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Post by Gandalf on Jun 22, 2020 17:30:31 GMT -5
Slaver's Bay became an orgy of blood and fire, the dead or dying scorched by the heat of dragonfire. Mormont stood before his charge, the grizzled bear slicing a Yunkishman in two and seeing off another with a mailed fist. Tyrion stumbled forwards as the man behind him was shoved into the frontlines, the Second Sons pushing forward as they gained ground on their foes. Brown Ben Plumm barked a few commands and the largest of them formed a wedge, a spear-tip to smash through the disciplined shield walls of the Ghiscari legions. Horns sounded as the Windblown gained a ridge on the left flank, the Tattered Prince himself driving forward to meet with the Unsullied and the Ironborn that held the gates. The smell of death and faeces was disguised by the charred flesh of the fallen, as Viserion's fire tore vast holes in the enemy lines. Rhaegal appeared periodically, too, but something else had apparently captured his attention and caused him to disappear in the clouds to the north. But even against one young dragon, the Ghiscari were mismatched, and the sun was lowering. A horn sounded for their retreat. The legions began to pull away, organised even in their withdrawal, falling back a few leagues from the city to establish an encampment. With the Queen's forces too exhausted to pursue, Slaver's Bay settled into an uneasy peace - the dead and dying were seen to, the bodies piled up as fleshy funeral pyres. Many were already horrifically charred by dragonflame. The Queen's forces retreated into the city, where the Sons of the Harpy were driven back and order restored for but a brief while.
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Post by pontifex on Jun 22, 2020 17:37:05 GMT -5
Tyrion's throat was coated with sand and dust and he coughed violently. Ash, ash too was floating down ever down. He stumbled towards Mereen, his axe dragging behind him. There would be water and better yet wine there, even though he would be mistaken for nothing more than a stunted sellsword. He looked about for Jorah, for anyone he might recognize.
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Post by AxBrew Sunster on Jun 23, 2020 21:44:15 GMT -5
Victarion had nearly faded from consciousness by the time that the besiegers quit the field, and he continued to cling onto the back of Viserion, losing track of the progress of the fight, or where the dragon carried him. The next morning he awoke, still slumped against the white, scaled form of the dragon that had taken him for a rider. His leg had stopped bleeding freely, but when he drew himself to his feet, it still pulsed with a throbbing pain and it was an effort to support his weight. He dragged himself to what appeared to be a window and found himself looking out over the urban sprawl of Meereen. He seemed to be near the peak of one of the massive pyramids that loomed over the city, and what he had taken first for a window seemed to be an opening that was made with some force. He had to imagine Viserion had not been invited to take up his residence here. Somewhat laboriously, he willed the dragon to remain behind and wait for him, then made his way out of the pyramid. Grey armor worn and battered, one of the tentacles on his kraken helm twisted off, and many rents in the rings of his mail, he cut a less impressive figure than he had striding in to battle, certainly less than he had atop the dragon. However he made his way through the city and through the press of bodies nonetheless.
The Ironborn survivors, given the absence of their captain, had retreated to their ships in the uneasy peace after the retreat of the Ghiscari forces. They had fought alongside the Queen's forces, but had not really made contact with them at any point, so they remained on the ships for the night, with a careful eye on the legions' encampment. Victarion made his way to the ships, to a smattering of cheers when the men realized who was approaching, but much like himself, many of them were too worn and tired to demonstrate any great enthusiasm, though the energy began to build as word spread across the ships. After a gleeful reunion with his crew, in which he was able to muster much of his remaining strength to join them in rejoicing, and sharing tales of his dragon riding, he gathered a number of his captains around him and made his return in the city, ready to make a proper introduction to the queen.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 27, 2020 8:38:10 GMT -5
Those remaining had gathered in the Queen's old palace, waiting for Victarion's arrival; Ser Barristan the Bold, Brown Ben Plumm, the Tattered Prince, and numerous other sellsword captains and figures of import that had newly discovered that the Dragon Queen had not yet returned from wherever she flew with Drogon.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jun 29, 2020 18:08:21 GMT -5
It had taken many days, but one day, colored sails were seen coming over the seas horizon. Commanding his ship, the Bitter Wench, Horyros Isnardo, sailed straight through the Slaver's Bay for the city of Meereen. He pulled out a telescope, aiming to see how the city looked and what was awaiting them. His eyes spied the golden kraken of House Greyjoy and longships at the port.
Hell!
He ordered the sails be lifted and that they prepare for anything. The Ironborn were here and that could mean anything!
Keep our distance! Let them come to us!
Horys bellowed to his crews. They were easily outmatched and there was no knowing what could happen. For now, his fleet of twenty ships kept their distance.
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Post by pontifex on Jun 29, 2020 20:19:57 GMT -5
Tyrion limped towards Mereen, prepared to be captured or to find himself in the shade of some pyramid, sheltered from the sun. Maybe he would even get some wine-based relief though he did not count on it.
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Post by AxBrew Sunster on Jun 30, 2020 19:13:41 GMT -5
Victarion was far from a regal figure as he and his small company wove their way into the city, pushing towards the massive outline of the Great Pyramid. The mighty structure was unmistakable, standing twice the height of any other pyramid, and Victarion had no doubt that it would be where the queen was holding court. He was still somewhat impressive in his savagery though, his battered plate and rent mail caked with blood and the filth of the battlefield. The lobstered metal on his right hand was blackened almost until it matched the color of his exposed left hand from the heat of Viserion's form. His head was still held high though, unburdened by the helm now, which would need repairs before he could wear it again.
At last his party climbed the steps and entered the palace chamber near the top of the pyramid. Some of the Ironborn looked about nervously, but Victarion kept his gaze straight ahead as he strode between pillars and onlookers, hand resting lightly on his axe. "Who speaks for the queen?" he asked, once he had seen that no queen was among them.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 30, 2020 20:55:20 GMT -5
“I do.”
The voice came from a grey-haired knight with a weathered face, but still broad shouldered and powerful. He had led the charge from Meereen’s gates on horseback on the Queen’s own steed, driving the Yunkai catapults from the field. Victarion would recognise the man as Ser Barristan Selmy if they had ever crossed paths during Balon’s first ill-fated rebellion.
“Her Grace is yet to return, Lord Greyjoy. She fled from the city on dragonback after an attempt to murder her was thwarted.”
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Post by AxBrew Sunster on Jun 30, 2020 21:15:20 GMT -5
"Ser Selmy?" Victarion asked with some surprise, "I must confess, I had not expected to see the finest knight in Westeros when I came to the court of the Queen of dragons." He had once been separated from the man by only a few men, aboard the Iron Victory when the white-bearded warrior was still Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard. He had lost that battle, and Selmy had gone on to capture Old Wyk, but he still privately believed he might have had a chance of felling the warrior if they had crossed blades, whatever the other man's reputation. Now was not the time to settle old grudges, however.
As Selmy spoke, Victarion grew quietly frustrated at the thought that he would have to wait longer to see the queen, but he shoved that down too. He was close to his goal as they were, wrath was not likely to bring him any closer. "Would that I had arrived earlier, to be able to intercede on her behalf. My men and I are here to offer ourselves into her service, and myself with another offer, that of a marriage that might bring her a strong hand at her side, and strong men for her cause. But her safety is of more importance than either offer at the moment. What can be done to ensure that?"
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 30, 2020 21:23:46 GMT -5
Selmy nodded grimly, his mouth twisted into a half-smile.
“You will find the Queen’s husband in the dungeons, a traitor that tried to murder her.”
Barristan suspected that Victarion would soon see to that, though, if his intentions to wed Daenerys were true.
“As for our Queen’s safety, the Ghiscari still hold the siege. However with the catapults dealt with and with much of their army put to flight I believe they might pursue the course of peace.”
Or so the Sellswords tell me. Selmy did not consider Brown Ben Plumm or the Tattered Prince to be the best source of counsel.
“The Sons of the Harpy are also still active within the city. We fought them off during the battle, but they still wait in the shadows to strike us down. With the Queen gone, the city is more vulnerable to them than ever.”
Meereen stood on a knife edge, all those there knew it.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jun 30, 2020 21:32:19 GMT -5
After a day of keeping their distance, Horys noticed that the Greyjoys were neither advancing nor responding to the presence of the unaligned sails. Giving it a little more, he would move closer to Meereen around noon time. The pirate orders the white flag be raised, indicating a parley to whoever was in command. He had a job to do and he would not let down his father nor the Lord of the Waters.
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Post by pontifex on Jun 30, 2020 21:43:54 GMT -5
Tyrion dragged his axe into the city and plopped himself down at the base of a pyramid. He had been able to snatch a skin of something. "For the love of the gods, please be wine." He said to nobody in particular. Unfortunately, it was water, but he downed the entirety nonetheless. He recovered his strength soon enough, and he staggered to the largest pyramid. He tugged at his half-helm and tossed it away, though he kept his axe handy just in case. When he came among the first signs of the Queen's Unsullied, he spoke up. "I am Tyrion, son of Tywin of House Lannister. I have traveled far, I would speak with the Queen, or he who speaks for her."
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Post by AxBrew Sunster on Jun 30, 2020 22:17:26 GMT -5
Selmy nodded grimly, his mouth twisted into a half-smile. “You will find the Queen’s husband in the dungeons, a traitor that tried to murder her.” Barristan suspected that Victarion would soon see to that, though, if his intentions to wed Daenerys were true. “As for our Queen’s safety, the Ghiscari still hold the siege. However with the catapults dealt with and with much of their army put to flight I believe they might pursue the course of peace.” Or so the Sellswords tell me. Selmy did not consider Brown Ben Plumm or the Tattered Prince to be the best source of counsel. “The Sons of the Harpy are also still active within the city. We fought them off during the battle, but they still wait in the shadows to strike us down. With the Queen gone, the city is more vulnerable to them than ever.” Meereen stood on a knife edge, all those there knew it. Victarion privately took note of the first comment. The Queen's current husband would not be alive for long once this discussion came to an end. "Good, it would make a good start to send them Ghiscari back from the gate. Is there anyone here you can trust to negotiate peace with them? As for these Harpy's Sons, I'd sooner start killing, but if they hide among the population, we must find some way to force them to show their hands."His gaze darted among the faces in the room, wondering if any gathered formed a part of this reclusive band. He could feel his muscles tightening involuntarily at the thought, his fist clenching upon his axe. After a day of keeping their distance, Horys noticed that the Greyjoys were neither advancing nor responding to the presence of the unaligned sails. Giving it a little more, he would move closer to Meereen around noon time. The pirate orders the white flag be raised, indicating a parley to whoever was in command. He had a job to do and he would not let down his father nor the Lord of the Waters. The Ironborn had thought to wait until their captain's return to deal with the ships, but when the ship began to pull forward with the flag of parley, Ralf the Limper, who had been left with the the fleet, raised their own flag and allowed the ship to close, curious to see who might be approaching.
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Post by oznerol on Jul 1, 2020 9:05:37 GMT -5
Sun raises in the sky, a torch held by unseen eyes, breaking the veil of night with the first lights of dawn. Before it reached its zenit, a cloud of dust covered the horizon and queer noise traveled through the plains, a cacophony of human throats, horns and other instruments, heralding the arrival of a horde. And, then, leathern wings approached the city; the sound of those immense appendages flapping could soon be heard, like a coming storm. Rhaegal and Viserion took flight from their charred nests atop two pyramids and shrieked triumphally, a sound that raised many heads in the crowded streets and in the regal palaces populated by perfumed slavers. And a shadow obscured the sun, once, twice and crossed the city, like a herald of death and mayhem. The shadow flies low, covering the alleys and noble residences alike with darkness and then, like a vulture, it circles the pyramid of the Galare, who, frightful, glanced the winged beast from their gardens and terraced retreats. Galazza Galare, proud and regal in her old age, veiled and wearing the magnificent tokar of her office, stood surrounded by her court in the open. When she saw the dragon she knew she was dead; the Green Grace closed her eyes before two lips far above uttered a single word.
"Dracarys"
A torrent of black and red flames covered the top of the pyramid, the fire burning so hot that the bricks broke and shattered, exploding in a myriad pieces. The palace bursted into an inferno of black flames, exploding and covering everything with sharpnel. With the heat the pyramid cracked open, like an egg, and the walls started to crumble from within as the structure collapsed upon itself, the massive surface melting, glassed away by the incredible heat of the fiery breath, even more powerful than any furnace known to man. The structure crumbled, burning as it fell, the fire consuming everything inside the building. The cloud of dust and smoke covered a whole quarter, concealing the sun itself. And then, with the Green Grace -the Harpy- and her ilk of traitors dead, the deadly shadow flew to the greatest pyramid of them all and landed on top. Rhaegal and Viserion came, circling it, shrieking and roaring to their mother, returned from the East. As she placed a sandalled foot on the terrace the Dothraki started to reach the walls, yelling and blaring their horns, the horsetail standards fluttering above their heads. And a woman, little of height, petite but full of figure, shapely like a statue of old Valyria, amethyst eyes, silver of hair, walked through the garden; she wore baggy silken trousers and a Dothraki vest that left her breasts exposed. The hair was combed in a long braid, where several more bells that it used to are now dangling. The queen had returned to her city at the head of a khalasar and riding the most powerful of her winged sons.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 1, 2020 17:38:27 GMT -5
”I will speak with them myself. I am the Queen’s Hand, so I must carry them Her terms.”
Barristan considered that the slavers would try to double cross and kill him as soon as he left the gates. But that was a risk he would be forced to take. The Imp and Ser Jorah are brought into the impromptu war council by Brown Ben Plumm, both at once recognised by the aged knight’s weathered eyes and grasping his attention.
”I never thought to find you here, Tyrion Lannister. With Ser Jorah, no less, an exile even from this desolate place.”
They were interrupted as one of the Shavepate’s men entered, shouting of the arrival of the Queen and the death of the Green Grace from dragonfire. Daenerys had returned, in fire and blood. Barristan’s brow wrinkled slightly, his face relaxing in relief.
”It seems we have purpose again, Sers.”
The Queen’s Hand announced, as the Queen made her way to the palace.
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