(121-02-10) Lord Pansy Wears Big Boy Pants
Lord Pansy Wears Big Boy Pants
Summary: Lord Garvin Tyrell sits uncomfortably in the Hightower chair, as Lord Riderch proposes a trade deal.
Date: Date of play (10/02/2014)
Related: none


The Hightower

The great tower is all of white stone, ancient and beautiful. This lowest tier is quite wide and grand enough for any palace. There are two stories of this widest and lowest one. The tower has a narrower tier above, and a circular balcony-garden on the roof-space left unoccupied.

On this level are the grand halls for dining and dancing and the massive entry hall with its palatial arched ceilings. There are also smaller meeting halls for the Hightowers and their advisors, a library, and parlours, some with hunting trophies, others with looms and comforts for needlework. Hidden behind unobtrusive doors in the dining hall are the kitchens.

There are wide gracious staircases here in the lower parts of the tower, and on one side, ramps that allow wagon-loads of firewood for the beacon to be hauled up.

Garvin sits upon the chair high upon the dais, looking more than a little uncomfortable. Hanging across his upper chest is the symbol of the Lordship of Hightower. The Collar of the High Tower is an accessory worn secured with white ribbons tied in bows on the shoulders. Made of pure silver, the collar is composed of silver knots alternating with enameled medallions showing a white tower topped by a red beacon fire. Suspended from the center of the collar is a three-dimensional figure of the Hightower. It's made of silver, with tiny windows enameled along its length, and the fire atop is a carved ruby. Throughout the great hall, guards in the colors of Tyrell have been posted among the Hightower guards. A herald stands at the foot of the dais, taking down the names of those who have some matter to lay before the acting Voice of Oldtown.

Court today is witnessed by varying personalities assembled in the grand hall, some of them noble, some of them not. Some of them have grievances, some of them business, some of them neither; Keyte is one of the latter. Dressed to impress, her gown is cutting edge. Nobody will be snickering about her lack of fashion sense. She is elbowing her way through the growing number of people in attendance, trying not to make too much of a fuss as she aims for a better vantage point to judge from. "Excuse me, pardon me," coming through!

The herald steps up onto the lowest riser of the dais, clears his throat, then shouts, "Lord Riderch Blackwood of House Blackwood! Step forward and be heard by the Voice of Oldtown!" Garvin shifts on the chair, right hand fiddling nervously with the heavy collar hanging across his upper chest.

Having just arrived through one of the stairways, Brynden looks around for a few moments, turning to watch the crowds present in the room now. His expression is rather passive at the moment, as he watches the various people that has come here. Gaze falling on Garvin for a few moments, he offers a quiet nod to the man, should he see it.

There is a small group of men, four of them at that, in black-and-red coats which could be described as 'finery,' although by the standards of the Reach probably a little bit rough. One of the men, a wiry fellow, bears a large, bound set of scrolls affixed with a seal that he has tucked under his arm. The name 'Riderch' elicits a slight rise in his chin before bounding towards the dais. He looks firmly at the Herald first and then Lord Garvin as he approaches. "Lord Garvin Tyrell." There is a stiff, deep bow as he speaks. "I am honored to be received."

Garvin leans forward in the chair, squinting a little, his brows drawn together in concentration. "Blackwood…Tully banners, yes? From the Riverlands." He looks to the herald for confirmation, and the herald says just loudly enough to be heard by those closeby, "Of Raventree Hall, m'lord." Garvin nods and sits back again, turning to Riderch with a smile. "You are well met, Lord Blackwood," he offers with a bow from the neck. "You're far from home, even farther than I am. What brings you to Oldtown?"

One of the lords so elbowed by Keyte disagrees, shuffling into the lady. There's a bit of silent commotion in the ranks as the disturbance causes a ripple effect, a symphony of murmurs and the shifting of feet across the floor. The lady of Tyrell ducks behind a taller, more wide-skirted noblewoman to avoid detection.

Far away indeed. This earns a nod from the Riverland Lord, who cracks a faint smile that is nothing short of mirthful. "Well, I'd call it 'blessed to see more of the Seven Kingdoms, my Lord." He pauses a beat as he gestures towards one of his men, the smaller one, who gestures towards one of the Hall's servants with a nod. "I have to confess that it may sound — trivial, but Weavers. In short." The odd pause that hangs in the air now clearly sounds as though it would invite laughter.

"Raventree Hall is seeing better times than it has in generations. In our prosperity, some of our people have developed an appetite for trade. We have negotiated a certain agreement with our neighbors in the Westerlands, but we have found that the best wines and several other manner of goods come from the Reach. This is all a long winded way of describing what we seek — trade. We have brought a sample of something our craftsmen do particularly well, if you would entertain a gift."

Brynden turns to look at the Blackwood Lord, studying the man a bit thoughtfully as he listens now. Nodding a bit as he hears the words about trade. He turns to glance over towardw where that commotion with Keyte is, as he hears the sounds, then looking back to the business at hand.

The commotion draws Garvin's attention, but instead of his cousin, he spies Brynden, offering the man a small nod. He turns back to Riderch as the man begins to speak, and he looks more and more uncomfortable and nervous. "Trade?" he says, glancing toward the herald, whose remains expressionless. "Gifts? Yes, of course, I would…that is, -we- would be only too happy to receive gifts from our friends in the Riverlands." He gives an uneasy smile, gesturing to the herald, who steps forward expectantly.

Nothing to see here! Only once the commotion dies down does Keyte step back out from behind her unwitting camouflage to resume her gawping. She asides to the nearest lordling, "I know that guy."

Offering up the bundled scroll, Riderch begins, "The proposed details and specifics are presented here - please note that we are amenable to counteroffers that benefit both parties." There's that mirthful smile again as he turns back and gestures — a box that was left with the servants of this place and no doubt inspected is gestured for. "This is some of the finest work of our weavers with an assortment of dyes to choose from. While I'm sure the dyes can be gotten in a lot of places, our wool is something that we've — let's just say it's resilient, as our people are."

The box, if produced, will contain an assortment of finely woven cloaks, the sort of which are finely woven but sturdily made. Doubtless they're 'showpiece' quality, but you always put your best foot foward. Also produced are various handicrafts, and an assortment of local brews, which are probably a bit rough for the local palate. Still, someone always has a use for booze.

The herald takes the scroll, offering Riderch a small bow, and steps back. Garvin leans forward again, peering into the box, his eyes lighting. "Wool, I like wool," he says with a smile. "Especially lambswool, it's so much softer than other sorts." He sits back again and nods to Riderch. "On behalf of Oldtown, I offer my thanks to Raventree Hall. The council will no doubt wish to meet with you and your men about all the details, but I feel safe in saying that I'm sure an equitable agreement can be made. Trade between Oldtown and the Riverlands would be a good thing for both lands." His eyes quickly dart around to see if anyone appears to object.

Brynden nods as he listens at the moment, smiling very briefly at the mention of trade. He then turns to look out into the crowd, as if looking for someone in particular there.

The lordling subject to Keyte's commentary frowns, a bit peevy about her lack of noble prefixes for Lord That Guy. The lady wrinkles her nose and shuts her mouth, providing no objection to the courtly proceedings.

"Much appreciated. It befits serious warriors who wish to look good, I am told." There's another bow on Riderch's behalf as the goodies are promptly dispensed and his hands are now empty. "Of course, not limited to them." The man glances back over his shoulder towards some of the gathered nobles in the court, this is probably some halfway-decent attempt to sell a product, but it's clear that the man isn't exactly a merchant. It's all right, really, he has another job.

"We ask no further imposition on your time, my Lord?" Cue request for dismissal.

Garvin chews at his lower lip for a moment, eyes still scanning all the lords and ladies, most of whom are still unfamiliar to him. Some seem to be nodding approvingly to one another, and no one is voicing any objection, so Garvin relaxes again and looks to Riderch with a smile. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Lord Blackwood." He nods again, and the herald (who has handed off the scroll

The next person on the list is not Keyte. The lady, having had her fill of judging other people's bad fashion choices and interrupting onlookers with her intrusive (but hush-spoken) commentary, starts her retreat toward the back of the room, intent on escaping before the crowd.
Long distance to Keyte: Garvin grins! Keyte is just so cool.

The black-clad Riverlander mainly disappears with his small, makeshift entourage, exhaling a breath as soon as he's out of earshot from the dais, "Well, /that/ was more agreeable than I'd planned."

Brynden doesnt have anything to add either, it would seem. He's remaining where he is at the moment, just observing.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License