(121-02-21) The Grinning Ser and the One-Eyed Knight
The Grinning Ser and the One-Eyed Knight
Summary: Riderch meets with his bastard brother, Jorah and the two discuss some things.
Date: Date of play (21/02/2014)
Related: None

It is a summer day. The weather is warm and drizzling.

This is the common room of the Quill and Tankard, that famous Oldtown Inn that has never closed in five hundred years. The building is a noble old half-timber structure with plastered stone between the enormous old black beams. It sits on a small rock of an island at the edge of the Honeywine River, and is accessed by a little footbridge, or by water-taxi.

Rivermen and seamen, smiths and singers, priests and princes, Lords and sellswords, travelers both noble and small, and the novices and acolytes of the Citadel - all come for a taste of the fearsomely strong apple cider that makes this inn so beloved by Oldtown's people. There is a pleasant buzz of chatter, cups and tankards being filled and refilled, and general laughter.

The fire in the hearth allows for a merry glow and a comfortable warmth from Oldtown's breezy, misty cobblestone streets. Benches and tables offer places to sit, and there is a deliciously toothsome smell in the air of food from the back.

!!! Currently at least two City Watchmen are stationed here at all times. They will be quick to arrest those who offer violence to anyone. !!!

It's a late afternoon in Oldtown, and the summer weather is predictably balmy today as the sun hangs heavy in the sky. As poor as the air circulation in an establishment like the Quill and Tankard might seem, it's noticably cooler inside without the full presence of the sun's rays.. Those from climates that aren't as pleasantly warm as the Reach might find relief in a place like this, and one such person is a man in red and black, his coat indicating finery but not exactly opulence.

And here Riderch sits, comfortably sprawled in front of a table with an empty forgotten tankard and a couple unrolled, boring looking scrolls detailing things such as shipping manifests, value assignations, that sort of thing. The bug-eyed look the man gives the scroll indicates that he's struggling to pay attention.

Through the moderately crowded tables moves Iris, her mien a little strained from carrying several mugs of the strong apple cider the place is known for. Her long black hair is worn in a ponytail at the back of her head, her brownish commoner dress tightly bound to make a comely display of her curves, the chemise she wears underneath - slipped over her left shoulder, still there is this clean scent about her, reminiscent of flowers that does not quite fit in the picture. The barmaid glimpses the table with Riderch, his empty tankard especially, and with a confident smirk she moves over, evading one slightly drunk older novice on her way. "D'you want another one?", she enquires, smiling at the Blackwood as she sets one filled tankard somewhere between all those scrolls, managing not to crinkle any of them or stain them with cider - and obviously not waiting for his reply. The empty one is grabbed to be returned, washed and refilled later at some point, while Iris cannot help but let her blue eyes drift over the scrolls on the table in open curiosity.

The door opens, bringing with it some new air and the cling of the summer heat. There's the hint of rain in the air-something that someone can easily taste, with the swinging of the door. With it being not as full in here, at the moment, it gives a man a better view of what he is faced with. And for some men a better view is needed. Dressed in drab and grey, there's no finery about the knight that stalks in, armed with saddlebag, and a thick roll of leather. Likely his possessions what can be carried on his person-and blade withstanding.

Keen blue eye surveys the room, before the mass of man and sweat that is Jorah finds something he is looking for-or rather someone. The soft chink and clink of mail and spurs follows his steps, before with a soft enough crash bags are deposited to the side of Riderch's table. A scrape of chair before with a grub the knight sprawls down. "I'll answer for him." His accent holds the Riverlander's lilt, sure as shit enough. "He'll have two." And there a tilt of his head. "An I'll drink one of em.." A glance is given to Iris then before he is looking back and squinting that lone eye at Riderch. "Blackwood man?"

"Twenty-two bushels." The words are mouthed first, and then repeated, as he flips the scroll over. "Twenty-two. What in the name of any Hell can you think of are they going to do w —" Riderch starts, his eyes suddenly darting upwards and he stiffens a little in his seat, maybe looking slightly startled? They affix on Iris almost immediately as he registers the barmaid's presence and immediately a small smirk finds its way to his mouth, discovering that the woman is in fact not some kind of master killer but here to bring more booze. Well, one would assume and/or hope. He starts to slide some coin over at Iris as he's for some reason the 'pay as you go' type. "Here." He begins —

Before he can answer though, the armored man arrives on the scene and pretty much does what he said he did — answer for him. Riderch's brows knit as he looks from barmaid to the one-eyed man and squints, as if hesitating over something. "Yes." He begins, finally. "Wait a minute —" this is one of those times he doesn't finish a sentence.

Iris straightens and shifts a little, her deep blue eyes blinking as she turns her gaze to study the new arrival. Her curiosity still written over her face she will nod and smile, not seeming bothered at all by the one-eyed man to do the talking for the both of them. They are lucky she has still got one spare filled tankard in her hand. It is set down before the stranger. "There you go, ser." The coin from Ryderch is accepted with a swift and unobtrusive gesture. Pay as you go seems to be the way, things are handled here after all. One brow being raised, as the coin will only pay one tankard but not two. "Ser?" The serving girl's gaze drifts once again towards Jorah, in a friendly but determined tone.

Jorah continues the stare off with Riderch. His eye darting back and forth over the other man's face in a rather curious and erratic manner. "There's more to man than you..Or in you, rather." the r's rolled about, before he is reaching for the spare tankard. There's a flick of eye to Iris and his free hand holds up one finger before raising the second. and then both are lowered from the rude gesture. "You'll get your coin, let me wet m' throat." And there he reaches down to his belt sifting about before a jingle of coins is registered. "Don't know if I will want more than one." A sniff there. "yet." Apparently the knight does not know of current paying policies of the Quill and Tankard.

With attention back to Riderch there's a squinting of eye once more. "I know, I know you…I can't place th' name."

Grudgingly, with the abashed manner that one gets when he's caught beiing cheap (whether accidentally or deliberately cheap is still up for debate), Riderch's hand suddenly drops to the coin pouch at his belt and fumbles at it. "Mmm. Oh, right! Here. And a little something for hauling all the way over here to ask." He flashes his teeth towards Iris in a suddenly, somewhat goofy grin.

The Grinning Ser then turns to the one-eyed man. "Oh, it's all right. I mean, she hasn't bloody tried to poison me yet which is more than I can say about that horrible swill at the Golden Pigge." He wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Horrible woman there too. I think she was washing her dog in that garbage. How does that hovel even stay in business?" There's a beat-long pause and finally responds. "I think I know you. Although it was a world ago. And if I'm not mistaken —" His finger drifts up to point at his own eye.

Iris lets her gaze drop from the one-eyed face to the fingers, pursing her lips, but not really offended. As long as she will get her money! "Certainly, ser.", she replies, when she hears the jingling wealth of the knight in his belt, seemingly content for now with his promise, until Ridrech seems to offer the payment that is till to be made. "Oh, M'lord, that's quite in order. I could see your thirsty face from back there, and well,…" Her voice trails off, realizing she might be intruding upon some more important exchange. A snort is given as comment to the Golden Pigge, and the filth. Iris is all clean and tidy and she knows it. After receiving the coin she will turn, and continue to provide more thristy patrons with beverages. The day is still young!

There's a glance back to Riderch, and Jorah shows a frown. "I owe you a coin." He'll for it over, for of the many things that could be said ill of Jorah Rivers, a cheapskate is not one of them. A huff of air is breathed out, before he is frowning back at Iris for a brief period-though no command nor order follows instead. The One Eyed Man, looks to the Grinning knight and there he raises his own drink. A pull and lowering before a grin of similar origin parrots.

"Well, that's good and fine. It'd make today a bit of a sad'un if you were all of a sudden dead an fish like." clicking his tongue against his teeth, the bastard takes another sip of his drink. "It was a dragon's fart in time." Jorah agrees. "Yeah-that." a tap of finger to his eye hidden behind leather. "An arr'aw got it. Lucky it didn't get in further and split my brains. Keep a stone in there now, if you want to see it?"

A beat. "You look older. Better, I'd argue but older." Jorah continues, "How's Da?" or rather he should say How's th' good Lord

A breath escapes Riderch's mouth and he's all grins still as he eyes Iris, slapping the remaining coin on the table. "See, that's why I come /here/. The drinks are clean, nothing smells like ox shit and I have to respectfully say you're a damn sight better to look on than that harridan at the Pigge with the black teeth and mole-hairs. Which I'd excuse if her food didn't taste worse than the drinks, but it does. Have to wonder why the Gods put someone in the world who isn't good at a single function, but there you have it." He waggles his eyebrows at the barmaid as she moves on, but it's meant more as a pleasant gesture than outright lascivious. Both Riderch and Iris likely know how this game is played, and how she can squeeze more coin out of patrons.

Back to Jorah now, Riderch shrugs a little. "Honestly in five minutes I'll forget that coin was even with me." He says, carelessly. His memory is apparently jogged, as he raises a glass in toast. "I have to say I'm a little surprised but I suppose I shouldn't be. Father's — fine. But about the same as he always is. I don't suppose you heard about Tewdric?" His eyes narrow a bit. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I feel like that look suits you."

Iris may raise a brow at Jorah's frown, before she moves on, yet she is smarter than react to it in another way, but a faint smile. Riderch's remark will ellicit a warmer smile and even a wink at his waggling of his brow. Certainly she knows, she has played this game for three years. She disappears for a moment between the tables as her duties require her attention

There's an apologetic look given over towards Iris, but he remains silent as opposed to Riderch who is doing better with the talking. Everyone has their gifts, not being mostly polite to waitresses though seems not to be in Jorah's wheelhouse. Though at the mention of food, brows raise up and Jorah looks back over. "You got food here?" Well of course it is an inn. "I'll order some.." meaning whatever is prepared.

Back to Riderch and Jorah gives a half nod. "I still owe you. I'll be sure t' repay it." A nod there before he's laughing. "Thank you, non taken-thank you." another sip of his ale before he raises a finger. "I will mark a rise in cunt seen due to this, thank you." And there he looks back to the wench. 'Sorry- I guess the proper word would be-" but he doesn't finish the sentence. His mind's already on to the next thing. "He wrote me..hence-being here. I am sorry." though there was never love lost between him an Tewdric.

If anyone were paying attention to Riderch's career, the Blackwood boys were cursed when it came to affairs of the heart. As he was the younger son for so long, he managed to get away with dodging marriage arrangements and other such things and free to let his eyes wander. It's mostly harmless though, but he's had a fair amount of practice. So yes, harmless, empty flirting is probably more Riderch's bag, at least with people like Iris who he can (hopefully) not piss off too much. He does offer up - "I guess they have this habit of smuggling in some approximation of Dornish peppers and putting it in this roast stew made with ale and poured over turnips. At least I /think/ they are turnips." He narrates, giving Jorah an earnest recommendation. "Don't really know what they call it?"

Bah, repay nothing, until that fucking Stormlander comes at me with that big pole and tries to ram it up my arse like he did on the tourney field. THEN you can repay me by giving him a kicking." His fingers tap absently on the table as he sets the scroll aside, and then awkwardly eyes the man who was just identified as kin, at least of a sort. The grin he had fades a little but not entirely, maybe a little rueful. "Tewdric — he was…" he begins, "Speaking of sticks up the ass, I would say that Tewdric had one. It was his job. Or at least he thought so. I don't know /what/ he thought he was doing out in the field, that was my job. We only caught a few of those bandits. 'Bandits.'" You can see the air quotes.

The call for food did not go unnoticed. It takes only a moment, and Iris is back again, her hand coming to rest upon the table as she leans against it, head tilted to the side, as her gaze rests on Jorah with an amused smile. "What kinda food would you like, ser? Bread and cheese? Or some stew of vegetables, with some meat in it?" What kind of meat she does not mention, nor does she comment on his remark, or inquire for that proper word. A wave of her hand is given in response to Riderch's more elaborate reply on what food the Quill and Tankard has to offer. A chuckle follows soon enough. "If you weren't a lord, I'd suggest you'd start working here right away." Impertinence, offered with a disarming smile.

"Bloody hell." Jorah mutters before bringing his other hand up to rub over his beard. "Fuck all I don't care what they call it. Could callit a whore's flux an I'd eat it." he responds-before there is a quick clarification: 'I wouldn't really eat a flux you know-but that I would." licking his lips, he's quick to still them with more drinking, which is always a safe bet.

Cue brows raising up to a perch before lowering back down again. "Someome shoved a stick up yer arse?" Oh a joust-right. That in and of itself get's a grimace. "You let me know who it was, an I'll bend 'em over my knee an give em a fishhook in his shiner." Snort-turn head, and spit. "Sorry." apology rushed out again before he is letting a neutral enough grin settle in. The Quotes are noted and there's a grunt. "Red horses run faster, it is known.." Teeth are kissed before Jorah is content to stare at the grain in the table. "Sorry about 'em." Tewdric. "But, I've been asked to tack onto your mission here..Serve as you need me." And the knight reaches down for something, plucking it from the belt-a stone with a rune on it slid over. "My marker-never got the whole writ in' thing.."

"Well doesn't /that/ sound appetizing." Riderch notes, dryly as his new/old kin (of a sort) gets very descriptive. The smirk's still there, so it's clear it didn't upset his delicate sensibilities which probably are nonexistent. He arcs his head to Iris now, offering, "Do you know how much I eat? I'd get fired and probably thrown in a dungeon somewhere when the inkeeper caught me guzzling from a pot. No, I'm better off where I am now, if only marginally." Sniggering, he amends, "Some of that 'Dornish' pepperstew and bread and that will be plenty for me, bright-eyes. And again, something for yourself. I'd best be bloody careful or you'll end up buying this damn place and I'll /never/ leave."

His hands already work at the coin pouch as he produces something more to sufficiently cover the meal. Enough for two, by the looks of things, as he's buying. "Nah, that Stormlander Knight was a terror. He deserved to knock a few of us down in the melee if he was crazy enough to fight three of us at once and /almost/ win." It's clear Riderch holds no malice here. "But — funny, I sort of asked for help, and I guess Father came through." There's some lingering hesitation. "Or my mother convinced him. She's always been somewhat good at that. But — speaking of Tewdric, Gods rest his soul, you'll never guess who else is here. Which is why I'm happy to see a friendly face. No matter how many eyes it has."
Riderch pages: No worries, I'm doing work in another window anyway, heh

The corners of her mouth will twitch a touch at Jorah's so descriptive remark, and a low snort leaves Iris lungs. Better focus her attention the other one. "Certainly, ser," she replies with a chuckle, her eyes sparkling even more at being called 'bright eyes'. "Something for myself?", the barmaid asks, her hand extended to receive the payment. "You're being pretty generous tonight, aren't you?" She will head off towards the kitchens to get those meals, after casting Riderch a glance over her shoulder - a glance /and/ a wink.

"I think that's how they say it in the Reach, don't they?" Riderch addresses Iris lazily, but there seems to be a kernel of truth to it. "You see, where I'm from, we mouth our requests in wordless grunts and the women are all horrible giants that will slam clubs down on the heads of men who don't word them properly. Lord or no, I'm still learning, you see." He appears to be almost holding in his own laughter here. "Well, as bad as all that may seem, at least we're not fucking /Ironborn./"

'Which, hell or the flux?" Jorah asks from the rim of his mug. And there's a bit of a smirk levels to his kinda brother, before he is looking back over towards Iris-of whom it seems they are working on getting food from. "His stomach is like a pocket with a hole. No matter what you put in it, it'll be empty for more." Well, not entirely true There he looks back to his brother-a nod given. "Aye Dornish pepper stew." For him as well. There's a bit curl of his lips as he leans over with a whistle.

"You'll be buying her small clothes soon enough." Spoken in truth and confidence there. There's his hand moving to stay over the coins "I can get dinner, at least until I am in employ." That said he'll fork out some coins to actually contribute here. "What was his name? I've served with some Stormlanders..Find most of em drunk enough to fight three men. And do it well." As Riderch addresses the wench again, Jorah scowls into his cup before inspecting Riderchs, a tempting though to switch mugs is lost with a rather horse like snort. "You'd catch barnacles on your cock if you were Ironborn." added "So-who is here?"

A chuckle leaves Iris' lips, in response to Riderch's reply. "You're doing just fine, M'lord. Better than Ser one-eye here, in any case." Not that it is hard. Her gaze flitting to Jorah, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she notices his slight impatience there. "I suppose we better fill it then." The empty stomach, not the pocket. She turns and finally manages to make her way towards the kitchens, the smirk on her face at the remark about smallclothes not visible to the two as they cannot see through the back of her head.

"You see? I am now spared the club. That was easy." Riderch notes to his companion with a self-satisfied little nod, pointing at the barmaid as she leaves. "Oh, to be just some poor nobody with nothing to do but chase barmaids." Yeah, that was a joke. "But anyway." Ah yes, the joy of juggling multiple topics - and booze flagons, "The knight. He's the Lord of House Dondarrion. Serious weight behind that too. But he was pretty upstanding about the whole thing, especially when the Tyrell got him in the end." There's another shrug there and it's clear that this is more of a positive estimation of the tourney opponent than anything else. "Oh, — but as I was saying. So I was out there on the docks, running across that big Dornish knight, Dayne and some princess — are they all called 'prince' and 'princess?' I don't really know. But I'm in the middle of inspecting some cargo with Tel and a few others and out of fucking /nowhere/' He gestures with open hands and wide arm-swings "is Lady Elys /fucking/ Bracken with a bunch of horse-wearing hunchbacks. I even bothered trying to be nice to her."

A chuckle leaves Jorah. "You can still chase and dip your wick. Just make sure he's got bloody moon tea-or pullout." A bit of knowledge there. "Go on." a gesture given in order to have the story continue, as soon enough the wine if not ale will be flowing to go with their spicy peppers. "Oh a Lightning lord." he knows of a Dondarrion. Not likely this one that's been named. "What does he swing? Hammer? Axe?" curious that thought-but he doesn't have long time to dwell on it. Instead there's a grimace as he's using his nail to dig at a tooth. "Dayne eh? Fancy them bein' up 'ere'.." his commentary flowing in the gaps between Riderch's statements. "Don't know, culley-" he is about to answer on the cornish titles, but that is lost as the newest revelation is brought to light.



"Well Fuck her…Seriously? Elys Horse fucking Bracken?"

The Dornish pepper stew has already been simmering nicely over the fire, so it does not take long and the charming serving wench reppears, carrying two steaming bowls and a loaf of bread, pressed against her side with her elbow and lower arm. The food is served, the bread put between them to share as they see fit. Her blue gaze flits from Riderch to Jorah, and Iris offers even him a smile. "Enjoy," she says, before her head turns, as someone has called for another round of cider at one of the noisier tables. And so she hurries away again, leaving the two to their topics. A good thing after all, as it spares them from the inconvenience of retaining themselves - and her ears from getting all red.

"Yeah, well, it's not /that/ easy. I'm supposed to be respectable now and it wouldn't go over well." Riderch says. Either it's chivalry or just avoidance, but Riderch says this with a resigned sigh. "I now regret not taking advantage of things like lack of responsiblity in the old days." And right then and there, Iris brings the food over and he just clears his throat. "Charming. I'm sure it's as good as it was last time. Try not to break that old fool's heart over there too hard, hmm?" He points at a well-off drunk who's been in this common room entirely too much in the last few weeks. As she scurries off, he returns to the more serious, surprising topic he was sharing with Jorah.

"Seriously. And no, I wouldn't, although at least she doesn't /look/ like a horse. She also seems to be at least — I don't know. Not as stupid as the rest of their lot. Maybe the Bracken blood runs a little thin in her. Do you think it's a 'coincidence' that she's here?"

Jorah shrugs. Apparently that is Jorah's modus operand, but then being a bastard he is allowed some freedoms. "Why? Would you not say that your life is rich with experience? Certainly you did not stay in your room playing with yourself that entire time." Still he will hear him out. There's a nod over to Iris before he is watching Iris go with a chuckle. Eye watches Riderch and he is shaking his head. "You'll encourage her, an that'll be worse for you." With new tankards and now stew, Jorah's first move is to reach for the bread.

"No, unlike her sisters and cousins, she does look at least ride-able." As to the other question there is a pause in the conversation. Thinking is done hand in hand with eating-and with that he's looking back "A Coincidence? Likely. I bet she was told she's got to bed you next." Though it's unlikely that will happen. "Or they are here to fuck around with your business."

"I don't care if she looks like the Gods made flesh." Riderch spits. "To be perfectly fair," he begins, hefting a spoon and starting to test the stew between a couple tankard sips, "damn, this /is/ really good. Maybe I should start peddling wool in Sunspear." Munch, much. "And truth be told, I actually don't give a thousand damns if she /is/ innocent in all this, the fact of the matter is, if I were dragged into that, I'd be dealing with this bloody feud for the rest of my days. Which might not be that long, if rumors are true. And I'm starting to believe they are. I want nothing to do with Bracken nonsense. Any of it."

"I'd fuck her if she was pretty enough..Likely it would be a hate filled affair." Jorah muses before he is reaching for spoon to stir and snag up a pepper. His eye widens before taking a bite. Let him relish this moment. Because soon he'll be eating in a rather quicker pace. Not too unlike a starved dog. "They need it there too, I believe.." And Dorne could be fun-you know. Hot ladies, Hot peppers. The sun. It'd work.

Licking his lips, which earns a curse and a stinging sensation for the remainder. "If she looks to be starting trouble. I won't let her." And there he draws a line across his throat with a thumb. "We'll snuff her quickly and quietly." And there the eye flicks up. "You know we're in this feud whether we like it or not. It's just cool now-though it might spark further if it comes to light more on Tewdric's death…Likely it won't.

"Mmmm. If it /came/ to that. I don't love the idea though." Riderch notes through bites of food, twirling the spoon between his fingertips. He was always a bit softhearted when it comes to women. "She carries around a bloody /sword/ too which is a laugh, I'll give her a nod for courage. But things like fighting in the streets here — I don't even want to invite that as a possiblity if I can help it. I've met this Lord Garvin and he's gracious enough but I don't believe for a moment he wouldn't cut and run the moment he faced trouble in his city. He doesn't seem to have the stomach for it." Another beat. "He's not like me, I suppose. Not like /us/." There's a solid moment of reflection there where he semi-acknowledges blood. "And Dorne. Ha! Why do we end up fighting these southern Lords' battles for them? We should be out there killing Ironborn until their ships are burned and there's nothing left on those floating piles of shit except fried squid and ugly, fat widows."

A Blackwood he well and truly is, but there's a bit of Mallister in him there

"We do what we have to for family." Jorah says. A lesson he knows all too well. There's another bite of his food, before he's reaching for more bread. A lick of his fingers and he's sniggering now into his palm. "A sword? Is she afraid she is going to killed in the streets, or worse?" Flagon is snagged up and there and more cider drained down his inked gullet. "Did you, and your opinion of him?" He's not met any of the Tyrell lords, or the Hightower's for that matter. "Ah." And now he is taking another bite. "Softer? Harder?" how does one deal with a soft man-it'd almost not seem fair.

"We do, because the dragons, flowers, and stormlanders..They all want the land. What there is of it that's not fucking sand and fire." He turns his head to spit. "We should-but right now the Greyjoys do not reave..So we're left waiting to burn their halls, An kill their sons." A sigh there. "An extremely boring time we live in."

"I suppose that's — true." Riderch admits. "No, I understand that we're part of a greater world and there are sacrifices to be made." Chew. Chew. "I suppose I'm just being sentimental for a time when things were simple, I suppose." A deep, heavy sigh on his part as he explains his earlier words. "I doubt it's that — maybe it's just an affectation on the Bracken's part. Or she's overcompensating for the bloodless cunts in her family that call themselves 'men.' Truth be told she looked more useful than half of the ones I've seen. Too bad she's on the wrong side."

Washing down the last few spoonfuls with some more drink he lets out a quiet belch. Knightly manners! "And the Tyrell Lord seems — well, honestly he has the look of a man who has half an idea of what he's supposed to do but still wants to do it anyway. He seemed relieved that I didn't bother him with something involving blood and destruction, so there's that. Maybe the easiest way to do deal with him is just to make his life easier. Which is what I plan to do. Plus, Tyrell gets Blackwood wool and whatever else we can come up with to seal the deal and his name gets attached to it, he ends up looking good, we get more of the stuff from this place, and everyone goes home — happy. Eventually." If only it were that easy, Lord Blackwood.

"Better a Greyjoy than a Hoare. But it's not the Greyjoys I'm necessarily worried about — it's their own raiders they 'have nothing to do with' that are conveniently outside their control."

Jorah looks back towards Riderch and there's a flash of teeth in the midst of his chewing. It gives the impression of a cow chewing it's cud, rather enthusiastically. "Sacrifices? For what? Sand and fire? Eh." And there's a shake of his head there. "I fought in Dorne before I was here. They're." and he takes another bite of stew-slurping it down as his jaw drops due to the heat. Half blows given before it is gobbled down. "Their men are like devils. Each one of them possessed." And there he sets down his spoon. "They come at you in all different directions. On those fucking horses of theirs. Ours can't keep up or match. Just like the wind they are their then gone. You live through that-You can live through anything an Ironborn cocksucker will throw at you." A deep breath and he looks back up. "Their women though..They can suck an egg through a wine skin." A pause. "As good as the food, and women are. I still don't know if fighting for sand is worth it."

And now he moves to wordlessly scoop down more bits of his stew, and even tip the gown to slurp and spread juices to beard and down his neck.

"Too bad. Doesn't mean you can't fuck her. It just means." and now he burps out a cloud of spice and stew. Hand moving to catch his cider and breath. "..it just means if you do, wear your mail, lest she tries to spill your guts." And there he reaches idly for a last strip of bread crust.

"So then fatten the honey pot to nab that flower. If he wants something to make his life easier, we can even support the shepherds who will bring the wool here. Delivery comes on us-if he likes it. GOod. We might incur delivery costs." and he's now picking a part of the table to free a fleck of wood, which he will use to chew on. Jorah pops it tween his teeth and suckles for a moment in quiet thought.

"Have any of them come round? I am sure killing a few would do good for our name..And get you back in practice."

Warily nodding along a bit, there's a clinking of the spoon against the bowl as Riderch renders his stew to basically nothing. He chews while listening to the one-eyed Rivers, narrowing his eyes. At the description of Dorne, he chimes in. "Well, I'm sure the sacrifices are for /someone./'" He notes. He can at least play at being the dutiful, loyal subject. As dry and sarcastic as it was. He throws his head back with another hit of the flagon. "See, you can talk about the food, the women, but there always has to be a terrible price." He nods. "I saw that Dornish knight who won the joust knock the Targaryen on his ass. That's something you don't see every day." But he can definitely believe it.

He coughs a little at the mention of getting busy with Elys. That's it, really.

"And Lord Garvin already likes the samples he's seen, I've think. I gave him a few interesting nick-nacks to keep him busy. He's like a cat. If we can keep these fucking trade routes clear, this will work out nicely. Plus I met some Banefort lordling who is here for the same reason that I am. He might be willing to give us a little bit of a deal on the side."

An owlish blink, (wink?), is given before Jorah is pushing the pick out of his teeth. "I missed the joust?" clearly not entirely happy with that-but oh well. He would have likely watched than participated anyway. A whistle, before he reaching for the piece of wood, to fiddle with between his fingers. "Describe it to me? I've seen a man speared from a horse-but A Dornish knight taking out a dragon? Now that's a bloody feat." Of course there is a nigh god-like reverence for the Targaryens, regardless if he hates fighting in Dorne or not. "Always, Darling." Jorah agrees, before reaching for his mug.

The cough is given a grin followed by a snort. No more.

"It'd be a good thing to get the bloody monopoly in here. Not that we have enough fucking sheep to do that, but if we go-" and there he shakes his head. "My pardons. If you go in on the side with him. Could corner a bit of nice coin. That'd marvel your dad. He knows you can burn a hall down an kill a man fine. But a victory of this sort would get his brows up. Looks good."

He coughs, Jorah snorts, Riderch glares a little, but nothing is said about that. About Elys that is. "Hrm, well, to be honest, I've seen Ser Daevon in action. He's a Dragon. Enough can be said right there." He too is at least /wary/ of the Royal house, but apparently holds them in some esteem as well.

"I didn't ride against the Targaryen myself, I barely lost to a Reachman but it was almost a draw."

And he pauses a beat. A long beat, grinning in a vulpine fashion. As his own cup gets refilled, he takes a swig and finishes the story, idly recounting it. "Ser Daevon knocked his arse into next fucking week. So then the Targaryen made it to the final bout, against Ser Arros — the Dornishman. It didn't go well for Ser Daevon. I'd like to note that everyone was exceedingly pleasant about the whole affair. Which is fine, really. Me, I'm not as much of a jouster. I preferred the melee'. Although there are duels remaining, if you feel the need to try your hand."

It is pointedly notable that he doesn't say anything in response to 'my pardons' beyond a slightly dismissive shrug. Seems this isn't as sore a topic for him as it was for Tewdric. Or maybe he's just appreciative of a semi-friendly face. "See, that's the thing about burning down a hall and killing the poor bas —" there's a pointed pause here and now /he/ seems slightly apologetic "fucks inside, is that after a while, the fun of that winds down. Get enough shitkicker Lords from nowhere getting full of mead, wounded pride, and a stiff one for their neighbor's daughter and bad things fucking happen."

"Daevon Targaryen? The Maiden's Knight? I've heard he's something to bloody well watch. Did he play in the Grand Melee as well?" Apparently the word gets round about certain knights. You get a byname and likely folks will have heard about you. Lady Elys as far as a subject of conversation is put to bed, as neither Blackwood boy will be touching it, it seems. "Means he has skill, or squired under someone who did."

A tap to the nose, before he is shaking his head. "Reachmen are birthed in the saddle. Here knighthood's got all them pretty ideals. Ladies and silks. Favors. Sure they can ride men down, but there's pageantry to it. You did good to almost draw." Not saying anything negative against his brother's skill. Just the Reach is known for producing quality horsemen.

"I'm thinking' about it. So- Daevon drilled our reacher into a month-and then was unhorsed viciously by a Dornish man?" a low whistle there. "I'd paid t' bloody see that." As his brother almost goes on about murderin' folks within their halls, there's a shake of his head. "Oh come off it. I am a bastard-I've heard the word." he offers with a grin of his own before reaching over to chuff a fist lightly into Riderch's shoulder. "Yeah-but that's why no one comes armed to a wedding." A chuckle. "I'm surprised there's no big fights round these tournaments..Or more big fights. Place pride can be bloody wounded. An then you got ransoming your armor an shit."

"The same." Riderch declares, upon positive identification of the Targaryen Knight. "He was in the melee but I think he had a run of bad luck. Or maybe his heart just wasn't in it, this time. It's hard to say. He moves like nothing I've ever /seen/ though. Maybe I need a byname." He muses aloud. "And you're too kind, but I am not the best of horsemen — I'm at peace with that." His shoulders shrug too, more or less putting that to bed.

"I know, I know. Call me an idealist, I'd like to have a real good, honest, feel-it-in-your fuckin' guts reason the next time I have to kill someone." He smirks at the man, and something happens — it's clear he's become more and more at ease here, with this bastard brother he barely knows.

Riderch amends quickly, "And yes, that was the long and short of it, with the Dornishman."

"Riderch" Jorah begins, though as someone passes he is quick to amend "My lord." proper title and all, lest someone think that he is indeed putting on airs. "We come from a land and people where standing charges aren't the normal. We're taught at birth to move around trees an poor ground. I am sure you're a fine horseman." A grin there before he is nodding. "We could call you th' Red Raven of Raventree. Or something. Whisperin' Riderch Blackwood." a chuckle follows soon.

The next is returned with a look of surprise. "Well well, little brother." teeth show in a rather goofy and somewhat contained grin. "It seems you're growing up. Why this sudden change of heart?" Not to say that Riderch was ever a blood thirsty mongrel. He wasn't.

"Ah well. A pity I missed it. I would have paid a copper t' watch."

"Ravens do not mourn the dead." Riderch mouths his House's words. "True enough. I have to admit I may have a sense of vanity to appeal to. There's this Tyrell Lady I keep running into, was telling her about the Weirwood. I think I could have tried the nickname out on her. Although I don't know about that one, I think she's a lot more critical than she lets on." And now, the man gets more pensive. By leaps and bounds, as he leans back, sliding the empty bowl aside and hitting the cider.

"As far as growing up? I don't know. I never had to /do/ the kind of shit I'm doing now. Because Tewdric was there to handle it. Tewdric was always here. And now — he's not. And a lot of the things I worried about seem bloody trivial."

"No." Jorah responds with a faint smirk as he upends his flagon once the cider is indeed all gone. "We eat them." Though a Rivers, Jorah considers himself at the very least, a crow-or grackle in this house. "Oh A tyrell lady?" That perks the bastard Blackwood up and has him propping his chin on his hand. "So- here is a woman, that seems to have your interest if you were willing to talk religion..What is her name, beyond Tyrell? Good looking?"

The other is given a half shrug as Jorah flicks away, finally, that bit of wood he was using as a pick. "Tewdric liked the numbers and the order. You did not?" a nod. "But now here you are-and they are. But that is part of leading, culley. You do the trivial shit-because no one else will. But when it's the big shit-hurricane winds shit. They'll trust you more because of it."

"She's about as faithful as a Maester, I think. And I don't know about interest — maybe one of us would get bored. But she's got a sister." Oh, that could get awkward. Riderch muses over all this. "Lady Keyte Tyrell. She has two sisters actually, one's a fucking twin. But they're all nice enough to look at."

Gossiping about women is swept aside here as he gets a bit more grounded. Swilling some cider, he declares, "You were right about Tewdric. And I suppose you might be right. You know what is great in my life though? Let me tell you, whittling it all down," he stretches in his seat too. "It's this. I trust my family. My — our, stodgy father. My brilliant mother. Our crazy little sister, and I suppose that little shit factory of a brother that just learned to walk. But more than that — I trust this. Leading our men. When it's just us out there, standing in a shield-wall with Ser Maras. The Black Sergeant. Jonas Tenwall. I try to remember their names, and I try to keep them alive. Knowing that we stand there as one immobile force that has withstood fucking Andals, Ironborn, and who knows what else that has swept through our lands in the centuries. There's nothing like it, Jorah." He finally uses his bastard brother's name. "I'd like to add you to that list, Gods willing."

That gets a laugh. "A sister?" Jorah repays before he is shaking his head. "I should have been around you longer..or perhaps Da' had the right deal sending me when he did." sniggering the one-eyed knight turns in his chair raising a hand to flag down a wench for more cider.

"Listen-don't let me color him for you. He and I. We did not get a long. Your Mother was able to tolerate me, but Tewdric was not. He had issues with people-but. He could handle numbers and order better than most I saw or knew." As the offer to learn more about life is given, a nod is returned "Go on, then tell me."

All names he knows. All names he grew up hearing as soon as he was old enough to sneak into mead halls. "And that's what stands you out from Tewdric. He knew the numbers,but he didn't know the men. He never reaved a fuckin' island or killed a man in justice. He knew how to hold the sword-where to put it. BUt it was not his practice. You've got both-and the numbers coming later. That's fine. We can get you a Maester or a scrivener.." And this his words are choked off. The last statement, clearly poignant enough to cause the bastard to stop his gob.

"Why.." and a laugh falls out. "I'd really like that brother. It would mean much to me."

"Aine's more like me, with teats, I suppose." Riderch notes, wryly. "You'd like her. We almost had to eject her from Tewdric's betrothal feast because she was threatening to break a Bracken man's jaw." His nostrils flare in a snort-laugh.

"Mother just knows how to deal with life. She always has. And I hope that I learned something from her because — let me be honest. I could use a brother in this. Even a one-eyed bastard of one." Wow, that was awkward. He makes it sound almost salutatory though. "Better than a brother in the ground, or a brother that hasn't learned to stop shitting his own smallclothes."

A snort and a nod as his mug is finally refilled, Jorah brings a hand up to rub at an eye. His good one. "Aye, I suppose I would. That's some bloody piss and vinegar. She'll make someone a fine wife someday-or she'll bloody ride him into the ground-which is fucking fitting." A shake of his head there as his nostrils widen in a horselike snort.

"Oi, I get what you're saying my blood. I do. Don' worry about bein' right with me. You're right." And there he offers his arm across the table. "Though..Bensisname is cute..I believe I can back you better..Brothers. Blood."

"When I fuck up and end up on the Wall, then he can start running the numbers." Riderch says, in jest, talking about little Benj. It's clear he's not /too/ worried about this. Or at least, he's resigned to it. "Good to know. You know what? To the Ravens — Today, today was a good day." He lifts his flagon and aggressively knocks it against that of Rivers. That vulpine grin is back, and this time, he's not looking at the barmaid's ass. Much.

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