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Post by pontifex on Jun 14, 2020 18:33:37 GMT -5
"Why does Lord Tyrell interfere so?" he asked. "Was Lady Lannister not compliant with the faith's wishes? Why then has Mace Tyrell take n it upon himself to cause death and ruin, absent holy judgment?"
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Post by perry on Jun 14, 2020 18:40:50 GMT -5
“Compliant?” The High Septon questioned. “She sent us on a merry chase after the Tyrell girl, and attempted to keep the witnesses to herself. I of course denied her request, and new evidence came to light.” He crosses his arms. “I do not believe an innocent woman would have kept information from me. As to the matter of Mace, a conflict over the regency, a political matter that does not involve the Faith. The aristocracy and royalty must be made to accept the authority of the Faith in this matter.”
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Post by pontifex on Jun 15, 2020 9:31:59 GMT -5
"I am not defending the Queen, I want to see her tried and sooner rather than later. The whole situation stinks of a strategem to me, a pretense to further delay justice." Luceon replied
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Post by perry on Jun 15, 2020 11:18:17 GMT -5
"Yes, too many are concerned with worldly concerns." He said. "I will seek people that can help end this, if all else fails we will go to demand and end to this nonsense. The trial will happen immediately, it is the will of the Seven."
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jun 23, 2020 15:00:30 GMT -5
Another day, another crowd of desperate Riverlander and Crownlander refugees come to ask the High Septon for his blessing, for food, or to join the ever-growing ranks of his Poor Fellows. With them are proctors from the Quiet Isle, the only brothers who can speak among the silent monks there, and with them an odd sight: a giant of a man, not as massive as the late Mountain or the mysterious Ser Strong of the Kingsguard, but one who stands head and shoulders above everyone else in the crowd nonetheless. He is wrapped in a ragged fur cloak and hood that obscures his face, and even as the refugees surge forward to hail and beg alms from the Faith he stands still, as if unsure of why he has come here.
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Post by perry on Jun 23, 2020 16:55:46 GMT -5
Poor Fellows shepherd the crowd toward various stations, simple wooden platforms where priests hand out bread and clean water. Begging brothers and Poor Fellows clog the streets, dominating the south-western side of the city. Above atop Visenya’ Hill rested the Great Sept of Baelor. A few Warriors’ Sons with their glowing rainbow cloaks stalked the streets, behind a twisted looking old man, with blackened feet and a sharp nose. The cowled figure was blessing beggars. And a crowd was gathering as he went.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jun 23, 2020 17:29:18 GMT -5
One afternoon, the old hag of Ironoak, Lady Waynwood, arrived at King's Landing. It had been a long journey, taking the road south into the war ravaged Riverlands and through the northern parts of the Crownlands. However, coming to King's Landing, she found the city to be completely different. Banners of House Targaryen now replaced that of House Baratheon. Word on the street was that Aegon the Pretender, who had landed in the Stormlands, now ruled over the city. The city had completely changed.
Still, she managed up the steps of the Great Sept, escorted by ten knights who had ridden with her. At the doorway of the Great Sept, she would state her name, her purpose (involving the divorce of Sansa Stark and Tyrion the Imp), and who had sent her. She then awaited for someone to answer.
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jun 23, 2020 18:31:09 GMT -5
Poor Fellows shepherd the crowd toward various stations, simple wooden platforms where priests hand out bread and clean water. Begging brothers and Poor Fellows clog the streets, dominating the south-western side of the city. Above atop Visenya’ Hill rested the Great Sept of Baelor. A few Warriors’ Sons with their glowing rainbow cloaks stalked the streets, behind a twisted looking old man, with blackened feet and a sharp nose. The cowled figure was blessing beggars. And a crowd was gathering as he went. The lead proctor shouted, once he was reasonably certain the High Septon had come close enough to hear. "We bring news, and a most eager recruit, from the Quiet Isle for you!" The man and his brothers struggled to get closer, but not the giant they'd brought with them: he barely even seemed to try to push the people in his way aside, and yet pushed aside they were despite their complaints. He kept his shrouded head down and the raggedy cloak around him, yet the more eagle-eyed of the Warrior's Sons trailing behind the Voice of the Seven could see that beneath said cloak, he was no ordinary pilgrim - there was the glint of mail beneath his white clothes, and what was probably a sword's pommel swinging from his belt.
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Post by perry on Jun 24, 2020 11:36:49 GMT -5
The High Septon turned, his face weathered by sun and wind, and wrinkled by time. “Ah, brothers.” He replied calmly, gesturing for a path to be made for their approach. “What news do you bring?” He questioned, placing a hand on a nearby peasant, and speaking words of prayer for him.
Ser Wells reached for his blade as the crowd approached. “Your holiness they have a killer among them.” He growled, moving to stand between the armed stranger and His Holiness. The High Septon placed a gentle hand on Wells’ armored shoulder. “Your concern for protect me is admirable, and I thank you Ser Wells..” He trailed off. “I doubt our brothers in the Faith have come all this way to kill humble old me?” He questioned eyebrow raised, behind the defensive Ser Wells they could only see part of the Septon’s face.
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jun 24, 2020 17:35:39 GMT -5
The cloaked titan said nothing as he drew closer, though the monks did recognize the unfortunate impression given by his approach and had begun to shout, "Wait!" But he heeded them not, and actually did draw his sword from its scabbard as he finally pushed past the last of the crowd. Those closest to him recoiled, clenched their fists or fumbled for rocks on the ground, no doubt prepared to throw themselves at this man in defense of their high shepherd before the Warrior's Sons could claim that honor, but it proved unnecessary as he instead dove to a knee and presented said sword to the High Septon in his hands.
"It's as they said, aye. They came to give you news." A rough, rasping voice sounded from beneath the hood at last. "And I came to give you my sword in service. Your Holiness." He added the form of address two or three seconds later, as an afterthought. If it wasn't clear already, this was definitely not a man given to formality.
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Post by perry on Jun 24, 2020 18:04:22 GMT -5
Ser Wells and about three dozen peasants seemed prepared to beat the assailant, Fumbling for rocks, loss prices of masonry, and clubs. That was before the giant of a man fell to one knee. Some hesitated and seemed to be prepared to follow through despite that. The High Septon raised an open palm. “Calm yourselves, my children.” He called, somewhere between a bellow and a normal voice, for a small man he had a powerful voice. All but Ser Wells lowered their improvised weapons, the knight hesitated. ”It is good you have come, I hope carrying good words?“ The High Septon said, passing around Ser Wells his eyes and words directed toward the monks, even as he approached the kneeling stranger. Nearby peasants reaching out toward the High Sparrow as he stepped forward placing a calloused hand on the blade. “As for you.. I would gladly accept your service, would you reveal yourself to me, brother?” His beady brown eyes looked down on the man, and from this angle his nose appeared even larger.
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jun 24, 2020 22:40:46 GMT -5
"Good news and bad both, Your Holiness. But none of death, I swear it. Which would you prefer to hear first?" The proctor's lips formed a thin smile.
When the High Sparrow instructed their 'guest' to remove his hood, the same proctor reached out toward the cloaked man and began in a warning tone, "Perhaps you should receive his oath inside the Great Sept - " But it was too late, as the man did as he was commanded without a word and peeled back his hood. The warrior was revealed to have dark and thin hair that fell to his shoulders in a mess, one side of his face gaunt and pulled tightly over the bones beneath...and the other, a burnt and blackened ruin crisscrossed with red cracks, with a plain hole for an ear. This could be none other than Sandor Clegane, the infamous Hound, who had been reported dead twice so far and stands accused of no small number of atrocities between his 'deaths'.
"Your Holiness, I can explain, or better still the Elder Brother can..." The proctor began nervously, hoping against hope that the smallfolk who had been ready to lynch the Hound seconds ago wouldn't be moved to actually go through with it now. Sandor, for his part, grimly looked up to match the High Septon's brown eyes with his own hard grey ones.
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Post by perry on Jun 24, 2020 23:28:22 GMT -5
Those at the forefront of the crowd gasped, other pushed and shoved to try to get a better view. “That’s Joffrey’s Hound!” One of the men in the front cried out. “Murderer!” One shouted from the back. It seemed as if the proctor’s fears would come true, as the crowd surged forward. Ser Wells gripped the blade tightly. “This man is dangerous, your holiness. A mad dog, at your word I will put him down.”
The High Septon looked into Sandor’s eyes, a hard glare that cut through the mutilated man’s soul. “No.. no.” He mumbled, lost in thought. “The brothers from the Quiet Isle have brought Clegane here for a reason, Ser Wells.” The Septon explained, as the knight stowed his blade - though not without reservation, those his helm hid that for the most part. “I will hear their reasoning out.” He turned toward the crowd, his voice rising to the heavens. “I will hear them out! Stay your rage my children! These monks are brothers in the Faith!” The crowds hollering fell from a roar to a dull chatter in mere moments, as the High Septon turned back. Mud brown eyes moving from Clegane, toward the proctor and back again. ”It was brave to reveal yourself to this crowd, Clegane. I have heard tale of your deeds in the Riverlands, from many that have crowded these streets. All the same, I will hear what must be said, from any that wish to speak with me.” He said plainly, his voice having shrunk back to its normal level.
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jun 25, 2020 11:11:36 GMT -5
"Not mine," Clegane rasped as the High Septon stayed the crowd's rage for now. "Saltpans, Maidenpool, the Crossroads Inn...I've committed more than my share of sins, aye, but not one of those were my deeds. Some other rat bastard must've stolen my helm while I was unconscious and dying from a fight with my brother's men. Haven't sworn anything by the gods in a long time, but I'll swear under them that I speak true this time." The situation felt familiar to what he'd faced while in Brotherhood captivity, accused of atrocities committed by others' hands. Only he was quite sure the mob wasn't going to give him a trial by combat, not even against a knight with a fiery sword, if given a chance.
"He's not lying, Holiness." The proctor pleaded. "Clegane could not have possibly committed the atrocities pinned on him. The entire time while some other brigand wearing his helmet was piling misery upon misery onto the Riverlands, we were treating his wounds at the Quiet Isle, under our Elder Brother's watch. He couldn't even walk when the raid on Saltpans occurred, and only became able to run and ride again recently. If you must, summon the Elder Brother here - he will back my words, and Clegane's."
"I came here to start setting things right." Sandor added, a note of resignation to his voice. "Was thinking I could start by pledging my sword to the Faith. If you think there's no way for me to do that except by losing my head, then fine, put me down like any hound that's bitten too many people and have your knight here take it off my shoulders. But by all seven gods, at least kill me for my sins and not someone else's." Getting a chance to face his brother would have been a bonus now, where before it'd have been his only motivation. But should he die here, Sandor had already resolved long ago to chase Gregor through all seven hells regardless.
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Post by perry on Jun 25, 2020 12:24:34 GMT -5
The crowd jostled around, as people pushed for a better view. They were simmering, not listening to the words of Clegane nor those of the proctor. The High Septon however did listen, intently, as his face scrunched up in thought. As Clegane finished his piece, the Septon frowned. There was a long pause as the crowd mumbled their disapproval. "If the brothers of the Quiet Isle attest to your innocence in these crimes.. then I believe them." The crowd gasped in shock, though none would dare question the Voice of the Seven on Earth. He looked at the man's deep scars, inspecting them with his eyes, and inspecting Clegane's heart in the process. "That said, you are still guilty of many other crimes.. by your own admission." He thought another moment, as Warriors' Sons pushed their way around Clegane and the brothers of the Quiet Isle. Standing between the crowd and their would be victims. "I think it fair for you to serve penance for these crimes. To serve the Faith that you once spurned." He announced.
@lm
Lady Waynwood would rise the steps of the Sept. At the top of the steps she would see the High Septon, washing the feet of some poor beggars with a wooden water pail and a horsehair brush. Warriors' Sons stepped forward blocking her guard from approaching further, while the High Septon remained attentive to his simple labors.
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