A Song of Revenge and Gold: House Malroy Quest | Chapter L

Welcome to A Song of Revenge and Gold: House Malroy Quest. In which you take the reins of a House of storied glorious past since Aegon’s Conquering, but whose fortunes have taken a turn for the worse in the doom that Robert’s Rebellion brought. You are Brynden Malroy, second son to Lord Vamos Malroy and Lady Esemella Hayford and the last living heir to Steadhold and House Malroy. The year is 285AC, two years after the Rebellion and a year after your return to Westeros.

House Malroy is a pre-genned House designed around the idea of a story within the Crownlands of a House fiercely loyal to the Targaryens and their attempts to live in this new world after Robert’s Rebellion. Lord Brynden Malroy is as well pre-genned but will take direction from the players in his ways and how he develops himself further. This Quest will be moderately more story driven than others of its kind, but the development of the House and her lands will take just as much importance.

If you’ve played one of the many Quests within the ASoIaF setting the rules of the SIFRP system should be known. I will be using the Game of Thrones edition, as well as a few of the expansions namely OOSP and a few house rules which will be explained as we come to them. If you have questions about how things work or why certain actions are taken I can explain them as we go along. In truth this is a learning experience for me as well.

Google Documents Mastersheet:

docs.google.com/document/d/1WiZG5xtDqbQKI31IIbqNb4zTmooivb0Ns_J6EatgWgY/edit?usp=sharing
Last Updated:
>7/17 - Lord Brynden Malroy
>7/16 - House Malroy History, Holdings, & Household
>7/10 - House Malroy Stats
>7/3 - Dispositions of Houses & Persons of the Realm

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SIFRPG Resources:

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And now without further ado.

Obella a best.

“Lords and Ladies of the realm! It is my esteemed honor, no privilege to introduce to you your Semi-Finalist!”

You stand amongst three other men in the center of the yard, the herald not to far off from the the four of you whipping the crowd into a frenzy again. The sound reaches its peak and is softly waved down by the man who places a finger upon his lips for quiet.

“Four men of the Realm. Knights, Lords all! Truly we are blessed by divine light this morning, this day so graciously hosted by the Lord Paramount of the Reach, Lord Mace Tyrell!”

Again they cheer and clap, though to no person in general, the rest of the herald’s words being lost in the cacophony. Lord Tyrell hadn’t made an appearance as far as you know. Just various members of House Tyrell had attended in his place, most prominently to you, Ser Olymer Tyrell, his wife Lady Lysa Meadows, and their two young sons. Ser Arlen Hunt was now sat with him in the high box, both of them acknowledging you with nods and waves.

“...introducing first the green bracket! The Lord of Hammerhal, winner of no less than five contest of bow within the last three years, one of which here in this very field. A man of the Reach, a man of prowess, and the favorite to win it all, Lord Robert Cordwayner!”

A surprisingly large ruckus kicks up at the name, you were surprised to have never heard of the man prior, five victories was nothing to scoff at. Lord Cordwayner stands in place, waving a single arm in response, a stoic look worn upon his face. Likely all Reach contests, but the Tourney in King’s Landing a year past was not out of the man’s Reach, perhaps you had been blessed in not having to meet him earlier or at all.

“...and his opponent, a man of Dorne, the Knight of Bloodgrove, sworn to House Martell. The darkhorse of our competition having no titles to his name but has rode into the semi-finals with resounding ease. A contender for heart-throb of the contest, and Lords and Ladies watch your daughters, a bachelor no less. My personal pick to win, Ser Rycas Ordarlic!”

The voices that cry out in response are higher pitched, smallfolk and noblewomen alike crying out in favor of the swarthy dornishman who still wore that dark smile as he twirled about the field raking in their applause. You cast eyes towards the dornish entourage that had gathered to watch, surprisingly few had reacted to his announcement. He pauses for a moment, flashing the two fingered salute had had prior towards the rest of you, pointing his recurve towards you each in turn, the crowd, ‘ooooo,’ing in response.

The herald attempts to gain control of the crowd again as Ser Rycas walks back to your line up, finally coming to an acceptable hum when he began to speak again, “And second, though certainly no less important, the gold bracket! Introducing first, another man of the Reach. A common sight about Highgarden’s Tourneys, whether it be amongst the lists, the melee, or here upon this very field. A man of unquestioned loyalty, esteem, and honor, favored by smallfolk and nobles alike. The swornsword of Lady Alerie Hightower, Ser Corey Graves!”

Perhaps the lightest reaction of the three thus far, though most of it came from the smallfolk that had gathered to watch the contest and the high box. A woman with flowing gold silver hair, tall, slender and handsome stood, clapping her hands lightly, she wore the colors of House Tyrell, but above her stood the coat of arms of House Hightower, a surprising spectator. Ser Corey Graves bows deeply in the direction of the high box, the woman nodding back for him to rise, which he does with a few waves towards the smallfolk crowds.

“And his opponent. A man of the Crownlands, Lord of Steadhold. You’ve all heard the bard’s song, both low and high, ‘The Blackshaft’, now witness the man, the myth, the legend in the flesh! The Valyrian sellsword, or Lord by any other name, himself, winner of the archery contest of King’s Landing not a year past vanquishing the Summer Isler Jalabhar Xho in sudden death! The last amongst our Semi-Finalist, Lord Brynden Malroy!”

Throwing both of your arms up in the air you drink in the applause and cheers, perhaps the same level as Ser Rycas, perhaps a bit better. Your crowd was mostly comprised of women and smallfolk, apparently this song you had managed to be entirely unaware of the past year was rather popular amongst them, you could only imagine it was a rather crass account given the name and the ‘Valyrian sellsword’ reference. Your support amongst the nobleborn is perhaps the best of the four, your friends and allies being rather diverse and garnering you a motley crew of applause from the high box, dornish entourage, and the Reachlords. To your surprise as you pass your eyes about the field you catch upon Lord Mathis Rowan and Lord Randyll Tarly sitting together, clapping and giving you nods of respect that you return gracefully. The herald again attempts to pull the crowd’s attention, an endeavour you allow him after a few minutes more, that low hum coming over the field instead as he speaks.

“Ser Corey Graves, Lord Brynden Malroy, I ask you please to clear the field. Shooting first, at pace of eighty, Ser Rycas Odarlic, please Ser take your place and may the best man win!”

Ser Corey Graves offers you his hand before the two of you leave off, one you take with vigor, “The best my Lord.”

“The same, Ser.”

Breaking off you make to leave, though almost stumble when Ser Rycas Ordarlic’s shoulder buries itself into your own, the crowd chatters as the two of you stare off for a moment, his dark smile hung loosely with the tinge of cockiness you could remember from a mirror. He flicks his wrist, giving you a quick two finger salute and taking an arrow from his quiver before walking off. You allow the look to linger a moment longer before leaving the field and taking a seat in the undercroft with Ser Lucas Longwaters and Ser Quellon Qorgyle.

“Looks like someone isn’t a fan,” Lucas remarks as you sit and call for a cup of water.

“Mustn’t heard the song,” you respond with a slight laugh, “‘The Blackshaft’? Was that your work?”

Lucas puts his hands up innocently, “Swear it wasn’t, never talked to a bard in my life, can’t trust the rats, talk too much.”

You laugh with a shrug, it was an amusing thing, even if it painted you as a man you perhaps were not quite so similar to any longer. You watch Ser Rycas take his first shot, sinking it into the outermost ring. His mannerisms post shot look annoyed as he stalks off point and Lord Robert Cordwayner takes his place, stretching out his longbow to full length and taking his own shot, equaling the score one to one.

You nod off and point at Ser Rycas gaining Quellon’s attention, “Quellon, what’s Ser Rycas’ story?”

Quellon sighs, allowing his head to fall into his hand as he looks to you, “Obella and him have… History. To call you him ‘not a fan’, is putting it lightly, my Lord.”

“History?”

Quellon um’s and ah’s for a moment, vaguely waving his hand for a moment and screwing his face up looking for the proper words, “Uhhh… History of a… Bed related sort, yes?”

“Rycas slept with!” Lucas says suddenly perking up and leaning over his chair, “Oh bloody Hells, that is fucking rich. What’s the story?”

Quellon again stumbles over his words, clearly uncomfortable with the given topic regarding his sister’s sex life, “Ser Rycas was a popular and well connected man at Sunspear’s court. Was being the operative word. Favored by Doran, not so much by Oberyn. Obella was amongst Doran’s more trusted… Ladies, yes? After their encounter and his rejection of her advances, Ser Rycas took it upon himself to cheer her lowered spirits. Drink, dance, the games, the things she loved, he wooed her, and… Seven, forgive me she will be furious I even mentioned this, and bedded her. Not a month later, he began to ignore her, avoiding her entirely, and then took another paramour. Their romance was a popular topic amongst the court, not an uncommon thing in Dorne, but when it came out that he had bedded her and then abandoned her, the Princes were not pleased, to say the least. Oberyn is close with my brother, Doran had a fondness for Obella and her skills…” Quellon pauses trailing off watching Ser Rycas take his second shot. A solid arrow that thumps into the middle ring, putting him up three to one as Lord Cordwayner takes his place on point next.

“Lady Obella tried to sleep with the Prince of Dorne?” Lucas asks hazarding his curiosity around you.

Quellon gives you a look and you a slight nod of your eyes for him to continue, “Yes Ser Lucas. Not her finer moment she will admit, the Prince had the grace to let her down softly, though she still took it poorly, all the same. Errors of youth.”

Lord Cordwayner takes his second shot, a mite too high you’d say as it lands into the outer reaches of the outermost ring putting the score at three to two, Ser Rycas up.

Quellon continues, “Once Oberyn found out, he took it into his own hands to defend his friend’s sister’s honor. Perhaps not the place one would thing to find such things, but it was a rather large affair. Obella had been sent to… A Free City I believe, Volantis perhaps? I cannot say which. During this time, Prince Oberyn challenged Ser Rycas to a duel. His disrespect for a Lady of Dorne, a Lady of Prince Doran’s personal court, being called out. Though rather than face these accusations, Ser Rycas, ran, like a coward.”

Lucas’ jaw drops, and you almost choke on your water, “He ran?” Lucas asks excitedly.

Again Quellon sighs, “Among the court in Sunspear he is now known as ‘Rycas the Runner’. According to the rumors I heard, he took up with the Yronwoods, serving them rather than the Martells, his liegelord. By his appearance here alongside Ser Orton Yronwood, I do not doubt this is the case now. The man is a bloody coward, but his tongue is silver, and truly I have never met a more competitive man, at games of sport at least, Obella was at his mercy.”

Lucas is absolutely livid, laughing so hard you can see tears in his eyes. Your eyes however are upon the field, watching Ser Rycas take his last shot, the arrow leaves his bow perfectly, his form unflinching and the arrow streaking across the field and planting into the innermost ring, giving him three points and a six to two lead. The crowd cheers loudly, the swagger in his step playing to them as he passes Lord Cordwayner who needs a bullseye to win and no chance to tie.

“And his problem with me?” you ask.

“Jealousy more than likely. Obella never told me the truth of it, but supposed he proposed marriage to her early in their affair, a poor match for her, an excellent one for him...

... According to rumor, she laughed in his face, perhaps that was what gave him cause to dismiss her. Whether there is substance to that, I cannot say, still, no reason to abandon her in such a high profile manner and draw the ire of her patrons,” Quellon responds, his voice cutting off as Lord Cordwayner takes his last shot. A beautiful thing itself, knocking into the innermost ring, enough for three points, and putting the score at six to five, but not enough to win.

The herald announces Ser Rycas Ordarlic as the victor and the first man to enter the finals, you watch as he refuses Lord Cordwayner’s handshake, instead bouncing away and flashing his two finger salute again before playing up to the crowd an arm’s length away from them. You hear your name called after Ser Corey Graves to finish out the round of four with the cumulation of the Gold Bracket. Lucas and Quellon both wish you the best as you enter the field to the roaring approval of the crowd that you happily drink in with raised arms.

“Ser Corey Graves, upon points you will be first to shoot at the pace of eighty. The best of luck to both, and may the best man win!”

Ser Graves takes point, the crowd quieting to a murmur again, he draws in a deep breath, stretching his longbow to full length and without half a second of aim or pause drops his first arrow across the field. It sinks just a hair away from the middle and outermost line, upon the latter’s side, awarding him a single point and the lead for now. You can see him audiably tsk as the crowd politely claps for him as he leaves point off for you to take your first shot.

You shake out your arm, hoping for it to hold up at least for another few shots. Benjin would insist upon giving it a second look you knew but not before tomorrow, not before the trial. You stretch out your bow, notch an arrow, sharp breath, easy on the height. Aim. Ready.

Fire.

>Roll 8d6 for Marksmanship (Bows), please.

Rolled 1, 4, 5, 3, 4, 3, 4, 6 = 30 (8d6)

Rolled 4, 2, 2, 5, 1, 3, 1, 2 = 20 (8d6)

Lets let loose.

Rolled 3, 6, 1, 6, 2, 1, 2, 3 = 24 (8d6)

Pretty good.

Rolled 2, 5, 4, 3, 6, 4 = 24 (6d6)

23
16
20

No, no it isn't.

Welp. So plan was to do this update as I had been with the ones in the last thread (e.g. using all three rolls one per shot) and then transitioning to best of three for the last round, so I'm sticking by that. DC was 21. With those rolls, Brynden is only going to manage a single point to bring him even with Ser Corey Graves.

In the sense of fairness and transparency, I will do his rolls next two rolls here. He is rolling with a 5D+1B.

Rolled 5, 1, 3, 3, 3, 1 = 16 (6d6)

That's a 22 for Ser Corey Graves, putting him up 2-1. Last roll.

And that's a 15. Fucking hell these rolls.

So in a very close race, Brynden is going to lose this one.

There is however a Loser's Bracket for third and fourth place, you'll be facing Lord Robert Cordwayner for that one. And it will include a cash prize still.

Well, can't win them all, I suppose.

WE could if others could roll like me. And make ya pissed at another archery contest.

Where were you when the siege camp got raided by Saracens ?

Asleep I'm pretty sure.

Rolled 1, 4, 2, 5, 4, 3, 3, 3 = 25 (8d6)

I had some pretty good rolls too last thread, but by the time I catch up the rolls were in...

can we use anointed for one of those rolls?

I agree I really don't want to miss getting to show up that Dornish prick

Anointed comes with the following benefits:
>Add +2 to the result of all Status tests. You may draw strength from your commitment to the knightly virtues and the strength of your convictions. Once per day, as a Free Action, increase both Combat Defense and Intrigue Defense and all passive ability results by +5 for one round.

So no. If you had a DP lying around you could but you don't. None of your benefits will save you on this.

I don't get it. She wasn't going to marry that guy but wanted to keep the affair going. Guy break up with her as she would do with him later. What gives? Why act offended about that small affair and jump to defend her honor?

I wish you had hold on calling for rolls until a little bit into the thread.

Could ask her about when we get back home.

"Hey hon, met your ex. Pls explain"

Its not suppose to make sense, Quellon only has rumors to work off of. Much of it hearsay. He knows the major points, and is clearly missing out on something if Oberyn was willing to act on her behalf.

Ask Obella if you want to really know what happened.

Would have changed literally nothing. We work with the rolls we're given, you guys have never complained when Brynden was sniping fuckers with three to four degrees of success like it was nothing, can't start now that he had a bad streak. Not how it works.

Yes it does. I mean it's Brynden with a bow.

So we lose in the semi finals, because dad just decides not to give us bo3 and we don't really get a day in it?

Okay, it kind of made sense for the brackets but for finals of any form it seems a bit unfair.

Come on now, we can't win all the time.

Shit without the possibility of failure the goddamn quest would be pretty boring.

*say

Fucking phone

was going to post this.

I know. Wasn't serious about it.

You should've voted for for DP when we had a chance instead of picking Annointed. Can't have your cake and eat it too.

We've literally only won a real archery contest one other time.

And it's fricking brynden innit

Impossible to tell with only text to go off of.

I hate it when people get all smarmy about other people's choices.

DP lost, no need to keep being upset about it.

Like I'm not upset about this archery thing either, it just strikes me as odd that we just suddenly start to job after a dice rule change.

True and I didn't think of that before I posted. Though I'd think some anons would know that about me after about 40ish threads?

>it just strikes me as odd that we just suddenly start to job after a dice rule change.

Go read the last archery contest.

Semi finals against Curtis Flowers.
I did the. Same. Exact. Thing.

This is not a change in rules, I am abiding by the same exact system I used before.

If after 40ish threads you stated similar things but never fully explained that you weren't serious then there are quite a few who wouldn't.

Hey Padre, it's just some people freaking out. It's all good. You are doing great and it makes sense narratively. Here's hoping for third

Well it's been a while, I'm not mad padre.

Sorry for bringing it up then. Bloke can't even say anything without people assuming he's being a whiny cunt.

Veeky Forums's fault innit

>tfw Obella will make fun of us when she finds out we didnt win

>Lord Brynden Malroy Marksmanship (Bows): DC 21
>Target 1: Success, one degree.
>Target 2: Failed.
>Target 3: Failed.

>Ser Corey Graves Marksmanship (Bows): DC 21
>Target 1: Success, one degree.
>Target 2: Success, one degree.
>Target 3: Failed.

You let the arrow loose, it feels good, it feels solid, it feels… Wrong, Seven above it feels wrong. The twinge of pain runs up your arm at just the wrong moment, your shot suffering for it and again going far too high. You grip your arm, gasping in pain hardly watching the arrow as it knocks into the outermost ring, far, far outside of your usual location. You are awarded a point, evening the score one to one. Or so you’re told by the judge who is now hovering over you, his hand on your back, “M’lord, are you able to continue? Should we send for a Maester?”

You flash him a dark look and he backs off immediately as you straighten, shaking out your right arm, “No. I’m fine,” you state simply stalking off point and taking a seat to watch Ser Corey Graves take his second shot. Your eyes remain upon your hand, flexing the fingers and hoping to get the blood circulating in them again. A stringer like this usually didn’t cause you so much pain, you think, it happened before in Essos, nothing a day or two of rest wouldn’t fix. At least it wasn’t your sword arm, blessing in that at least, if you needed to fight without a shield, it could be managed, but Seven above was that pain unbearable at the moment.

Ser Corey Graves goes up another point you realize, watching the scorekeeper place another flag under his name. If you could keep it even at least you’d be fine, just get to that final round. You rise, fingers flexing as you walk to the point, eyes pressed forward and straining to swallow down the pain. You notch, and pull back tenderly, stretching the bow to full length at a much slower pace than per usual, holding it for even less as you aim and ready. Then again it strikes as you loose, the pain shooting up from your wrist to your shoulders, enough to make you grunt, to bring a tear to your eye. And further enough to make the arrow fly far overheard the target, landing in the grass a few paces back. Frustration begins to build as the crowd quiets, entirely unsure of what is happening, you didn’t perform this poorly, ever, your swagger and playing to the crowd gone as you leave the point again, nursing your arm. You cast a glance towards Lucas and Quellon, both wearing looks of concern upon their faces, Arron stands behind his Uncle and you can see him speaking to him before the boy runs off. Likely to fetch Benjin, you feel anger compound with frustration, you were fine, just a damned stinger, you managed more than a few shots with it already.

Your eyes turn to watch Ser Corey Graves take his last shot, one that shudders and wavers as it flies, taking a wide turn and going to the right of the target. Points stay at two to one, Ser Corey up. Eyes focus through the pain that now seemed ever present rather than shooting, you could manage a two pointer, or hell even a single point to even it. All of those restless nights upon Steadhold’s roof weren’t for nothing you told yourself as you stood to take point. The crowd is quiet only going up in cheers when you force a smile and raise your arms a few times to get them up. The smile turns to a grimace as you stretch your bow, taking your time and ignoring the sharp pain rising in your wrist. Inhale. Aim. Ready.

Bullied by our wife? That's harsh.

Fire.

The arrow wobbles upon release, you can feel it was the weakest of the three, the pain subsides in your wrist, not quite getting to its peak, likely due to your bow not being taken to full length. The arrow dips, the crowd murmuring in surprise and discontentment with such a low scoring end to the round of four with your arrow in the dirt a handful of paces before the target.

“Fuckin’. Seven. Above,” you curse under your breath, eyes fixed upon the failed shot. You had lost, not particularly handily, it was still a close fight, but you should have won, with ease, the pace was still off by at least twenty of the one you took in King’s Landing. Your face flattens and you turn on heel, the herald announcing the victor as you leave off.

Ser Corey Graves stops you with a raised hand before you leave the field entirely, extending it, “A hard fought contest my Lord. It was an honor,” he says simply.

“An honor. My congratulations,” you say through strained voice, a mixture of frustration and pain rather evident upon it as you quickly shake his hand and leave off for the undercroft.

You drop into the chair next to Lucas who looks far more concerned than you had ever seen him before, “Benjin’s on his way Brynden.”

“I don’t need him,” he grumble flexing your fingers, “It’s just a stinger. I’ll be over it by tomorrow.”

“Brynden-”

“I’m fine Lucas,” you state firmly interrupting him, allowing a flare of wildfire with sidelong eyes.

He sits back and holds his hands up, “Alright, alright. Not going to stop Benjin, but alright.”

You simmer a moment longer, watching the field before a page comes up and addresses you, “My Lord?”

You wave a hand for him to continue.

“You have been invited to compete in the Loser’s Bracket, to determine third and fourth place. Your opponent will be Lord Robert Cordwayner, the pace will be eighty. Do you wish to compete?”

Compete in the Loser’s Bracket?
>Yay
>Neigh

>>Yay

>Yay

I don't see brynden backing down

>Yay

Lets salvage whats left of our pride.

>Yay
It's nothing! Just bad luck!

>Yay
Cut my pride into pieces
This is my last reroll

Yay

Third place really isn't bad. I'm not going to be mad at it.

>>Neigh
At least let Benjin Look At It when we invariably continue.

>Yay!

Yay it is, can't say I'm surprised. We'll be working with a DC 18 this time, given the pace.

We'll do best of three for this one, since it's Brynden's finals in a sense, Cordwayner will be working with the same thing.

Going to be honest with you, even had you won, Rycas was working with a 7D+2B+1 dice pool. You would have been hard pressed to pull off another win like you did in King's Landing.

And before I hear, that's unfair, consider. All of your EXP spending has entirely been on you guys, voted for and spent to expand Brynden to be more versatile, a better commander, more persuasive. Both of those things have done good by you significantly in fact, losing one archery contest because you decided not to spend all of your EXP in one place is hardly a raw deal.

...

Still dad having this many people with that high of a marksmanship score is a bit unbelievable as it's supposed to be decently rare.

S'all good in the hood padre, we can always increase archery again later if we want anyway.

Rolled 1, 5, 4, 1, 2, 1, 4, 5 = 23 (8d6)

We rolling now or later pops?

Rolled 3, 5, 4, 6, 6, 6 = 30 (6d6)

how much EXP do we have anyway?

Mmmm I'm okay with being third as well, but this is more incentive for me to have us find a way to have the dragon bone bow made. Perhaps a detour during our honey moon? If nothing else I want us to be one of the best bowmen in the setting.

oh yeah that's fine. Sorry if we came across as whiny

Rolled 5, 2, 2, 6, 4, 3, 4, 2 = 28 (8d6)

Benjin be damned, your pride was still upon the line, bit of pain never stopped you before, and the shortened pace would be easier on your arm for certain, you nod sharply, “Yes, I will compete.”

“Very good my Lord,” he says bowing deeply, “The prize will be 400 gold dragons, and you will be competing next.”

You nod and allow him off, sitting back in your chair and downing the cup of water that had been brought to you with your good arm, the other flexing its fingers to get the blood flowing properly.

“Horse chestnuts will do that better,” Quellon says suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“A fistful of horse chestnuts, roll them around in your hand, gets the blood flowing,” he responds, his eyes pressed forward his face dour and untelling, “You’ll want to rest it for the next day or so. If you lose feeling… Well, your Maester won’t be able to do much to help that.”

You quirk an eyebrow at the stoic dornishman as he takes a sip from his cup, “Thank you Quellon,” you say sitting back and allow your frustration to taper off, “Sorry for snapping Lucas.”

Lucas waves it off, his mouth filled with a cup of wine at the moment and you smile. You could manage a third place, not your preferred, not by a long shot, and a mite of simmering anger still lied underneath that you had a bloody joust to blame for it. But... Defeating another Lord with skill not unlike your own would at the very least be a fun challenge. Perhaps you should begin touring and competing more, Lord Cordwayner certainly had the time for it, might lead to less embarrassing situations such as this, you muse.

The herald calls for attention again, the field having been cleared and the point moved to the eighty pace mark. Again he rattles off his long winded introductions, calling first Lord Robert Cordwayner, and second yourself to join him upon the field. Unlike the page, the herald seems less inclined to call this bout by it’s name, the Loser’s Bracket.

“In our second to last competition of the day, Lord Robert Cordwayner shall be shooting first upon points. A pace of eighty is your challenge. The best of luck to both, and may the best man win!”

Lord Cordwayner offers his hand, that you take and are surprised by the vice like grip you receive in return. The man couldn’t be much older than Dontos you think, perhaps mid thirties, a bit past his prime, but all the same a solid hand with a bow. His voice is gruff and he mumbles slightly, causing you to miss his words though you respond with a, “Best of luck,” regardless to at least appear a good sport. He takes point a few moments later, stretching his longbow out to its full length and allowing a moment to aim and loosing suddenly. The arrow flies across the field and knocks into the target just along the line to the innermost ring and the middle ring, though is only awarded the points for the latter, going up by two early in the top half. He looks pleased with the result and leaves off, hardly giving you a look as he sits down and you take point.

You take a few slow breaths, the pain having subsided for the moment long enough for you to feel at least somewhat right when you stretched out your bow with an arrow notched. You pause, allowing the wind to rush you, though there is little to actually do so, the sun positioned just overheard gives you clear line of sight, licks of wildfire flare from your eyes in the midday sun, your mind rests easy with the pain having gone, the slightest of smiles dances upon your lips. Sharp breathe, inhale. Aim. Ready.

Fire.

>Roll 8d6 for Marksmanship (Bows) please.

Rolled 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 2, 3, 1 = 29 (8d6)

Rolled 2, 4, 5, 3, 2, 3, 4, 2 = 25 (8d6)

Rolled 2, 2, 3, 6, 1, 6, 4, 3 = 27 (8d6)

Lets roll

...

Rolled 3, 2, 6, 1, 4, 5, 6, 6 = 33 (8d6)

watch me get a 42

Rolled 2, 6, 4, 3, 4, 2, 2, 5 = 28 (8d6)

I think we found our other fault perhaps Father, Pride.

You have met maybe... Eight people with Marksmanship dice pools equal to or above 5D. Three of them work for you, Titus Sarsfield, Solhas and Curtis Flowers all work with a straight 5D.

Brynden is obviously one.

Jalabhar Xho and Rycas Ordarlic were both designed with dumping all their points and benefits into Marksmanship. The latter had a 6D base and a benefit that allowed him another 1D.

And then Lord Cordwayner and Ser Corey Graves, working with 5D+2B, and 5D+1B respectively. Which is Brynden's level.

You're telling me that out of the thousands, upon thousands of people that are in Westeros and the hundreds you have met and competed against in high profile Archery Contests, that eight people is unrealistic?

Do you want me to give everyone 4D and below and make it easy street for Brynden. Because that doesn't sound like fun to me. Especially not in the Semi-Finals and Finals of contests that are meant to be difficult.

Always can, Brynden dumping more time and EXP into it as a result of losing sounds about right with his character.

25, just updated that. 5 per thread, next thread you'll have enough to get a rank in an ability.

Anyway.

26
21
24

26 on best of three.

Fucking nice, we should dump that to pump up our fighting to 5d6

Nah m8 we're so totally spending that 30 on Marksmanship.

We don't take losing well.

Either fighting or leadership. Man up and prepare to lead our men.

Hey father been following for a while and I must say that Brynden kinda reminds me of Wilhelm from crusader quest. You following that quest?

We've got a trail of seven coming up. An extra die would be very useful in fighting combat.

Considering how often we're negotiating deals with lords or trying to get them onside, I'd go with persuade.

We should prepare for whatever shitty tactics the other side will come up with. We don't want to lose one of our guys, or worse. (having somebody important on the team would be good, like someone the otherside don't want the consequences of hurting.)

Lord Robert Cordwayner Marksmanship (Bows): DC 18
>Target 1: Success, two degrees.

Lord Brynden Malroy Marksmanship (Bows): DC 18
>Target 1: Success, two degrees.

2 to 2, tied.

This time your arm does not falter, the pain does not rise, your eyes remain sharp and focused, rather than clenched in pain and your exhale comes on time rather than early in exhausting pain. The smile that dances upon your lips expands as the arrow streaks across the field, knocking into the target perhaps a hair away from where Lord Cordwayner’s had landed, just upon the line, though slightly above. You too are awarded points for the middle ring, tying the contest at two to two for the moment. Shaking out your arm after the shot you feel better when your fingers are less numb and any residual pain was just a dull afterthought now. Perhaps the strain of the extra ten paces had been enough to make your arm crack, you hadn’t done too poorly at this pace the previous round you recalled.

Leaving off the point you this time play to the crowd, whipping them up into a clamor, not quite the frenzy you were use to, but a clamor would do for now. At the very least they deserved a show, and you would oblige. Lord Cordwayner looks a bit off put by it all, taking point with a hard and heavy look, the crowd hardly cheering for him, rather they seem to heckle and shout. Smallfolk will be smallfolk. Though the Lord of Hammerhal remains unpulsed, taking his time with his shot and loosing with deadly precision. A hair further and you would have split your own arrow you think as it thumps into the target awarding him another two points. Four to two now, you either needed to keep pace, or knock off something better and make him chase on the final shot.

You pass by the gruff Lord along your way to taking point, noting he was a few inches shorter than you, yet his bow was larger by perhaps six or eight than your hunting bow. Ser Arlen Hunt had used a bow you could have sworn was your own height, bloody Reachman and their longbows. Taking your place on point you shake out, rolling your neck and allowing your smile to play again upon lips, the crowd quiets to a murmur as you focus, eyes of wildfire flickering in resounding purpose. Notch, stretch. Sharp inhale. Aim. Ready.

Fire.

>Roll 8d6 for Marksmanship (Bows), please.

Rolled 4, 2, 6, 4, 6, 2, 5, 2 = 31 (8d6)

Rolled 2, 5, 6, 2, 3, 2, 6, 6 = 32 (8d6)

Rolled 2, 3, 1, 2, 1, 5, 6, 1 = 21 (8d6)

Well, well well.

Sleepy pls

Common sleepy, your better than this.

if its still 18 then sleepy still managed to get it.

He got 19, I believe

Brynden has always tended towards that Prideful side. His competitiveness just doesn't show through as often since he surprisingly doesn't compete much. But after the Joust vote and this one, seems pretty obvious that yeah Brynden is Prideful as fuck, but not really in an arrogant way, just a, I WANT TO WIN DAMMIT, way.

Nope, never ever. I've read very few quests outside of the GoT ones.

Anyway:

27
28
19

28 best of. Still not quite enough to get that extra degree.

Brynden wants to be the very best like no one ever was ?

Dad if the challenge was 18 we actually got three degrees.

>Prideful >not really in an arrogant way
So, he wouldn't set some freelancing thugs on a mission to whack Rycas the Runner?

Yeah I just realized that when I mathed it again while writing the update.

i r dum

3 POINTS

TO GRYFFINDOR!

No just overworked and spiteful as hell right now. Especially to us ungrateful shits.