A Whisper of Darkness

who: Jaehaerys, William, Selester, Tyrith, Aeria, Arrys, Rhaeys,
where: the Dornish Marches
when: Sept 20, just after the attack
rating: PG-13
status: closed. ask to join.


 The smells of blood, death, and burnt flesh wafted on the breeze. The dragons wouldn't need to be fed this night. In his pavilion the king paced across the Myrish carpets, unable to bear being still. In the center of the tent was a low table, where his counselors and the greatest lords of his party were gathered. The Wardens of South and West and North, and the heir to the East. House Martell was represented by his mother, with Jonath Rowan at her back, his sword loose in its scabbard. Only houses Baratheon and Tully were missing from this assemblage of the great houses. Jaehaerys glanced once at his uncle before he spoke.

"There is no mystery as to who attacked us. I saw the Valyrian blade, Dawn. I have fought against Ryan Dayne before, in tourneys. What we need to know is why he did this. And whether he had leave to do so." He looked at his mother. Her face was pale as death, her eyes downcast, and he wondered what she was thinking. Did she expect to leave this tent alive tonight?

Jaehaerys looked around at the nobles gathered before him. "There must be a price paid for the blood spilled today. What do you all wish for it to be?" Let them speak, let them cry out. He would hear them, but he knew that cost was already determined: blood much pay for blood. There would be no treaties this time.

Who: EVERYONE who is south with the king
Where: Dornish marches, west of the Boneway
When: Sept 20
Rating: R
Status: OPEN

Ryan Dayne's horce pawed the turf ferociously, as if sensing his master's impatience. Around him were a full two-score more mounted knights, witha meager baggage train guarded by foot-soldiers of House Dayne behind. Perhaps somewhat oddly, the boy picked to carry the colors bore two pennants upon his lance.

First, of course, flew the sun-and-spear of House Martell, his liege-lord and master. But under the sun-and-spear flew the sigil of the Daynes, a sword and a falling star on a field of lavender. Both pennants were flown proud and high, and the small collection of Dornish cavalry chomped at the bit.

"Damn him." swore Ryan, second child and eldest male, the family greatsword Dawn at his side. "I was told he would be here. Today is the day, now is the time." he grumbled to his squire, a boy filled with long-suffering resignation to his position. "These pigs, these Florents, Baratheons, Targaryens, they'd all conspired together. ALL OF THEM. And now Princess Elia is dead. Prince Myrwin gravely wounded. Aeria held prisoner. These INSULTS to Dorne WILL NOT BE BORNE!" he bellowed, invoking a lusty cheer in the men who waited behind him.

"Today, we will send a message to ALL the Houses. That Dorne stands Unbowed! Unbent! Unbroken! And we will NOT BE DENIED!" he screamed, waving his family's ancestral greatsword in the air to rally his men. "Let us RIDE! Follow me, my brothers, and we shall send these marcher pigs a bloody lesson!" he said, sheathing his sword and putting his spurs to his horse to leap into a gallop, heading north out of the marcher mountain passes down to the fertile valleys below.