The year is 286 AC. King Jaehaerys II has just passed, leaving the throne without a rightful ruler. While his three children fight for the crown, Winter creeps closer, and unimaginable darkness looms.
Not all alliances will be so typical this time. In fact, many people have a crucial effect on the way this story is told. As for the ending, we only hope there are enough people left alive to tell it after its passed.
Events
Join us for our first event, the wake of recently deceased King Jaehaerys II.
Updates
AUG. 19: So we are now officially open to the public. We have a mini-event flashback thread going on, and our main event just began. Feel free to make a second canon if you can keep both of them active enough.
Don't hesitate in pestering staff with questions; it's what we're here for! Let's raise a glass and make a cheer toward a successful launch of Winds of Winter.
Like a guttural beast, the crowd roared and jeered for each and every bout. Men were bloodied and unhinged from their seats, casts into the sands and forced to wallow in their own shame. Women buckled and swooned as various knights either earned glory for their houses or were maimed for their insolence. And the children; the children reveled in spectacles that they didn’t fully understand. Only with age came the knowledge that splintered wood lodged into the flesh typically led to more than simple agony.
It was glorious and extravagant, but also something that the purse of House Tully could ill afford. Not that Hans allowed for such matters to concern him.
Despite the tournament being in the name of his House, the behemoth garbed himself in simple cottons and intermingled with the commoners as knights jousted some dozen meters away. His disposition with the rivermen would come as a surprise to few who attended however, for it was far from the first time he had conducted himself in such a manner. Rarely could his red mane be seen loitering over the common man rather than mixed amongst them, even if his frame prevented him from blending in fully.
The tournament was more for the rivermen than it was for Hans the Kind. He understood their hardships better than most nobles, having experienced a handful of them alongside the commoners in his early years. He also understood both the profit and joy the rivermen could expect to accompany such a tournament, and on some level he understood the dividends that this would pay to his own house. And with those potential dividends in mind, his broad chest released a mirthful laugh as the next knights prepared for their joust.
Post by Cassandra Stark on Jun 21, 2015 17:03:12 GMT
how cold have i become?
It burns for a moment but then it numbs you, takes you and leaves you just caught in the gray.
Cassandra had never been this far south before, and she had been quite excited when a raven had been sent inviting House Stark to a tourney being organized by House Tully. It would give her a chance to broaden her horizons beyond the safety of Winterfell and to see what southroners were like. Curiosity and excitement had burned through her during their entire journey. The days on horseback had not bothered her in the least, since she loved the chance of riding for hours upon her mare the color of virgin snow. Now she was attending the events of the joust with many other vassal houses or other attendees of the great houses of Westeros. For now she was seated with her family watching the events with a slightly more sober outlook than before.
She had watched her brothers in the practice yard back in Winterfell learning how to fight, and the rules of jousting as well. Seeing it in a much more elaborate setting allowed her to see how gruesome and dangerous it could be. There was still that thrum of excitement through the crowd whenever a rider would unseat their opponent to make it into the next round. Victorious knights would ride in victory to the cheers of the crowd. Some would ask for the favor of their wives or intendeds, but her own favor remained resolutely tied around her wrist. Cassandra could only see herself giving it to one of her brothers if they asked it of her. She clapped and cheered with the rest as the newest match ended with another knight being toppled into the sand from his horse.
How stifling it the weather felt this far down from Winterfell! Cassandra was not sure how she liked the new dress that had been commissioned for her just for this tourney. The silks of the south felt lovely, but it also felt like she was wearing nothing at all. It was colored a pale grey to show the colors of her house and she wore a silver direwolf pin along the collar as well. For now she was happy to escape the stands that had been erected and explore more of the grounds.
Post by Euron Baratheon on Jun 21, 2015 20:06:12 GMT
"palms are sweaty, knees are weak, arms are heavy, mom's spaghetti,"
His palms were sweaty, as though his grip on the reins could slip at any time. For a moment, the sounds of the cheering maidens and boisterous men was drowned out, the only thing that Euron could hear clearly was the loud pounding of his own heartbeat. He was twenty four now, more than a man grown and already a regular name in the lists yet there was always that feeling of anticipation he got every time before he competed.
He was already out on the field, lance in hand and his new armor for all to see. Regaining his composure, he thumped his chest once to the roar of the crowd. There were men betting on him today no doubt. And there were men who were probably praying that Euron would get his backside handed to him. All smiles, Euron urged his horse forward to where Lord Tully was, the host of today's festivities. He had dispersed in with the commoners but even then, he stood out.
Euron dipped his head respectfully as he floated by before taking his appropriate place in the joust. He took a good look at his opponent before shutting his visor, and he gripped his lance tightly. Before the joust would officially began, Euron's squire came paddling over to check his liege knight's armor just one last time. After all, you could never be too safe.
Post by Tybalt Lannister on Jun 21, 2015 20:23:03 GMT
Tybalt’s horse came to an easy canter as he lowered his lance, passing it on to a loaned squire and raising the visor on his lion’s-head helm. His armour was as resplendent as anyone would have expected a Lannister knight’s armour to be. Its style clearly marked him as a Lannister with its red leather and lion motif, yet in place of black iron and gold accents were plates of steel finely enamelled with silver so bright he appeared to be wearing a mirror in place of a breastplate.
Tybalt’s armour caught the sun as he unseated himself from his horse and removed his helm and shield, cutting the light and casting a faint glow of many colours about his person as he gave the crowd one last gallant bow before retreating in to the shadow of his tent. He had won this tilt and it would be a while until his next one. For now Tybalt had a chance to relax.
The nameless squire his host, The Lord Tully, had gifted to him for the event rushed over to ease off the straps and remove Tybalt’s armour but the knight waved him off quickly and wordlessly. He felt naked at a tourney without his armour and even more naked still without a Lady’s favour about his arm. He set his sword at his hip for formality and exited the tent once more, for this moment as a spectator rather than a combatant.
“It is a fine day for a tourney, My Lord!” Hans Tully was not a man easily missed. Few men were as tall as Tybalt himself and the lord’s frame was perhaps the widest he had ever seen on a man. Even then, the shock of red hair about his head and face would have been more than enough to give him away. Tybalt extended a hand and a smile to the lord as the knights prepared for the next tilt, hoping to pay his respects for the event.
“I am Tybalt Lannister, My Lord. It must be said: it is a high honour to perform at such a grand event!” The introduction may have been unnecessary, considering Tybalt had just been on the field not a moment earlier, but it was a formality and it was one that should have been observed. Whether or not the Lord would appreciate the interruption, however, remained to be seen. Tybalt, ever the optimist, simply kept his charming and rugged smile held in place until there was reason for it to drop.
Post by Alexander Hawke on Jun 21, 2015 22:42:15 GMT
TAKE THE WHEEL
He had heard of tourneys before, all the way in Braavos even. They were grand events and were said to emphasize the best of Westerosi culture. Needless to say, they weren't exaggerations. All the highborn women dressed in silks. All the highborn men dressed in silks and some even wore armor as well. People fought each other in valiant combat. But Alex was still Braavosi, and there were still some parts of Westerosi culture that completely eluded him. So anyone who jousted would likely, over the roaring din of the crowd, hear a Braavosi accent screaming "KILL THE HORSE!"
When the combatants did not kill the other's horse, and it cost someone the win, Alex would throw his hands up in disbelief. After a while, it just got to be too much to watch and Alex stormed away, absolutely disgusted at the inability to forge an advantage. Maybe there would be something else later that he could get into. But right now, he just couldn't watch the jousting any longer. Besides, what was he even going to miss? Just people falling off horses in incredible embarrassment. Plus he doubted the jousters would even notice a Braavosi gone.
Where did that girl go? Cassandra had ditched him almost the moment they arrived. It doesn't matter I suppose. He was still wondering what it was about this that would make her run off. Maybe if he found her he would find something to entertain him. But for now, he just needed to find something to do. And that was the story of how a Braavosi Water Dancer wound up aimlessly wandering the tourney grounds. He'd find something though. He had to, or he might literally die of boredom.
Bard once again raised the invitation, read it over and glanced up at the organized chaos before him. Being not noble or knight, he had secured his position into the grounds by pickpocket. He had decided to memorize the name on the ticket before it dawned on him that he should probably not go around introducing himself as such a person. No need to be shoveled into the arena with the knights. He was not such a person, and he knew that he could easily pass for exactly what he was. He lowered the invitation and released it to the ground before he stepped into the crowd. It did seem that there was a simple organization about the place - knights over here, spectators over there, musicians right here. He was right here.
A one-shoulder shrug sent the lute case from his right shoulder to his fingerless-gloved, calloused hands. A few streaks of dirt had cemented themselves on the burgundy leather tunic that Bartheod was dressed in. Unlike a proper minstrel, he was not dressed as a clown or in fine silks ordered by a wealthy lord. He shifted himself as the slow crawl of nervousness fell through his spine and found the nerve to tickle his toes. It brought his glance to his cheap hide shoes, which would be worn after this occasion, but could be replaced.
He knew he didn't exactly fit in, but that was him being a critic in the now. After all, what actually separated these people than currency? Titles, privilege? These Bartheod could not change in the now. He, however, could probably find it in himself to change his clothes in the future. Acting the part would eventually make him the player.
He watched the musician begin to come to a close in his piece. It was a simple song of love and romance; a song that fit the theme of the rather carefree tournament hosted by House Tully. Maybe there was honor at stake, maybe there was love to be given a chance but Bard had neither honor or love to risk at this venture. Instead, he would settle for a few pieces of coin and maybe, if he had a chance, the opportunity to play for even a more prestigious audience. First, though, he would need to impress these masses. And he was selecting just the ballad to do so.
cold fell upon the city of riverrun as a small host of dark horses tread down the long winding and forest filled road. the riders were clad in layers of silver armor and leather, save for the riders in front, who wore attires that distinguished them as individuals of highborn statuss. when they arrived at the gates, jon's eyes met with those of the riverrun city watch guards, who were nestled in cloaks and armor as well. the guards instantly bowed to the lords and ladies of house stark as a sign of greeting despite their dread in doing so,
when the drawbridge lowered and the iron gates lifted, the small host trotted into the courtyard. the nobles of riverrun should have expected their arrival, but it seemed as if the city was just beginning to wake considering they were not there to meet the host. jon took in a deep breath through his nostrils, taking in the various musky scents that wafted around the humid air whilst his ears would hear the various beating hooves around him, the celebrations was soon going to be starting and jon could not help but wonder as to why he had agreed to come.
he wondered if his northern brethren was feeling the same way but then again there was nothing like a day of hedonism and a good cause for the old pup to feel alive. a brief smile flickered across his shaven mouth at the thought, once again blessing the tully's for such an occasion. in a short amount of time, the area seemed to fit to bursting with the numerous lords and ladies in attendance, as well as their individual entourages. eyes sought for the various banners flying around as he would take note of the baratheon and lannister banners as well as various other lesser lordly houses from the riverlands.
jon had several memories of witnessing such gathering as he had celebrated some of his eighteen naming days down south. it was exciting, the boisterous toasts and exquisite platters of food. knights in armor, some impressive while the other being pitiful in quality. and the assortment of fashion - by the gods old and new, the fashion! - the court would be abuzz for many a moon cycle over the gowns worn that day; the way southerners chose to dress always seemed to surprise him. "the court has all gathered, spoke ben, voice gruff and almost bashful. jon let a moment or two pass before responding to him despite the fact he was feeding into the squire's eagerness to escape from all the publicity. "has my lord father shown his face to the court, yet?" Looking to his squire, he would be responded to with a curt nod.
his facial expression would dull with boredom as jon would be forced into exchanging pleasantries with the various lords and ladies about. soon enough his attention would be caught by none other than the recognizable figurine of his younger sister, taking note of the attire the girl had on, jon could not help but lightly chuckle in amusement, southern fashion. rising his eyebrow in slight curiosity, he would attempt at looking towards his siblings eyes, "what have these southern fools done with my sister."
Post by Wisteria Tyrell on Jun 22, 2015 9:19:21 GMT
The bellowing noise from both common folk and nobles alike resonated like wild, animals roaring for all to hear. It was as if the air from their very lungs was pushed from their hearts into the skies to tell the gods those of the mortal realm today, where many have congregated to view the spectacles, the people were alive. Wisteria looked forward to the tourney hosted graciously by House Tully. Social gatherings greatly appealed to her.
A raven was sent to House Tyrell inviting the family to join the large social gathering, which the young woman was more than eager to attend. It would give her a chance to socialize to admire people from distant lands far different from the comforts of her home in Highgarden. She joined her family during the journey to the Riverlands straight to Riverrun.
Upon arrival, she was greeted with the overwhelming numbers among the masses that also accepted the invitation sent to them. Banners flew up from various positions of nobility ranging from both the great ones to the lesser houses and their sigils in the form every animal known to man. How often an opportunity was presented to her in meeting others of distant soils? Not at all. Color her interested when she saw many faces to which she couldn’t exactly pin names to faces but could take wild guesses on which houses they belonged to. But as she took a gander at two members from a curious house who certain came from far away lands.
Dark locks the color of chilled earth, the recognizable Direwolf symbol of the rulers of the north. The younger of the two, the dark-haired maiden, appeared around her age. Wisteria decided to chance it and engage in conversation. “A merry day it is for a vivacious event,” was her greeting, “As well as behold the members of Houses far distant of these lands. Especially from Winterfell. How do you do~? I am Wisteria Tyrell.”
Post by Cassandra Stark on Jun 22, 2015 14:46:51 GMT
how cold have i become?
It burns for a moment but then it numbs you, takes you and leaves you just caught in the gray.
Cassandra had not run into anyone familiar, but that was not truly a surprise. The only people she knew were her family and the retinue of guards that they had brought with them over the journey. It was not often that House Stark left the comforts of Winterfell to venture south. In a way it felt like they were completely detached from the south except for when the royal family needed to call them forth if a war were to start. A tourney like this was a grand way to bring many of the houses together to socialize and bring a sense of unity. At least, she wanted to believe that there would be a sense of unity between everyone gathered here. She was thinking far too much about this when she should be relishing her time spent away from home!
Nothing truly stuck her fancy, so she decided to make her way back towards the stands. No doubt the next round would begin soon enough for the joust. She had recognized the standards of Baratheon and Lannister, but she was sure the sons of the other houses would take part as well. Perhaps one of her brothers would wish to enter and test his luck? Cassandra soon caught sight of her eldest brother as he made eye contact with her. His previously bored expression seemed to lighten when he caught sight of her and the dress she was wearing. Her lips curled into a bright smile as she hurried towards Jon with obvious excitement.
A small huff of mock annoyance escaped her at his teasing question. “You must thank our lady mother for my new attire. She said that I must look the part of a noblewoman, especially in the presence of the other houses. At least I enjoy wearing dresses, since she has a much harder time with Mysha.” Cassandra giggled as she easily linked her arm through her brother’s before turning when an unfamiliar girl greeted them. The girl appeared to be close to her age as she introduced herself as Wysteria Tyrell. House Tyrell were the Wardens of the South and ruled from their seat at Highgarden.
“A pleasure you meet you, Wisteria. I am Cassandra of House Stark, and this is my eldest brother Jon. Is this your first tourney as well? I imagine Highgarden must host a few of their own,” she greeted with a charming smile. At least she was able to switch between her tomboyish self into a noble lady when circumstances required it of her!
People, both common and noble, continued to filter into Riverrun like moths to a flame. The continuous motion of moving bodies was reminiscent to the unending tide of the sea, and could cause the same nausea for those unacquainted with it. Hans reveled in the hustle and bustle however. Rarely did one see such activity even in his massive home, and yet today he found his massive gaze watering over more figures than he could care to count.
It was fucking splendid. And he was pleased with both himself and the turnout. He jabbed a hardy elbow into a nearby commoner, ever-so-playfully, as an expression of pure joy construed his features.
The expression altered little when a lone knight strolled toward his perch among the commonfolk. Hans focused his glee on the newcomer and offered a nod in return despite not knowing who the male was. Adorned in armor and helm, it was often difficult to discern one knight from the next unless one knew tem particularly. A voice in the mind of the behemoth screamed with enthusiasm however and Hans could only wonder why he felt a sense of familiarity about the newest combatant.
“Tybalt Lannister,” uttered a hushed voice.
“No, no. I know a Lanni-” The cool baritone drifted off into silence as another knight strode gallantly toward Hans and understanding wafted over him. The toothy grin that adorned his face merely widened with the connection. There was a plethora of great houses that had made an appearance that Hans truthfully wasn’t expecting to see. Yet another testament to the success of the tournament. Taking the hand that was pleasantly offered, he would allow for his hulking extremity to envelop that of the Lannister as he attempted to use his strength to pull the male close, not thinking as to how such action could be hostile. “The highest of honors were paid when you grace Riverrun with the presence of a Lion.”
“Bard! COME COME!” boomed Hans as he waved over toward a newly-arrived musician. “Sing to us as we watch this joust!” And with that, Hans would return his gaze toward the upcoming joust is so permitted.
Post by JAEHAERA TARGARYEN on Jun 22, 2015 19:30:30 GMT
She wasn't sitting very far from her father, although she stood far enough to sneak away easily if she so wanted. Selyse was not fun at parties, that much was clear. She should've been happy, she should've been supportive of her father, but it felt wrong to see all these people gathered in one place and she almost stood from her seat, almost ran away, back to her room, where she'd hide under the covers of her bed and read stories of far away places.
She sketched no smile as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. There was a small moment where Selyse simply turned her head to look at her father, Lord Tully, and she almost hoped he'd tell her to go back to her chambers, but those were the wishes of a simpleminded child, of a coward, and Selyse Tully was no coward.
Her attention returned to the lion in front of them, golden like most Lannisters were, and Selyse almost wished he'd start killing things already just so they wouldn't have to hear the bard singing. It reminded her of her sweet fairy tales, the knights in shining armors and the damsels in distress that eagerly awaited her return as they all sat neatly on the pages of the book she had set down on her desk. No, the bard would only make her want to leave, she knew he would, but the redhead kept her gaze on Tybalt Lannister, as if begging him to spill some blood, preferably the bard's blood.
Post by Tybalt Lannister on Jun 22, 2015 20:16:42 GMT
[attr="class","foreign"]
[attr="class","dust"]
[attr="class","gold"]Selyse, Hans
[attr="class","gold"]335
[attr="class","gold"]--
ulla
[attr="class","sun"]Hear Me Roar
Tybalt responded with a hearty laugh of his own as the Lord Tully eagerly gripped his hand and pulled the young knight in towards him. The Lannister firstborn was not about to refuse the good-willed gesture of the Tourney’s host. Tybalt ventured as comfortably as to use his hand to clap the older man on the back in a gesture that would have suggested a greeting between old friends, despite this only being their first meeting.
”Come now, My Lord. I would never miss a good tourney!” His words were almost drowned out as Hans released his grip and his voice roared like wildfire past his ear and over the bard behind them. His was a presence that Tybalt could get used to, he thought. ”I can plainly see that no expense was spared; you are a man with taste.”
As much as he would have enjoyed standing next to this lord all afternoon and continue to swap compliments until they were both blue in the face, Tybalt had to concede that they were all here to watch the jousting and it would have been a waste of a journey if he was to turn up and not spectate.
He stood beside the lord as he turned to watch the next tilt but Tybalt couldn’t help but notice another shock of red hair glimmer from barely a few feet away. It was a young girl, clearly just in the blossoming of her womanhood. Judging by only her hair and her clothing it was a decent guess that she was the Lord’s daughter. With her sitting right there, well it would have been awfully poor form not to introduce himself.
”Forgive my rudeness, My Lady. I had not noticed you.” Tybalt bowed and though his face was still plastered by his charming smile, the tone of his voice had lowered to a more respectful level. ”It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I trust you are enjoying the day’s events?”
Post by Selvyra Lannister on Jun 22, 2015 21:25:49 GMT
As things were, there was also a certain female Lannister in attendance, her red and gold dress placed within a silent contest amongst those radiant. For this day, she had chosen to exude class and manners, her movements all silky and fluid. Gone was the bow and keen-eyed gaze she wore at court, today she was truly happy. Since her Lord father had seen fit to take her along, she had done her duty of observing the masses and people of import. For some time, her gaze followed her brother around. He was always so thrilled to join these events it was a pleasure to watch him. She even noticed Euron during joust. But for the most part, Selvyra’s gaze was not solely meant for the noble men on horses.
She was also taking in everything else.
Being here was a unique opportunity for her. She could meet any sort of people, from any sort of place, and her gaze was trained on that which carried a sword or looked exotic. And, in one particularly close case – someone with a funnily pleasing accent that she remembered very clearly. It amused Selvyra quite greatly that he insisted someone kill a horse. As far as Selvyra knew, that was not the way of clean and honorable jousting. Should anyone actually be fool enough to take on the suggestion, they would surely be regarded poorly. But the woman’s gaze turned to the source of the commotion all the same, her pleasant smile ever-present, like poisoned honey on the dagger in the kitchen.
When the stranger eventually threw a fit and walked away, she recognized her opportunity. At a leisurely pace after slipping from her seating, the youngest of the Casterly Rock Lannisters sauntered after the Bravoosi man, taking full advantage of the chaos around to mask that she was gone at all. She could have wandered off in search of refreshment, and this would be her first excuse should she be sought out and found. Eventually she would step quite firmly right into his path, coming to watch him from beyond the border of a paper fan with slightly smiling eyes. Rastan, her ever-watchful main guard had followed her and kept an eye on her from a medium distance.
“Do you always shout about your strategies so openly?” She inquired, then lowered the fan so that the proud lion of her house was fully visible, embroidered on the chest of her dress. “I thought Bravoosi were all about wisdom and subtlety.”
Post by Dalton Greyjoy on Jun 22, 2015 23:15:25 GMT
Darn bard, who did he think he was? Stupid Greenlanders and their lovesongs, oh how she wished to just shut him up with his own instrument. But no, that would be murder. To her, it would have been revenge since he was assassinating her ears but alas, stupid soft laws. Always taking the side of the victim if it was male. That was the most infuriating part, the hypocrisy of him singing of love when his own lord held nothing of it. Annoyed, Sarra simply tried to get as far away as possible from that bard without getting in sight of that stupid husband. He was likely drunk already. He was worse when he was drunk.
From somewhere, she heard him shout something about a Lannister and calling for the bard. Good, those two could yell into another’s ears till they fell off. The lady Tully – she still hated that moniker but had made some measure of peace with it- strode away from him and instead towards the other source of noise, the newcomers. Closing in she could see the banners of the North. Well, at least Starks were a minor improvement compared to that man. Scratch that, they were a major improvement. Stinking wolves were still better than beached whale-trouts.
Oh, yes, there was the whole part of being a lady, she should not forget that. Calling upon years of experience, she banished that random frown from her face but tried to replace it with a smile. Fortunately that man was smart enough to not diminish that one. “Ah, I was not mistaken. You must be the delegation of House Stark. For it appears that my dear husband the Lord of Riverrun is currently preoccupied, it falls to me to welcome you to this tourney. Sarra Tully, at your service,” or whatever. Stupid phrases were as stupid as they were necessary.
Post by Alexander Hawke on Jun 22, 2015 23:35:04 GMT
Oh, he had company.
Oh, he had fetching company.
"Just so." A fleeting smirk passed his lips. She was highborn no doubt. Gold spun hair with green eyes and expensive silk. Of course, Braavosi were allowed to have fun. They weren't all silent warriors who would disembowel themselves upon defeat. No, from what Alexander had heard during his time in Braavos, that seemed to be Yi Ti. Someday, he figured, he would go to Yi Ti and he would see the truth for himself. Maybe even meet the God Emperor themself, though if what he had heard was true, the hundred princes controlled all the real power.
But he answered simply. "Our wisdom however, is taught through the generations." Plus really, what did it matter to him anyway? "Furthermore, I am not in the ah, lists, you call them. So shouting brings me no danger." The whole tourney thing was such a foreign concept. He was sure he would adapt in time, but for now he would just be confused and foreign and it really wouldn't hurt to figure out what to do. "If you wish to unhorse a man, you bring down the horse."
Clasping his hands behind his back, he decided he would hold his ground and perhaps go for a walk if she desired it. Maybe she would be someone enjoyable to pass the day with. But there was still the matter of ascertaining her identity. His eyes flitted to the lion but it didn't really click entirely for him just yet. Besides, it was always nice to ask who the person they were dealing with was. "Still, who is this lovely lady, who would much rather spend her time with a dance instructor rather than a knight?" Plus it was just good manners all over.
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The bellowing noise from both common folk and nobles alike resonated like wild, animals roaring for all to hear. It was as if the air from their very lungs was pushed from their hearts into the skies to tell the gods those of the mortal realm today, where many have congregated to view the spectacles, the people were alive. Wisteria looked forward to the tourney hosted graciously by House Tully. Social gatherings greatly appealed to her.
Darn bard, who did he think he was? Stupid Greenlanders and their lovesongs, oh how she wished to just shut him up with his own instrument. But no, that would be murder. To her, it would have been revenge since he was assassinating her ears but alas, stupid soft laws. Always taking the side of the victim if it was male. That was the most infuriating part, the hypocrisy of him singing of love when his own lord held nothing of it. Annoyed, Sarra simply tried to get as far away as possible from that bard without getting in sight of that stupid husband. He was likely drunk already. He was worse when he was drunk.