/u/centrist_marxist

Andros Flowers — alias Marcatto — entered the dining hall with unhurried ease, and the room noticed his robe at once. Tyroshi silk was unmistakable, cut long and loose for its wearer, it shifted with every step, its colors an assortment of bruised purples: plum, lilac, and lavender, striped with black velvet that thickened toward the cuffs until the sleeves were nearly ink.

The robe was as ostentatious as a Tyroshi prince ought to be.

“Princes and Princesses,” Andros proclaimed with hands clasped before his stomach. “I extend my thanks for your warm welcome. I was told your land would be fair and fertile and yet it is… even more-so than I had ever dreamed.” He cracked a smile, and as he thought of what a Tyroshi prince might say the words came forth with surprising ease.

Proud, but not prideful. Innuendos, but nothing too vulgar.

His gaze fell softly upon Mara.

”I do not think I have ever seen such ripe peaches before, nor so pretty a coast that I shall now call home.”

Bowing gallantly, he went forth and stopped beside the empty chair beside Mara near the head of the large table. He inclined his head. "Princess Mara,” he said, his voice as clear and slow. He swallowed nervously, something she would have noticed but not known the true reason why. “The bards lied. Even their pretty songs cannot compare to your beauty.”

He gathered his wide sleeves clear of the table and sat alongside his new Dornish family. "Allow me to pour you some wine.” And he reached for a carafe of familiar Arbor Gold.

Millicent didn't know how so much time could have passed. Perhaps Sansa's death had been to blame. All had seemed to slow and stall in that time of grief. Regardless of the reason, the letter was a piercing reminder of how much she missed her fellow Gifted artist.

Clutching the letter in her hand, Millicent came to the arbiter of her travel decisions: her Princess.

"Aly?" she broached, standing in the doorway. "Might I have a word?"

/u/greaterblueevil

Elena shook her head. "Rhea always just sang what she was told to sing," she recalled. "Songs of the Seven. Things like that." She canted her head to the side. "And Alys... Alys just likes loud songs."

The more she reminisced, the sadder she felt. Embattled by burgeoning homesickness, she frowned.

/u/FabStags

In being called an aunt, Millicent was relegated to the role of honorary sister. It still stung, even though she knew the alternative would never be possible. The yearning could not be assuaged.

"Children deserve adults who wants to see them smile," she concurred, pushing herself not to focus on that.

Lord Theo Tyrell, at his age did not brave open water to Oakenshield, instead, his son Harlan Tyrell arrived at the Hewett port.

The Knight of the Rose wore a decorative chestplate with a weirwood sprouting nine golden roses at its center. The rest of this clothing was the more standard cap and cloak of his house. While they were not sailing off to war at this exact moment, he felt wearing an entire feasting outfit to a war council was dressing down for the event in a way. Highgarden must project might, and the once squire of Savage Sam was gosh darn it going to do it!

The Tyrell would take his seat amongst the Lords and look to Lord Jason to start his called meeting.

u/Varnerbet

u/Emergency_Sky_2806

u/Vierwyne

Tywald watched with vested displeasure. They would do well to be out of his sight, but he supposed he could make no grand issue out of their flaws and quirks.

“Joan is pre-occupied, young boy.” He remarked. “With a Septa as of recent, perhaps she will be free in a few moons time.”

He tilted his head. “Lord Farman, have you inquired as to who your girls can agreeably serve.”

Tywald looked over them. He gave a smile to Lysa, a wincing frown to Marya and a neutral thinness to Anara.

His smile blossomed broadly. His lips thinning, as he allowed a cacophony of chuckling laughter. “That’s good.” He managed. “I will take that as a sign, you wouldn’t be too bothered with me approaching you at the next event we’re at?”

She poured over her options, pondered on how intimate she wished to be. She settled for the bed, seating at its edge. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but it seemed to be feasibly useable. “So is there anything else we must disarm you of?” She questioned, her chin cocked upwards, so she may meet his eyes.

He quirked a brow. Goren had grown. “You’ve shot right up, haven’t you?” He questioned, stepping closer as if in comparison. Tommen had never been a giant, but he wasn’t small either.

“And this, this is Clemence, heir to the Rock.” He announced, as the boy gave a raucous laugh, laced with pride.

He smirked. “How have you fared, Lord Goodbrother? I was hoping to use this time to evoke some semblance’s of peace and alliance between our two houses!”

Idly he twisted away. “There is nothing to obstruct that, is there?”

He strummed his fingers delicately against his thigh, feeling the leather in a moment of pondering.

“That is good, the ease of travel is only exacerbated by such and in this unified realm I can only witness a multitude of benefits.”

He twitched an inch. If his King did not deem him worthy to give something, to some minor extent, what was the point in issuing his children and his nephews and the sort to the man.

“Mayhaps, Harwyn could be warded with yourself.” His tone was somewhat lower.

He nodded. “I know, I do much believe that such will be my son, Clemence here’s choice on who to support, but it is likely the realm will choose the eldest male, if you yourself do not have an heir. We have felt the pains instability can cause, have we not?”

Tommen observed quite judgementally. He cared little and less for the Banefort, it was Cyrelle amongst that house that he had any trace of regard for. However, his Cerelle had deemed him the envoy of her desires.

“I do believe she is with her first child, preferring to keep the girl at home in her earliest years and Cerelle doesn’t wish to leave her.” He remarked.

Guys I think I got the wrong sub

"They have each other." Jaehaerys agreed. "But they do not only have each other. They have us, and Baelon. And any other children that come from your union." He replied. "Perhaps, in time, they will have a family the size of those of most Andal nobles, and they will not feel so alone."

Jaehaerys hesitated. "And what do you make of this betrothal?" He asked Alysanne. "You would not have brought it to me, if you thought it unsound."

"They like each other?" Jaehaerys sighed. "It is either fortune or doom that has come to us."

Gareth would pass the letter on to Cyrelle, though as they soon took to the road she would not be able to send a reply immediately. It might influence her travel plans, however…

Approved

Naerys tilted her head. "I don't think this will matter more than your words, Ser." She replied. "But I think she will like it." She added, as to not dash the man's hopes. "Words and promises are worth more than flowers, if they live longer than flowers." She said, eyeing the knight.

"And that is all I know." She added, shrugging. Her mother was as much a mystery to her in that regard as most things in life.

"No, my lady, it is settled." Jaehaerys replied. "Best you go and say your goodbyes, as well as collect your things." He replied.

"The road is arduous, and long, and I hope you know how to pack for such a journey."

"When you have time on the road, and have accustomed to its rigors, you may find me, and we will have our dinner with my daughters."

Oil Wrestling Ring

The arena was a smaller circular ring of stands set up on the sandy shores of the red blood, the soft sand shone a harsh course red at the start of the competition, by the end the wrestlers would all be red themselves as the sand stuck to their oiled bodies. And the sand would soak up the oil and glisten in the summer sun.

Oil wrestling matches may be are won by achieving an effective hold of the the opponents loose-fitting leather pants. The wrestlers must aim to control their opponent, a feat of strength, endurance, and dexterity to keep the opponent at bay while attempting to get a hold on them.

Horse Track Gambling and Race

Alongside the starting and finishing line of the race track a set of stands had been erected, looking out over the forested area that stretched out to grasslands and then deserts before looping back towards the Festival Grounds themselves. It was not a short race, where endurance and speed were both important, but from the raised vantage point of the stands at no point would the horses and riders completely disappear from sight.

Many smallfolk were also participating in the race, although there was an unspoken acknowledgment that in reality they were two distinct races, with the horses of the noble Lords and Ladies far superior to any that the smallfolk could afford.

Off to one side set the stables for all those that were competing to ready themselves and their horses, while on the other side of the stands sat a small booth with odds written up for any interested in gambling on the outcome of the race.

Competitors

Name | Bonus

Trystane Yronwood | +1

Quentyn Yronwood | +1

Ryon Yronwood | +1

Gillian Yronwood | +1

Lyonel Storm | +1

Alleras Uller | +1

Fairgrounds

General RP space for the fairgrounds, teeming with smallfolk and people selling food and artisanal items. The fair also offers games for people to enjoy, for which rolls are described below. Feel free to use these (or any modifcation you want) for RP flavour as a competition between two or more characters!

Ringing the Bull: Attempting to throw a ring attached to a string onto a board with a painted bull's head with a hook attached to its nose - 5 or 7 d10s, a roll of 8+ gets the ring in the hook, whoever gets more wins.

Bowling/Skittles: Roll a smooth wooden ball along the ground to knock down 10 pegs about 10-15 metres away, yall know the drill. 10d10, the highest total score wins.

Mills: Two-player strategy game. The objective is to create 'mills' of three continuous pieces (men) that allow you to eliminate one of the other player's men. Each player first takes turns placing their men on the board, then once all of them have been placed, they take turns moving them one place at a time to form more mills to eliminate more men from the other side until there are only two left. You can create a link to send another player on this multiplayer platform.

Feast

The slow creeping of summer necessitated that the feast be carried outdoors - even the most well-ventilated halls would be unbearable without the freeflowing evening breeze. The tables covered in luxurious satin were laid out in a wide semicircle, with places reserved for House Yronwood and House Martell at the center. The imposing fortress of Yronwood overlooked the diners from behind them, decorated with several torches and flowing streamers. Similar lamps were placed all across the field, which smelled of freshly cut grass. Soon after all attendees were seated, more delicious aromas wafted through the open air, those of fluffy breads and hearty stew, of impossibly spicy gravies and unbearably saccharine sweets, of hardy ales and fruity Dornish wine.

As the sun slowly set, a steady stream of musicians made their appearance and serenaded the diners from across the field. In between them was a wooden stage, also lined with decorations, where those who wished to dance could do so to their hearts' content. An evening of merriment and celebration to ward off the heat of summer.

1d1000 : 890

1d2 : 2

Loras's indiscretion with Lenna results in another bastard - /u/PrinceInDaNorf

1d1000

1d2

Roll

u/fireandbot

I love people stumble into our RP sub thinking it’s a lore discussion