|
Post by The Forgotten God on Jul 15, 2015 12:35:57 GMT -5
Smallest of the five, but south of the keep, east of the Dornish.
|
|
|
Post by The Forgotten God on Jul 19, 2015 13:26:49 GMT -5
The nobility of the Ironborn begin arriving, those who choose to attend, anyway.
|
|
|
Post by Marlow on Jul 19, 2015 14:10:07 GMT -5
Harwyn Goodbrother, now head of House Goodbrother, arrives. His tent is far from representing nobility, a dull affair with a pair of guards in front.
|
|
|
Post by The Forgotten God on Jul 19, 2015 15:07:42 GMT -5
As his tent is set up, Harwyn notes he is gratefully as far from the Starks' camp as he can get. The place is a rocking party, though; alehouses and the like opening by the dozen and fights near as regular.
|
|
|
Post by Marlow on Jul 19, 2015 15:11:44 GMT -5
Harwyn sits in his tent for roughly five seconds before grabbing one of his men and leaving, heading for the nearest alehouse. "Let's get settled in."
|
|
|
Post by The Forgotten God on Jul 19, 2015 15:15:17 GMT -5
They enter the maze of bars around, a fur covered tent with seating for thirty or so. The population is entirely men of war and women seeking one. The ale is a bit pricey but strong and smells delicious. A bonny lass comes up to him. "What will you fine warriors be havin'?" she asks in a thick accented voice.
|
|
|
Post by Marlow on Jul 19, 2015 15:29:59 GMT -5
"Your best ale, for everyone in here." Finding the nearest seating, Harwyn looks for any of the men clearly well into their cups. If a fight was brewing, he wanted in.
|
|
|
Post by The Forgotten God on Jul 19, 2015 15:33:02 GMT -5
Harwyn gets smoked on the charge but everyone raises a glass to him. A few people are drunk, but it is still early and everyone is still in the happy stage of the party. If he wants a fight he'll need to piss someone off.
|
|
|
Post by Marlow on Jul 19, 2015 16:57:45 GMT -5
Harwyn is keen to wait and enjoy his own drinks for a while, letting the party play out on it's own. It was likely a fight would spring up on it's own soon enough.
|
|
|
Post by The Forgotten God on Jul 19, 2015 17:04:19 GMT -5
As he drinks, his wish may be granted. A giant man walks in, a few people with him. He bellows for a pint of whiskey and a gallon of ale. Harwyn hears the name Andre Hill mentioned.
|
|
|
Post by Marlow on Jul 19, 2015 17:18:45 GMT -5
Harwyn grins at the new entrance and his company, elbowing his crewman. "That one looks like a tough fight. Go get the others, we might have ourselves a brawl."
|
|
|
Post by The Forgotten God on Jul 19, 2015 17:20:38 GMT -5
The crewman hustles on off for the brawl prep.
|
|
|
Post by Marlow on Jul 19, 2015 17:25:46 GMT -5
Standing after draining the last of his ale, Harwyn approaches the one presumably named Andre. "Now you're a large man. Where'd they grow you?"
|
|
|
Post by The Forgotten God on Jul 19, 2015 17:26:51 GMT -5
Andre looks to him. "I was fed reaver blood thrice a day," he said.
|
|
|
Post by Marlow on Jul 19, 2015 17:44:44 GMT -5
"An interesting choice. I hear northmen has a more pleasant tang, but that Reach blood can't be beat."
|
|