR: We have more stories than one could tell in a single evening, my friend.
ARAN: Have you had no trouble on the road?
QHOR: Trouble? No. More like the road has had trouble with us.
Aran fidgets slightly.
ARAN: You’re bandits then?
ORNO: No, nothing like that. We are providing security for this caravan of merchants. We make way for the Faire in the morning.
Aran relaxes and they make formal introductions.
JONAH: Aran tells me that there is nothing special about Red Lake. It’s a hunting and fishing area mostly, with no towns nearby. There are many that believe the area is inhabited by the Children of the Forest, so they tend to keep away.
QARZ: We have it on good authority that the raids along this road come from the Red Lake, not the Iron Islands. We intend to escort our merchant friends here to the festival then come back down to the lake to check it out.
ARAN: Hmmm…
THOL: We interrogated one of the raiders we defeated on the road and he admitted it.
ARAN: Interesting.
ORNO: I see that you are affiliated with an army of sorts. Could you tell me more about that?
Aran tells the group that he is a blacksmith in the Crakehall Guard – the First Smith, in fact. The Guard is a dwindling force as the economy has been crushed by the lack of merchants travelling the road. Due to others deserting The Guard, he had been told not to leave town or he would not be allowed back, let alone keep his rank. Aran, being a loyal servant to his Commander and to his Lord, had not ventured out on the road to determine the source of the issues. He thought more information was known at the higher ranks, but he is not privy to such intel and it is certainly not his place to question their rationale.
ORNO: You certainly look capable and we could always use another sword by our side. Perhaps if we speak to your commander, we might be able to convince him to allow you to join us.
Aran sees joining this group as his best opportunity to finally to take action to aid those in need. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge the fact that he wants this for selfish reasons as well. The need for adventure has been running through his blood as of late, but his loyalty has kept him in place.
ARAN: I would certainly be willing… as long as my commanding officer finds utility in that.
Jonah looks over to Ornogrim, smirking.
JONAH: Ornogrim… One thing I’ve learned from my travels is that you cannot know someone’s capabilities simply by looking at him.
ORNO: Well, Jonah… One thing I’ve learned from my travels is to always trust my instinct – and my instinct informs me that he is capable.
JONAH: Perhaps a duel outside will give us more information than… your instinct.
THOL: That would certainly seem appropriate if we are to take on a brother-in-arms.
ARAN: Yeah, I’d be ok with that.
The rest of the Assembly agrees.
Ornogrim holds up his hand, interrupting everyone’s movement.
ORNO: Just a moment. Since you are a local, would you happen to know where I might score some pipe weed?
ARAN: I can’t help you there. It’s never much interested me. Most of the businesses left this area, so I’m not even sure where you might find some luck.
The weapons merchant overhears this and, with some anxiety in his voice, asks when they intend to get on the road.
ORNO: Oh no need to worry. We shall be off tomorrow at first light.
The merchant accepts this and walks away to finish his drink.
The Assembly, Jonah, and Aran walk outside.
ARAN: So who am I to duel?
Jonah looks over the group.
JONAH: I will. No tricks or poison.
ARAN: Ok, sounds good.
Knowing he must give this duel his all to have any chance of hitting the open road, Aran watches Jonah carefully as he prepares for the fight. In doing so, Aran gets a good sense about him in terms of potential strengths and weaknesses – Jonah seems to be a worthy adversary.
While the two men finish their preparations, Tholannan bows his head, Blessing the entire group of 6 people to prevent any great harm from falling upon them.
Jonah unsheathes his swords and readies himself. Aran spins his glaive around a few times, moves in close, and attacks with a Menacing strike, causing a sense of Fearfulness to wash over Jonah. He follows this up with a flurry of additional attacks, knocking Jonah back a few feet.
Jonah’s first strike hits, but his second swishes through empty air. Aran takes the opportunity to strike several more times, bringing the duel to a close.
Jonah, exacerbated by the experience, hangs his head, shoulders sagging. His eyes shift up to meet Aran’s.
JONAH: Well met.
Aran nods.
ARAN: You have good reflexes, it just wasn’t your day.
Jonah looks over to the group, who are astonished at what they’ve just witnessed.
JONAH: He’ll do.
After composing himself, he sheathes his swords and stands up straight. The fear is now gone and his usual arrogant smirk returns.
JONAH: Qhortho, you couldn’t do that! I’d like to see those two duel!
Qhortho raises his arms in a great overhead stretch.
QHOR: It’s getting a bit late. Perhaps tomorrow.
The party agrees and Aran leaves for his home. The rest of the party re-enters the inn and takes to their rooms.
Aran’s Quest
In the morning, Aran speaks with his commanding officer, Ser Golfryn, and requests permission to leave with the group.
Golfryn lets it be known that he was with Lord Daemon when the travelers treated with them the day prior. They learned that the group travels at the request of King Greydon himself. Golfryn tells Aran that his duties are aligned with joining these men as far as the Lannisport Faire.
Aran suggests that since no one in the group had told him about the King’s request, they may have other secrets worth knowing.
Golfryn agrees and they decide that Aran should report back in one fortnight.
Before setting out, Ser Golfryn adds that Aran should take a warhorse of his choice from the stable.
Aran Westbrook arrives in front of the inn just as the sun is fully visible over the horizon. He rides a powerful steed brandishing the Crakehall sigil, a boar on a field of red. The air is slightly warm and still, without a cloud in the sky. Aran stops his horse in his tracks. He looks around and takes a deep breath. It is refreshing to see all the activity here again.
His first sight is that of Qhortho helping the merchants prepare their wagons for the road.
Jonah is to one side of the inn, quietly practicing with his swords. Aran takes a few more mental notes on his style, just in case he ever needs to battle with him in the future. He truly is very good.
Ornogrim is slumped against the wall of the inn, his eyes a cloudy white.
Qarzdaq and Tholannan appear to be praying. Both of them are holding items while softly chanting.
Taking it all in, he trots closer, “I’ve been given permission to set out with you.”
QHOR: That is good news. Having another sword on the field is never a bad thing.
Aran dismounts and helps Qhortho with the merchants.
Ornogrim blinks rapidly as the color returns to his eyes. He slowly gets to his feet to see Aran and Qhortho.
ORNO: It is good to see you could join us Aran. I have scouted the road ahead and see no obvious threats. We should get on our way.
Aran looks a bit confused by this but decides not to ask any questions. Something tells him that he’s about to be in for the adventure of his life. Even if it does only last a fortnight.
The other three men finish their morning rituals, and they all mount up to continue along the Ocean Road with the sun at their backs.
The Iron is Hot
The first day of travel goes without incident. They make camp that night just off the road.
In the morning, Ornogrim takes the time to warg with Tinkey so they have some inclination of the happenings on the road ahead that day. Seeing nothing of any interest, they continue their travels.
The following day proceeds much like the previous one. The exception being Ornogrim pushing his Goodberries on the others. “Pushing” may be too strong a word, as they were readily accepted by most. “Availing” perhaps.
On the third day, Ornogrim’s warging with Tinkey reveals a group of Ironborn blocking the road just a few hours ahead. He conveys this information to his fellow escorts first to decide on a plan of action.
The weapons merchant sees this discussion and calls the other merchants’ attentions to it. As the escorts approach the merchants, they are standing shoulder-to-shoulder, preparing themselves for the worst.
ORNO: There looks to be some trouble up ahead.
The merchants squirm anxiously.
TRYTAS: Does this look to be the same sort of trouble we ran into a few days ago? Last time, you were able to get the jump on them. Do we have the same opportunity this time?
ORNO: Not exactly. It seems there is just a group of them blocking the road. It looks as if they’ve been camping there for some time, just waiting for travelers.
The merchants grumble a bit to themselves and curse under their breaths.
ORNO: Now, now. It’s nothing we cannot handle. We are going to take some precautions to keep you as safe as possible though. We want you to travel 200 paces behind us. When we raise our fists, we want you to form a tight circle with your wagons. We are then going to approach them calmly to see if they will allow us to pass. Meanwhile, the plan is for two of us to enter the forest along the road so we may sneak around the back of them. If the diplomatic approach fails, we will at least have them surrounded, giving us the clear advantage.
The merchants, still a bit restless, are slightly more at ease with a plan in place. As comfortable as they are going to get, they prepare themselves and get back on the road.
Qhortho leads the way. Pointing forward, he shouts…
QHOR: GWE!!!!
Not having heard much formal Dothraki from him in the past, the others just shrug and follow.
After a few hours, the sun directly overhead, the escorts stop in their tracks and raise their fists. Looking back, the caravan forms a circle just as planned. So far so good. The so-called Ironborn ahead can most certainly see all of them, even being so far in the distance, due to the mostly level terrain and the predominantly straight road.
Everyone except Qhortho dismounts. Ornogrim and Jonah crouch behind the others, breaking line-of-sight to the vagabonds ahead, providing the opportunity for Ornogrim to cast Pass Without Trace on himself and Jonah. Shadows appear to envelop the two of them.
ORNO: I’ll send Tinkey to you when we are in position, so you know when to move forward.
The shrouded Ornogrim and Jonah sneak towards the treeline along the right side of the road, entering the light woods by about ten feet. They sneak just inside the woods in a direction parallel to the road until they can see the bandits’ backs. They remain motionless for a few moments to ensure they haven’t been seen. Tinkey flies toward the others to signal their advance.
Seeing Tinkey, the group walks calmly towards the five bandits, Qhortho still on Lajak Chaf, his faithful warhorse. As they get closer, the Krakens on the bandits’ chests become clearer.
IRONBORN: HALT! Who goes there?! This road is closed until further notice!
The four men stop about fifty feet away.
QHOR: Closed you say?
Qhortho urges Lajak Chaf forward, closing the gap to ten feet. The other three men remain behind. The four Ironborn bandits do not move. The Ironborn captain about fifteen feet behind them steps forward a few feet, but does not say a word.
QHOR: Says who?
Qhortho’s tone is that of true boredom.
CAPTAIN: Who else?
The man, pulls at the sigil hanging over his studded leather armor.
QHOR: Yeah… what is that, a cockroach or something? Get the fuck out of the way. We have business to deal with here.
The captain takes another step.
CAPTAIN: Your business is with us now.
Qhortho sighs loudly.
While Qhortho continues to draw out the conversation, Ornogrim and Jonah are emerging from the forest, still sneaking, making their way behind the bandits. Qhortho continues to speak about the enjoyment he’d feel by killing all of them. Meanwhile, Aran slowly approaches Qhortho from behind without being noticed. One of the Ironborn bandits comment about using force.
QHOR: … I really don’t think you want that. Look, I get it, you’re a tough guy. We’re all tough guys here. But seriously… Get the fuck out of the way.
BANDIT: Dothraki, you’re on the wrong side of the sea.
QHOR: You belong IN the sea. Get the fuck out of the way!
The bandits look at each other, but make no move to leave.It crosses Tholannan’s mind that Qhortho’s comment might be confusing to them.
Here these guys are, supposedly-but-definitely-not Ironborn, and they are told they belong in the sea. You can almost see the wheels turning in their heads. They’d normally take that as some sort of childish insult. But would an Ironborn think of that as an insult? Is that something they should respond to with a clever affirmative? Is pondering how to respond for this long giving away the one thing we’re not supposed to: the fact that we are not actually Ironborn?
Qhortho looks back to his friends while the “Ironborn” remain silent.
QHOR: Gwe?
He shrugs as he says this, then lets out a heavy sigh as he reaches for his great sword.
Just as the scabbard on his back releases the blade, arrows fly from the forest, surprising everyone except Qhortho, who sees the volley out the corner of his eye. His blood begins to boil and his eyes go equine black as he lets out a roaring whinny.
Qhortho turns his head towards the forest to see three archers at the treeline, about 100 feet away.
Arrows fall around Aran, Qhortho, and Lajak Chaf, some of them striking flesh. Lajak Chaf kills the bandit closest to him while Qhortho slices the next closest one in half. Arrows continue to rain down. Lajak Chaf falls to the ground, just as Qhortho deftly jumps off and away.
A tear in his eye and a tear through his heart, he scowls at the archers with hatred pouring from his obsidian eyes. Seeing only through the lens of revenge, he disregards the closest enemies. Just as he is about to run towards the archers, they erupt in a ball of fire. He pauses a moment, slightly confused, thinking he may have manifested the flames himself, when Qarzdaq yells out, “Focus on those guys, I got these!”
An arrow strikes one of the archers out of the blue from a source near the road. Qarzdaq and the archers simultaneously trace the arrow’s path back to a man behind the bandit captain. It takes a half second for Qarzdaq to realize this is Ornogrim.
Recognizing this second threat, the archers run away from Ornogrim along the tree line, spreading out slightly to help against being hit with another Fireball from Qarzdaq. They plant their feet and send a volley of arrows towards Qarzdaq, badly wounding him.
Qarzdaq, with fire in his eyes, fire in his heart, and fire in his loins, raises fire from the earth in a great wall directly in front of the archers.
Jonah, without anyone noticing, is making his way back towards the tree line for a stealthy attack on the archers at closer range.
Tholannan Blesses Qhortho and Aran then grabs his spear, preparing to throw it at the bandits on the road. He sees Qhortho turn towards the bandits and so, holds off for just the right moment.
The captain runs towards Qhortho to help his two remaining nearby allies.
Tholannan patiently waits.
Qhortho slashes through the bandit closest to him effortlessly and then easily evades most of the strikes from the last bandit and his captain. He is unable to avoid them all, but Qhortho remains unfazed.
Tholannan continues to hold as he watches Aran get to the front line and slice his glaive right through the lesser bandit. Aran follows this up with multiple strikes to the captain.
Tholannan senses the damage done to his allies and lowers his spear momentarily to speak Healing Words. Lajak Chaf comes back from near death, whinnying as he clambers to his feet. Qhortho, Aran, and Qarzdaq also feel more refreshed.
The sight of Lajak Chaf alive warms Qhortho’s heart; he is intent on preventing his companion from falling again.
The sudden movement of the horse is the distraction Tholannan needs. He thrusts his spear through the air at the bandit captain. The captain watches the spear fly past his head as if in slow motion. He turns back to lock eyes with Tholannan. Tholannan recognizes this as the look of a man who knows he’s beat but will not submit. This is a man with great courage.
Just then Qhortho’s great sword slashes once through each of the captain’s arms and just as he is about to retaliate, he falls forwards. Qhortho jumps back, out of the way. When the captain lands face down, an arrow is sticking out of his back. Aran and Qhortho raise their eyes to see Ornogrim about twenty feet away, lowering his bow.
Ornogrim looks over at the Wall of Fire, no archers in sight, and runs towards it.
ORNO: We can’t let them get away!
Jonah is finally revealed when he looses an arrow from near the tree line at the archers behind the Wall of Fire. The piercing yell heard over the churning flames reports the arrow hit its target.
JONAH: They’re retreating into the woods!
Aran and Qhortho look over at Jonah, look at each other, then towards the fire.
Aran breathes in deeply, stows his glaive, and gains a Second Wind. Everyone is now dashing towards the wall. Well, almost everyone. Qhortho takes off in the opposite direction. Aran looks to his side, expecting to see Qhortho, but does a second take after not seeing him. He looks back to see Qhortho climbing onto Lajak Chaf. Seconds later, Qhortho stampedes past him towards the forest. When near the wall, Ornogrim yells to Qhortho, “Do you have eyes on them?!”
QHOR: Soon!
Ornogrim is confused by this and doesn’t think asking again will help. Qarzdaq drops the Wall of Fire.
ORNO: I’m going to warg with Tinkey – cover me!
Ornogrim sits down and crosses his legs. He leans forward slightly. His eyes go white as his consciousness is transferred to the sky. He hears Jonah in the distance below, “I don’t see where they went, but they can’t have gone far.” He flies past the tree line, and notices Aran entering the woods near where the archers were last visible. Even knowing where Aran is, it is difficult to make out his exact position by sight alone through the thick, green tree tops. It is easy, however, to see Qhortho continuing a swift gallop along the tree line traveling much farther than anyone thought the archers might be. Does he know something they don’t?
As Ornogrim flies over the woods, he sees one of the archers in a tree. He goes to speak, and instead squawks, “Over Here, Over Here!” He takes to a slightly higher altitude to make sure everyone can see Tinkey. He then proceeds to drop a small shit on the spot. He decides against a larger one so there is more ammo for later.
Jonah fires at the spot, barely able to see the archer through ¾ cover, striking a tree instead. Aran sees the bolt in the tree, then notices the intended target through ½ cover from his position. It takes two throwing axes, but the archer’s scream is all he needed to hear. Aran seems pleased with himself, but that doesn’t last long. He is immediately attacked by a flurry of arrows from the archer he just hit and from the other two up in nearby trees.
Qarzdaq’s vantage point allows him to now see all three archers. He knows this is his greatest opportunity. However, this opportunity places him with a difficult decision. He could send a Scorching Ray at a single archer, or use a Fireball to take them all out. If he uses a Scorching Ray, it may allow for another barrage of arrows to strike Aran – and he may not survive that. If he chooses the Fireball, he must decide whether he aims low, potentially catching his human friends in the blast, or he aims high, potentially killing Tinkey while Ornogrim is warging – and no one knows what will happen to Ornogrim in that case.
The biggest issue is that he has an extremely brief window in which to make this decision. Qarzdaq mutters under his breath, “fuck that bird…” as he identifies a point slightly above the archers, causing a Fireball to explode in the treetops. As it erupts, he knows it is a particularly great ball of fire. As it envelops Tinkey’s black silhouette in the sky, Qarzdaq half-regrets his action, “No… Butternuts….”
Ornogrim is heard in the distance, “TINKEY!!!! NOOOOOoooooo!!!”
Branches crack above Aran. Very quickly they get louder and louder… THUD. The archer Aran had attacked with axes falls from the tree, scorched. Similar sounds come from a tree about ten feet away from him, this time accompanied by vocal tones of pain. And then… THUD. Another archer down for good.
Ornogrim shakes off the stun and scrambles to his feet. He immediately dashes to his fallen companion.
All the commotion catches Qhortho’s attention. Lajak Chaf skids to a stop and reels around. He quickly gets back up to a gallop, to travel the roughly hundred feet back to the group as quickly as possible.
Jonah silently homes in on the last enemy.
Seeing each of his allies about to be in close battle, Tholannan prays to the Mother Rhoyne to bring life to Ornogrim, Tinkey, and Aran.
Jonah takes a few more steps into the woods and gets eyes on the final archer. He whispers, “Die, you fucker.” The poisoned bolt leaves the light crossbow, piercing the archer’s left shoulder, causing him to fall from the tree with a slight momentum from the bolt. Branches crack in that familiar crescendo… THUD.Ornogrim searches desperately for Tinkey when suddenly, Tinkey’s familiar squawks are heard from the treetops.
ORNO: TINKEY!
Tinkey swoops down into the forest and lands on Ornogrim’s shoulder.
ORNO: I thought you were dead, little buddy.
The scene unfolds before Tholannan. He looks into Tinkey’s eyes from a distance and nods. The raven seems to understand. Maybe. She is just a bird after all.
Many Beneficiaries
Ornogrim quickly creates some Goodberries for the crew and then they get to the traditional process of searching the bodies.
They find a decent take of gold on each of the bodies, then meet back up with the merchants.
TRYTAS: Is it safe?
ORNO: Yes it is. We were able to deal with the threat and the road is now clear.
The merchants are very pleased. A few of them spontaneously and instinctively clap.
Ornogrim turns to Dantis.
ORNO: Once again, for your extra payment, you may take any of the weapons from the men we fought.
They take about an hour to rest before they are back on the road towards the Lannisport Faire.
After about a half day’s travel, they camp for the night.
The next morning, they follow their normal routines and get back on the road. Although the tone is somewhat tense, given they are only a few days away from their destination, the merchants indicate they feel quite safe with their escorts.
While travelling, Aran makes it a point to commend Qhortho on his fighting skills.
ARAN: It was amazing. I’ve never seen anything like that.
Qhortho is clearly quite pleased by this.
QHOR: Yes. I had the spirit of the Great Stallion flowing through me.
JONAH: Yes, you all did a fine job for sure.
ARAN: Pretty crazy that these Ironborn just show up like this to block a mainland road. Hopefully, we can convince them to take their sorry asses home.
QARZ: They flew the flag, but we have it on good authority that these are no Ironborn and that they come from the Red Lake.
THOL: It’s all a ruse. We knocked out one of the bandits along the road between Old Oak and Crakehall and interrogated him.
ORNO: I’d be interested in determining which lords are benefitting from this arrangement.
ARAN: From what I’ve heard, there has been lesser trade to the entire coastal region, but the trade that is still here, travels north along the Roseroad, then onto the Gold Road, which leads to Casterly Rock and Lannisport. All of the towns along that route are greatly benefitting during this time.
Ornogrim is the only one that finds this curious. The night winds down and they all rest.
Over the next four nights, Ornogrim spends time with the merchants asking their thoughts; they mirror that of Aran’s and add that even the towns along the River Mander are seeing increased traffic.
However, through casual conversation, Ornogrim is able to learn that the towns along this path, starting from near Highgarden, are Dunstonbury, Cider Hall, Longtable, Ashford, Bitterbridge, Tumbleton, Deep Den, Hornvale, and a lot of smaller towns too numerous and insignificant to name.
He learns that although the entire region loses in this situation, the most significant victims are those along the Ocean Road: Old Oak, Crakehall, Lannisport, and Casterly Rock. But since Lannisport and Casterly Rock have so much influence, there is strong desire for merchants and peddlers to do what is necessary to sell goods there. Hence the definition of another route.
Always thinking about Tyrone’s vision depicting a devastating force from somewhere to the north, Ornogrim asks the merchants probing questions around any sort of army amassing up in that region, hoping they would have an ear to the ground on such matters. The merchants seem generally confused by this somewhat, not knowing of any reason why towns in the north would be raising greater armies beyond their standing militia and local armies.
Before going to sleep each night, Ornogrim contemplates how this devastating force seen by Tyrone could be intertwined with the so-called Ironborn threat. Who are the winners and losers in this arrangement? Where is this force? Who controls them? Where do they come from? It seems to him that there must be someone funding these bandits; why else would they do this and have gold in the pockets – especially if the trade routes have been dried up for such a long time. So far, it’s all just loose evidence and lots of questions. Perhaps tomorrow will bring some answers.
A Service Fulfilled
The next morning follows the same routine as normal, except this time, Ornogrim learns that the Faire is only a half day’s ride ahead.
He determines the overall layout as having many stalls arranged in long rows where merchants peddle trinkets and other wares. The closer to the center of the Faire, the larger the booths and more distinct the wares. There are a number of larger makeshift workshops for leatherworking, smithing, fletching, and a few other specialists. They appear to be just starting for the day; it is still relatively quiet, save the sounds of carriages unloading goods and canvas flaps being tossed about.
This information lightens the mood of everyone and they are eager to get on the road.
After a few hours, a small heavily guarded area is spotted ahead. If the banners and and various flags don’t make it quite clear enough, the ornately armored men decorated with gilded lions certainly do: this is the Lannisport Faire.
As the entire group gets within a hundred feet of the gate, Ornogrim dismounts.
ORNO: Well, here you are. As promised. The Lannisport Faire.
The joy from the merchants is palpable. Although Ornogrim is attempting to maintain the professional stature of “all in a good day’s work,” he can’t help but let his muted smile convey, “fuck yeah!”
The merchants thank the group profusely and hand Ornogrim their promised gold as they pass him and head towards the entrance. Once the last of the merchant enter the Faire, the escorts take the time then to split the coin appropriately.
Once finished, they continue forward past the guards, who give them no trouble at all. The first thing they notice as they enter is a stable to stow their horses. They are given small tickets to indicate which horses belong to whom.
Walking the main throughway, they are greeted by an overall festiveness: singers, musicians, acrobats, stilt walkers, and fools are never very far away; food and drink may be found very easily, with lots of brews available.
Jonah splits off from the group, just saying that he’d catch up with the group later.
They all get the closest sausage on a styck plus brew combo and walk around the entire Faire. They see merchants with all sorts of goods ranging from specialty foods, games, potions, armor… pretty much anything they could be interested in. Mixed amongst the shops are gaming areas. There are archery contests, card games, dagger throwing events, arm wrestling, and even a drinking contest. A huge jousting arena is off the outskirts, closer to the armorers and weapon merchants.
A little more wandering around brings them to an open area where many entertainers vie for the attentions of passersby.
A miming fire-eater catches Qarzdaq’s eye. He spits out a long breath of fire.
ARAN: It’s like he’s sucking your dick, Fire Man!
Qarzdaq heartily laughs and walks over to the entertainer.
The entertainer sees Qarzdaq and engages with him by spitting out a small ball of fire into the air that quickly fizzles out.
Qarzdaq shows interest and holds up his index finger to the man. The man steps a half step back, expressing a look of “what the hell is this guy going to do?” Qarzdaq performs the same trick as the entertainer, who nods at him, looking impressed.
The entertainer then holds up his index finger and widens his stance. He spits out a sustained breath of fire, waving his bare hand in the fire stream, interrupting it to create balls of fire streaming through the air. This lasts a solid 10 seconds. After complete, the man shows that he is now quite impressed with himself, placing his hands on his hips and looking across the faces of a building crowd.
Qarzdaq nods deliberately, eager to show off a bit. He performs the same demonstration, but with a little more flair, creating balls of varying sizes.
The entertainer looks to be delighted at the challenge, but is also strongly concentrating to think of something Qarzdaq surely cannot do. He performs the same fire breathing trick, but this time, spins around smoothly while he does it, sending streaked curved lines of fire directly above, resembling a cylindrical staircase.
Qarzdaq smirks at the man. He does the same maneuver, but times the bursts and his movement is such a way to create something resembling a dragon. The crowd gasps in shock, clearly having never seen anything like this before. The crowd applauds.
The entertainer claps silently at the performance and bows deeply before Qarzdaq.
The crowd finishes their applause then disperses.
FIREBREATHER: Good show! Very impressive.
QARZ: Thank you very much. You’re not too shabby yourself. My talents come as a gift from the Lord of Light Himself, R’hllor.
A few moments later and the man is interested enough in this fire god that he plans to seek out more information. Qarzdaq is pleased by this and the men part ways.
After the show is over, everyone goes their separate ways.
The Tinkey Trade
Ornogrim goes off on his own to find a vender of medical supplies and salves. After a few minutes of searching, he finds a merchant with the right sort of merchandise.
ORNO: Hi my good man. I am looking for some pipe weed.
MERCH: Sure thing. What type would you like?
ORNO: A little Indica, a little Sativa.
MERCH: That will be 1sp per gram.
ORNO: Ok, I’ll take 2 bags of Indica and 1 bag of Sativa. Do you like Goodberries?
MERCH: Sure, I’d know a little off the price for a few Goodberries.
Ornogrim also purchases 2 vials of disinfectant while he is here.
ORNO: If I might ask, where do you travel from?
MERCH: I am from a small town near Deep Den.
ORNO: Would you say the road was treacherous on your way here?
MERCH: No, not at all actually. There was a lot more traffic, but it was a rather easy eight-day travel.
ORNO: So would you say that most people here are from the east and north or are many from the south as well?
MERCH: It’s not too much different than in the past because all of those from the south are traveling up to the north to meet the road I came in on.
They continue the conversation to the point where Ornogrim understands that the issues lie primarily along the coastal road, without much of an impact to the surrounding roads. The other pathways from Old Oak and Crakehall must have been closer to the coast than the main thoroughfare the medial merchant describes.
Ornogrim takes two puffs from his Sativa and coughs once. He relaxes into a steady gait, watching all the people around him, wondering which direction that fire breather was.
After some wandering, he is stopped in his tracks by noticing a peddler of pets. He glances at Tinkey on his shoulder, then looks towards the creatures. There are various common creatures in cages, such as cats, frogs, hawks, owls, rats, ravens. But the real treasures here are two singular creatures that look a bit more exotic: a giant owl and an axe beak. The giant owl is easily 8-9 feet tall; the axe beak even taller at closer to 15 feet.
Ornogrim walks over to the giant owl.
MERCH: I see you have good taste. This here is a giant owl. Native to the forests here in Westeros. Most come from the north where large swaths of forests remain undisturbed for millenia. They are very territorial.
ORNO: Thank you for that information.
Ornogrim’s eyes shift towards the axe beak.
MERCH: Ah, yes. The axe beak. Bastards they are. Also very territorial. Although they have feathers and wings, they are indeed flightless. They attack relentlessly unless you are familiar to them.
ORNO: Hmm…
Ornogrim looks over the selection, thinking about what he could realistically train. He finally selects one of the owls. The giant owl would be amazing, but being a large beast, it’s outside what he could train. They negotiate a price for the owl, but just before the deal is made…
ORNO: Would you be interested in my pet raven here? Her name is Tinkey and she is a faithful companion.
The merchant looks her over and agrees. They negotiate a discount on the owl price in exchange for Tinkey and they shake hands confirming the deal. Ornogrim takes the owl cage from the merchant then looks over at Tinkey, still on his shoulder.
ORNO: Tinkey, go with this man. He will treat you well.
Tinkey flies onto the merchant’s shoulder. As he opens an empty cage for her, she takes off. He jumps into the air, attempting to catch the raven, but he misses the agile bird.
MERCH: Well ain’t that a bitch. So I guess I’ll be taking the full negotiated price for the owl?
ORNO: The deal had been made, we shook hands, and we exchanged merchandise. She jumped onto your shoulder and that was the extent of our exchange. What happens after you have the merchandise should not fall on me. I’m sure that if this owl, let’s call him Hooterz… I’m sure if Hooterz here got hit with an arrow right now…
Ornogrim looks around anxiously, knowing he has just tempted fate. This anxiousness is probably just the effect of the pipe weed though.
ORNO: … you would not provide me with a refund, nor should I expect it.
MERCH: You have a point. Well-taken. Be off with ya then.
The merchant’s demeanor sours due to the situation, though it is clear he does not hold it against his patron personally.
Ornogrim begins looking for the card game he saw around here somewhere.
Resistance to Lies
Qarzdaq approaches the potion stall looking for something that would give him a unique ability such as fire breathing.
MERCH: I don’t have anything of the arcane persuasion, but I do have oil, if you’d like to use that for fire breathing?
QARZ: I don’t need oil.
He then demonstrates with a flash of flame in his palm.
MERCH: Ah. I see. I don’t have anything like that.
While Qarzdaq is deciding what he should purchase, Tholannan shows up at the same stall. Not wanting to interrupt, he waits patiently while Qarzdaq concludes his business.
Qarzdaq settles on a few vials of antitoxin, an elixir of health, and a bottle of oil. They negotiate a fair price then queries about a dark potion that looks almost like liquified iron.
MERCH: Ah. That is a Potion of Invulnerability. It provides resistance to all damage.
QARZ: Resistance to all damage? That is a big difference than invulnerability… sir… You need to talk to your supplier because that is false advertising.
MERCH: I did not name it, but I am sorry you feel that way. Would you still like that or should I store it for now?
QARZ: I’ll take it.
Overhearing the discussion about the Potion of Invulnerability, Tholannan steps up next to Qarzdaq.
QARZ: Oh, hey Thol.
Tholannan nods to Qarzdaq.
THOL: I’d like one of those as well.
The merchant agrees to give him the same deal.
THOL: I am off to go play some cards.
The merchant wishes them both luck, and Qarzdaq tips the merchant handsomely.
Horsey Armor
Qhortho and Aran find a tack shop near the jousting arena.
QHOR: I am looking for the finest armor for my horse, Lajak Chaf.
MERCH: Well if you’re looking for plate, that will be 6,000 gp.
Qhortho steps back with incredulousness.
ARAN: Well what about for two of those? Surely, that would be half as much.
MERCH: Half as much for twice the product? Surely, you can’t be serious.
ARAN: I am. And don’t call me Shirley.
QHOR: O… K…. What’s the next step down from there?
MERCH: I have splint mail for 800 gp.
ARAN: So what if we were to purchase two sets of that?
The two men barter ala badger with the merchant and settle on a price of 1,476 gp – mostly because it divides evenly by two.
The merchant agrees to hold the armor for them with a deposit. He tells them they should bring the horses by the tent before leaving the Faire today.
QHOR: Well, Aran. Cards?
ARAN: I’m not much of a gambler, but I’ll join you, sure.
Knight’s Last Stand
Almost simultaneously, the group congregates at the card gambling game, Knight’s Last Stand.
They watch a few hands and can tell that the dealer is quite experienced, though he plays a bit loose with his bets against the players. So far, he’s definitely been beating the players. The last of them get cleaned out and clear the table, leaving 5 empty seats.
DEALER: Step on up folks if you think you’re good enough to outplay me!
Tholannan, Qarzdaq, Qhortho, and Ornogrim look at each other. Tholannan bows his head, takes hold of his arcane focus, moves it in a small pattern, and says “By the Eagle’s Splendor.” He then touches each of them on the shoulder in turn. This dealer has no idea what he’s in for.
ORNO: Sure, we’ll play.
They sit down and after a few rounds, they are all up by a decent amount. The dealer knows that if he can keep them playing, the house will always win, but the group seems preoccupied, intent on playing other games.
It takes some time of arguing before they finally settle on checking out the jousting arena.
They spot Jonah away from the crowds speaking with a decently-dressed, well-fed man. The two men seem to be deep in conversation, but the group is not concerned with Jonah’s business dealings.
No more than fifteen paces away fromt he card table, Tholannan and Ornogrim notice a young child thief stealing some trinkets from a merchant booth. Tholannan walks up behind the kid and grabs his wrist. Ornogrim follows.
THOL: Hey! You can’t fuckin do that!
THIEF: You’re not my dad!
THOL: Maybe I’m not, but I’ll take you to him if you keep this up! Do you want to spend the night in jail or are you going to walk away from this?
The thief struggles. Tholannan strengthens his grip. Ornogrim pauses for a second, then half-heartedly grabs the child’s other arm. The kid begins yelling.
THIEF: Let go of me!! These men are trying to take me away!
A number of people are now looking at the scene. Tholannan and Ornogrim let go of the child. He runs, throwing his bag over his shoulder and dodging between people in the crowd.
THOL: Stay the fuck off my lawn you bastard!
The random people in the crowd turn back to their business.
Tholannan and Ornogrim walk back to the others.
QARZ: What was that?
THOL: That kid was stealing from the merchant there!
QARZ: Hmm…
ARAN: Ok, well, if that’s done with, how about we check out the jousting arena?
Do You Like Dirty Jokes?
They make their way over to that end of the Faire, brazenly boasting about how they are going to kick ass at the joust and how they can get some bets going amongst the crowd. They loudly walk over to the area that other knights were using as an entrance. They are met by a large man by the name of Blane Smith holding a scroll.
BLANE: This here is the King’s Tourney. You don’t look like no knights to me.
Tholannan points over his shoulder towards Aran and Qhortho.
THOL: These guys are definitely knights.
QHOR: I am prince Qhortho of the Dothraki. My father was the king of the Grass Sea.
BLANE: I ain’t ever heard of ya.
QHOR: I am royalty if there ever was…
BLANE: Wait. Did you say… Qhortho?
QHOR: I have travelled across the poison water. I have trounced my enemies in Oldtown. You may have heard of my adventures.
BLANE: You the horse fucker then??
The group bursts out in laughter.
ARAN: Horse fucker? I gotta hear this story.
BLANE: The one who defeated Brutus Maximus in Oldtown?
QHOR: Mind your tongue lest you find yourself on the bad end of my fist!
BLANE: Alright, alright. What can I do for ya?
ARAN: We’re here to joust!
BLANE: This here is a knights-only tournament, I can’t just break the rules for ya.
THOL: These men are knights! Let them pass!
BLANE: Come now. This here’s for champions of noble houses. Are you saying you represent noble houses?
ORNO: There is nobility in wealth too sir.
With that, Ornogrim flashes two platinum coins in his hand. Before Blane can answer, Tholannan starts back in on him.
THOL: Are your knights afraid to take on superior men from another realm? Are they afraid of that realm? Are they racist?
QARZ: They’re probably definitely racist.
All of them are now yelling at Blane, each attempting their own method of persuading him. After looking over them unconvinced, he raises his voice.
BLANE: You’re causing a lot of ruckus here. Don’t make me have to call the guards.
THOL: You’re the one who’s racist.
Ornogrim shoots a glance at Tholannan then looks back at Blane.
ORNO: Very well. Who is the person we would have to talk to in order to get in. If someone were empowered to make such a determination.
BLANE: You’d have to be championing a noble house in The Reach.
ORNO: Ah. Are there any houses needing champions?
Aran blurts out…
ARAN: I am the champion of Crakehall!
Blane looks over the scroll in his hand.
BLANE: Crakehall has not paid any entrance dues.
ORNO: How much do they owe?
BLANE: You’d have to make a submission, weeks before.
ORNO: I’m sure there is some way to expedite this. Who’s the person I need to talk to?
BLANE: Look, I can’t break the rules for ya.
ORNO: I just need to know the path I need to follow here.
BLANE: Aright, aright… I’ll tell ya what. It is true that we’re a bit light on the roster this year, but I ain’t breakin the rules for free. And I’m not going to take your coin…
The group looks at each other, a little confused and not sure what they will be asked to get on that list.
BLANE: Do you like dirty jokes?
ORNO: Ones like where a little boy falls in the mud?
BLANE: A little dirtier than that… Here’s the thing. I need some new material. If you tell me tell me the filthiest joke you know and, if it’s any good and I hadn’t heard it before, I’ll add you to the list and no one will be the wiser. You’ll have to name a House of course, but there are many entrants over the years that come from little-known Houses. Go ahead and talk it over if it pleases you and come back to me. I’ll listen to as many as you’d like, within reason. I only need one.
ORNO: Off the top of my head, there’s Brewster the Fucking Rooster, The Little Green Fucker…
BLANE: Hmmm… not sure I’m familiar with those. Would you like to hear the caliber I’m going for?
They all enthusiastically agree.
BLANE: Stop me if you’ve heard it. What did one saggy tit say to the other saggy tit?
QARZ: What?
BLANE: If we don’t get some support soon, people will think we’re nuts!
They all laugh, except Aran, who lightly chuckles.
ARAN: I’d heard that one before.
BLANE: Ah! Aright, aright. What’s the best part about sex with twenty-eight-year-olds?
THOL: You got twenty of them!
The rest of the group laughs!
BLANE: See? This is why I need new material. Ok, so here’s one more. What’s the difference between a priest of The Seven and a pimple?
ORNO: Something about popping, I’m sure.
BLANE: A pimple will wait till yah 12 to come on your face!
They all laugh.
BLANE: Ok, so that’s what I’m going for. If you can come up with just one short joke that I find humorous, I’ll add ya to the list.
The group thanks him and step away to discuss a few jokes. After a few minutes, they return to Blane to share what they got.
THOL: A guy walks into a bar. He sits down next to another patron. He looks over at the patron who has with him a one-foot-tall man in a little tuxedo, playing a tiny grand piano. So the guy asks the patron, “Where’d he come from?” And the other patron says, “I’ve got a genie.” “No fucking way! Maybe I could borrow your genie?” “Yeah, go ahead.” The patron hands over the genie lamp. The man rubs the lamp and sure enough, a genie pops out. The genie speaks to the man, “You may have one wish.” “I wish I had a million bucks.” All of a sudden, the bar is overrun by a million ducks. “Hey, I think your genie is a little hard of hearing…” “Yeah, no shit. You think I wished for a twelve-inch pianist?”
BLANE: I like it, but it’s a little long. Anything shorter?
ORNO: I’m an avid reader. One day, I came home to all of my books on the floor. I have only my shelf to blame.
Blane frowns.
BLANE: That’s pretty poor.
QHOR: Ok, there is this family of travelling bards visiting taverns to make a living. A father, his young wife, and their thirteen year-old daughter. They have this act and entertain. The father takes a shit on the mother’s bare tits and then fucks her while his daughter licks his asshole. And then he fucks his daughter in the ass. The name of the act is The Aristocrats.
BLANE: Yeah, I heard that one before…
ORNO: Ok. A military man went to a whore house…
BLANE: I like where this is going…
ORNO: He walks up to one of the madams and says, “I think I have something you want.” He drops his pants and yells, “Ten hut!” His dick goes up. “At ease.” And his dick goes down. The madam responds, “I have just the girl. Go to the room at the end of the hall.” He walks into that room, where a half-naked woman is lying on the bed. He drops his pants and yells, “Ten hut!” His dick goes up. “At ease.” But it doesn’t go back down. “At ease!” Still doesn’t go down. He goes in the corner and starts jerking off. The prostitute sits up and says, “what the fuck are you doing?” “Giving it a dishonorable discharge ma’am!”
BLANE: Ha! Still a bit long though.
ARAN: What’s the worst thing about being raped by Jack the Ripper?
BLANE: What’s that?
ARAN: Being fingered by Captain Hook!
Blane laughs heartily and they each gain some XP.
BLANE: I like what you got. Who are we adding to the list then?
We’re In!
ARAN: I would like to enter as Ser Aran of House Westbrook.
BLANE: Anyone else?
QHOR: I will enter as Prince Qhortho, son of Khal Zhavorso of the Dothraki, representing King Greydon of Highgarden.
BLANE: Sorry, we have a champion of Highgarden.
QHOR: Ok, how about the Red Lake? … I mean … Golden Grove.
BLANE: Golden Grove? How about you just name a House?
QHOR: House Zhavorso.
BLANE: Ok. Got it. Ser Qhortho of House Zhavorso. So here’s how this works. You will be given a shield and lance. You will keep your normal weapons and armor. You will be in a standard tournament bracket along with the other entrants. Sportsmanship is expected; this is not a fight to the death. You’ll joust first, then if one of you is dismounted, you will enter a melee phase as long as no one has enough points to win. The purpose of the competition is the joust. However, if you enter the melee phase, the purpose is to score points by making contact, not to cause major damage. If you are caught doing anything to break any of these rules, you will be disqualified.
Qhortho and Aran are guided into the arena to prepare. The others follow to help them suit them up.
ORNO: I’d love to stay and watch, but I’m going to spend some time with Hooterz.
QARZ: Do what you gotta do.
Tholannan immediately walks over to the bookie booth and places a large wager on Qhortho. Qhortho does the same on himself.
Not wanting to leave this to chance… or skill…, Tholannan Blesses both Qhortho and Aran. Qhortho will be fighting first, so he prepares and mounts the horse he was given. It’s not Lajak Chaf, but he’ll do.
After a few minutes, one of the three judges stands up from a small table in a separate area of the arena across from the audience.
JUDGE: We want a clean and honorable fight, worthy of the knightly status you hold! To begin the King’s Tournament, we have House Swann of Stonehelm, championed by Ser Mortin being challenged by Ser Qhortho of House Zhavorso!
The two riders line up on either side of a wooden fence.
A young man next to the judge’s table blows a horn connected to a banner featuring golden lion, marking the beginning of the joust.
Qhortho charges at his opponent, lowering his lance as he rides. As they approach, Qarzdaq casts Haste on Qhortho.
After several passes, some making contact, others glancing off each other’s shields, Qhortho unseats Ser Mortin. Qhortho prepares to dismount to enter the melee phase of the contest. Before he does, the announcer judge stands.
Qarzdaq’s hands begin to sweat. Do they know magic was involved to aid him?
JUDGE: Due to the points scored alone, a winner has been declared. Ser Qhortho of House Zhavorso takes this round and proceeds to the next level of the tournament.
Qarzdaq relaxes.
Qhortho makes a big show of his victory, raising his lance vertically in the air and having his horse prance a lap around the arena. He dismounts and walks his horse into the preparation wing of the makeshift arena. Grinning, he tosses his lance to Tholannan and dismounts.
QHOR: Let’s go see how much I won for us.
Tholannan and Qhortho walk to the bookie booth and inquire of their winnings.
BOOKIE: You’ve earned your next spot in the tournament plus 18gp for your victory this round.
QHOR: What about from my bet?
THOL: And mine.
BOOKIE: Here you are.
The bookie hands each of them exactly 1001 gp. What they originally bet plus 1.
QHOR: This can’t be right.
BOOKIE: I assure you it is. It seems the bets were so overwhelmingly in your favor, that any winnings would assuredly be small.
Angered, but somewhat controlled, Qhortho walks away with his coins.
Tholannan collects his coins and shoots the bookie an aggravated look.
The bookie shrugs it off, having experienced much worse in his line of work.
Tholannan and Qhortho arrive in the preparation area just as Aran is mounting up.
Aran has spent most of his time just watching the other knights. He doesn’t know which of them he will be battling, so he keeps eyes on all of them to know whether he should expected them to be better or worse than him.
The announcer judge is heard again.
JUDGE: Again, we want a clean and honorable fight, worthy of knightly status! We have House Tarly of Horn Hill, championed by Ser Jaddon challenged by Ser Aran of House Westbrook!
Aran sees one of the knights mount up and thinks, “So this is Ser Jaddon. This guy looked pretty equal to me. This is not going to be an easy fight.”
Aran rides out and readies himself along the short fence. The horn sounds and they rush towards each other.
Ser Jaddon’s lance smashes into Aran’s chest, dismounting him on the first pass.
Aran gets to his feet, drops his shield, and readies his glaive. Ser Jaddon drops his shield and lance, dismounts, and draws a sword. A few young men run out into the field from the edges of the arena. They grab all the gear lying around and retrieve the horses, keeping the arena clear for the melee phase.
Aran strikes first, and decides the rules are to be followed by those who lose. He puts everything he has into his attacks. The judges don’t notice on any of his strikes, but Ser Jaddon certainly does. Aran sees this as just leveling the field for how much pain he’s been dealt so far.
Ser Jaddon is angered by Aran’s disregard for the knightly rules of engagement and strikes back. The blow glances off Aran’s armor, and Aran immediately ripostes. This time, he does restrain his attack by way of the rules. This seems almost an insult, given Aran’s prior actions.
JUDGE: We have a winner! Ser Aran of House Westbrook takes this round. He will proceed to the next level of the tournament.
Jaddon walks up to Aran, weapon lowered and clearly not posing a threat. He whispers to Aran.
JADDON: Good match, but I know what you did.
ARAN: Yeah. I won.
JADDON: Yeah. You won. The guys up there didn’t see it, but I know. I will remember this “ser.”
ARAN: Well played. Good round.
Aran walks to the preparation area and collects his winnings from the bookie booth. Not realizing the King’s Tourney was an actual tournament until now, he rethinks about how haphazardly he used some of his most taxing maneuvers in that battle. He decides it best to spend his time resting, hoping he has the fortitude to re-use those maneuvers.
JUDGE: Next is House Tully of Riverrun, championed by Ser Briden, challenged by Ser Qhortho of House Zhavorso.
After several passes, with neither falling off their horses, Ser Briden is declared the winner on points.
Qhortho walks away defeated, but is proud to have fought knights of such great ability. He takes solace in the fact that this is not a real battle. Qhortho does not lose real battles. This is a game for fancy men in shiny armor where death is never on the table. Still, he recognizes these men do show great skill.
JUDGE: We now have House Gardener of Highgarden, championed by Ser Maxar, challenged by House Lannister of Casterly Rock, championed by Ser Sterlan.
Ser Maxar is clearly a force to be reckoned with, larger than any other of the knights in the tourney. He takes the win chivalrously for House Gardener.
JUDGE: House Tully of Riverrun, championed by Ser Briden, is now challenged by Ser Aran of House Westbrook.
Luckily, he’s had an hour’s rest because although they wear armor of similar quality, he notices Ser Briden is a little stronger than himself.
Tholannan Blesses Aran as he mounts up, praying to give him an edge in the next battles.
The two men line up, the horn blows. Aran’s well-placed lance knocks Ser Briden from his saddle. Briden takes a hard hit as he falls flat to the ground on his back. He gets to his feet quickly as Aran dismounts and readies his glaive.
Aran pushes the attack and decides to cheat for the quick win. The judges do not notice the full-strength strike, and Aran is declared the winner.
Defeated, Ser Briden looks at Aran knowingly, but does not approach. He simply walks away from the arena. He speaks loudly enough to for those nearby to hear him, “You’re no knight. This coward is no knight.”
The final battle of this round is fought by House Gardener of Highgarden, championed by Ser Maxar, and House Manderly of Dunstonbury, championed by Ser Rylen. Ser Maxar is clearly a force to be reckoned with. He takes the win chivalrously for House Gardener.
JUDGE: We now have only two Houses remaining. House Gardener of Highgarden, championed by Ser Maxar, and Ser Aran of House Westbrook. We close this tournament with all the honor and chivalry shown throughout the day. Jousters, line up and prepare for battle!
The two men ready their positions. The horn blows. They charge at each other.
Aran misses his first strike, but Ser Maxar hits true. Although the breath is knocked out of him for a moment, he maintains his posture. The thought crosses his mind that there is no way he can win this on horseback, on strength grounds alone.
They round the fence and charge again. This time, he decides to cheat by intentionally “falling” off his horse.
Ser Maxar dismounts and approaches Ser Aran. In what seems to be a singular smooth move, he chivalrously strikes with his great sword several times before Aran gets an opportunity to respond. Aran follows up with a mix of chivalrous strikes and slashes at full strength.
Maxar hits again with chivalry, while Aran responds with full damage.
JUDGE: DISQUALIFIED!!
Aran turns to the judge.
ARAN: Disqualified?? For what??
JUDGE: Actions unbecoming of a knight. You are to leave the arena at once! You should be ashamed to call yourself a knight. You do a dishonor to your House and us all.
ARAN: This guy can’t even handle a true battle. This is ridiculous.
Ser Maxar grins at Aran as he storms off. Once in the preparation area, he speaks with the Assembly.
The judge can still be heard in the background.
JUDGE: The winner of this year’s Lannister Faire Knight’s Tournament, by default, is House Gardener of Highgarden, championed by Ser Maxar!
ARAN: This is ridiculous. They want me to pull hits in a fight?
Ornogrim walks in with his caged Hooterz.
ORNO: What’s all the commotion?
We end this session before they leave the arena. It is near sunset on Day 288. Each member of the party has gained 1,130XP in the process, bringing them to 30,430XP total.