Post by Magnate Lucius on Jun 15, 2020 12:20:17 GMT -5
{Making sure this is seen)
A raven wings its way into the Storm's end rookery from the Southwest. The missive attached to its leg is brief, sealed with a circle of green wax, upon which a smaller red daub has been dropped, before the form of a striding huntsman was struck down. The missive is short, and other than the seal, is unsigned.
We remember our oaths
=============================
Harry Strickland was sitting nearby, cutting an apple with a knife in his hand. He was listening in on the meeting between the beauteous Dornish lady and his employer. Slicing off a piece, the male chews on the apple slice with his weathered teeth. Sweet as could be. A good old Westerosi apple that was sweet and delightful. Essosi food was always too complex and high in spices for his stomach.
The lady has a point, Your Grace
Harry points his knife at Arianne.
You go too fast, you lose the game faster. The Stormlands is our fortress and we need to ensure its one we can fall back upon.
Harry pauses to pick at his teeth before spitting out a bit of an apple peel. Damned things were bad on the gums.
You have ten thousand men of the Golden Company and five thousand of these Reachmen. Your personal army needs to be bigger, Your Grace. Get those Stormlords to prove more men! They sure as hell are likely sitting their fat arses on plenty of potential soldiers. Stormlands have provided for the Targaryens many times over after all.
We remember our oaths
=============================
Harry Strickland was sitting nearby, cutting an apple with a knife in his hand. He was listening in on the meeting between the beauteous Dornish lady and his employer. Slicing off a piece, the male chews on the apple slice with his weathered teeth. Sweet as could be. A good old Westerosi apple that was sweet and delightful. Essosi food was always too complex and high in spices for his stomach.
The lady has a point, Your Grace
Harry points his knife at Arianne.
You go too fast, you lose the game faster. The Stormlands is our fortress and we need to ensure its one we can fall back upon.
Harry pauses to pick at his teeth before spitting out a bit of an apple peel. Damned things were bad on the gums.
You have ten thousand men of the Golden Company and five thousand of these Reachmen. Your personal army needs to be bigger, Your Grace. Get those Stormlords to prove more men! They sure as hell are likely sitting their fat arses on plenty of potential soldiers. Stormlands have provided for the Targaryens many times over after all.