[D1, Early Night] A Bold Arrival!

[Reader]

A Bold Arrival
It is late in the night by the time Ser Jon Roxton has made his long journey from the Reach to the inn, but despite the tiring ride he still throws open the door with gusto. Even as he sets his sky blue cloak to dry beside the fire, Ser Jon has called for a round of drinks for his accompanying men at arms.
“Bold” Jox Roxton is known for swiftly striking up friendships with drinking companions, but also for taking a marked dislike for those he considers poor company.
Which brave souls are still awake at this hour, to attempt to gain the approval of this dangerous knight, as famous for his swordsmanship as he is infamous for his carousing?

Participants: Any number of participants.

Challenge:
Characters present can choose to attempt as many or as few of the rolls below as they choose and in any order, but all three rolls must be undertaken at the same time.
Endurance (Resilience) (9) – failure on this roll automatically inflicts the penalties from alcohol poisoning (p135, GoT editions of rules).
Fighting (Brawling) (9) – failure on this roll inflicts one injury
Persuasion (Taunt) (9)

Consequences:
Critical failure on any roll – relations with Jon Roxton decrease by one step.
Lowest total across all three rolls (even if only attempting one or two rolls) – relations with Jon Roxton decrease by one step. [This is determined by total from dice + modifers, not DoS. Please include this at the end of your post]
If total degress of success by all participants >
10, the four top scoring participants who did not suffer a decline in relations improve their relations with Jon Roxton by one degree.

[Loreia]

*A little roleplay before I start, a 'committal' post to keep me from contemplating backing out before I've even started.*

Loreia sits with a couple other Coldbrook men, halfway through her third ale and talking about the contests to come. Shortly into reminiscing over the time she would practically assault her partners in guard practice, at which one of them laughs in recounting his own severe thrashing when -unbeknownst to her at the time - he was only a recruit back then, she turns with the rest toward toward the direction of a light draft and the sound of a door swinging on its hinges.

As the Roxtons - hereto unknown to her - under Bold Jon's leadership begin drinking and engaging in raucous social behavior, Loreia's present company begin murmuring dares. "
Well then, pray to the gods or make a bet worthy of the Warrior's favor,"
she announces to them both(and partially to herself as well), counting out 50 stags and downing the rest of her ale before approaching the Roxtons' tables.

"
What, someone here must be feeling lucky,"
she jabs as a a notable silence dispels the boisterous babbling at table she chooses, a bit out of her element when she slugs it with her mug and takes a seat. "
50 antlers says one of you lightweights is snoring under the table tonight."

[Dunstan Tullison]

Strolling around after the marvelous fest in the Great Hall, Dunstan and a couple of his ever present guardians and bodyguards walk through the less prestigious parts of Riverton. Passing the Painted World brothel they chance upon the Inn which, by the sound of clamoring that comes from the inside, is full of men well under the influence. Yesterday's adventure at the Kneeling Man was very appealing for the young Lord but his guardians convince him not to go inside this time, but rather to continue straight through the mossy alley, all the way to Tullison camp.

However, Dunstan's eyes catch a young boy, most probably a servant at the Inn, being made forcefully to drink an entire flagon of Ale. Boy was crying and a big soldier was yelling, visibly enraged:

"
Tiss this lukewarm piss you bring to my table, now ya gonna have to drink it yerself welp!!"


Dunstan swiftly turns around, escapes his bodyguards for a moment and interrupts the soldier in mid-sentence

"
Leave the boy alone at once!"


[url=Persuasion (Taunt)][/url]: 3d6 9

Soldier looks at him, and, in a fit of rage swings his gnarly fist at Dunstan. He hits true but the sher stamina if the tough young Lord allows him to remain unmoved.

[url=Endurance (Resilience) - "
Bold Arrival"
][/url]: 4d6k3 15

Looking him straight in the eyes Dunstan grabs the violent man by the troath and throws his straight through the door in one swift move of the right hand.

[url=Brawl vs. Roxton man][/url]: 4d6 16

The man, clearly defeated, tucks his tail between his hands and runs behind his commander, the famous Bold Jox Roston.

Maintaining the firm attitude Dunstan approaches the beast of a man and, with a slight nod of the head as a sign of greeting, explains the situation.

"
Your man at arms was being violent and abusive to the child in service to this Inn. Apologies for comotion, but if we do not take care of the innocent, who will?"
Dunstan asks a rhetorical question. "
To make it up to you, I would buy the entire Inn a round of drinks."
he says and calls out the inkeeper.

Dunstan's bodyguards, red in the face, with extremely concerned look on their faces, run to him as fast as they can and start making ure everything is alright.

Dunstan feels ebarassed by their presence, How I wish they would leave me alone for once, he think to himself.

Total: 40

[Nathaniel Mason]

Nathan had been at the Drunken Huntsman all evening;
talking, singing, dancing. He liked meeting new people, and he liked the easy atmosphere of people having a good time. It felt like home.

When the Knight arrived in rather dramatic fashion, Nathan could see the writing on the wall. He had been in enough taverns to know the best time to leave.

As he crossed to the bar to pay his bill, he heard the snapping of fingers and a loud voice. "
You... boy... another ale!"


Nathan stopped and turned to look at the man-at-arms sitting across from the Knight. "
Of course."
He smiled.

Normally Nathan would let such a thing pass, but something in the man's tone irritated him. Going to the bar he purchased two ales and returned to the table. He placed the first in front of the Knight. "
This is on me Ser."
smiled Nathan. Turning to the man-at-arms, he poured the entire tankard over the man's head. "
And this is on you."


[url=Persuasion][/url]: 4d6 16 2DoS

The entire table looked at Nathan stunned. The man-at-arms rose menacingly. "
Do you know who I am! Do you know who this is!"


"
Obviously if you have to ask then your reputation is not nearly as vaulted as you believe."
replied Nathan blandly. "
I know his type though, and yours. I've dealt with hundreds like you. He is obviously a Knight who has spent his life wielding the sword on his hip or the sword between his legs;
between nights of drunken stupor and 'honey show me your tits'. At least he has worked for what he has with training and blood. You on the other hand are the worst kind of fool. One who lounges in glory of another's accomplishments and thinks yourself better than others because of it."


The man was beat red and this point, still dripping in ale when he lashed out. He roared and went to slug Nathan, ([url=Fighting][/url]: 3d6 11 1DoS) but Nathan dodged to the side at the last second and the man slammed his hand with a sickening crunch into the large timber pole just behind him.

As the man screamed with pain the Knight began to laugh. As his man tried to shake the pain from his fingers the Knight laughed louder. He rises and slaps a hand on Nathan's shoulder. "
Tell me lad. How do you manage to walk with balls that big!"


A slow grin crosses Nathan's face. "
By taking very careful steps... or very fast ones."


Ser Jon laughs even louder. "
Innkeeper, another round for everyone!"
he turns to Nathan. "
Let me buy you a drink... let me buy you several!"


"
I don't really drink-"


"
Then this will be a new experience for you!"


Nathan smiled and sighed. Down deep he liked men who lived to the fullest... and it seemed few lived as full as this man.

[url=Endurance][/url]: 3d6 14 2DoS

Total: 41

[Loreia]

*Let's see how good I am at this on my own.*

The few who heard her laugh, and some point, earning her an uncomfortable spotlight. A man already sitting at the table pours the first for her and refills his own, remiss to see a woman's challenge to men go unchecked, although Loreia is simply relieved that she wasn't left hanging.

"
I'll match that, wench,"
he says, "
but ya better put yer money where yer mouth is when ya lose."


Somewhere between half an hour to a whole later, the contender staggers in his seat and takes one final drink before slumping forward, passing out. Spectators give a hearty cheer - after all drinking isn't just a man's contest - and Loreia raises her arms in the air and gives a little bow, a little potted herself, but steady enough to maintain some finesse. Seeing as how the poor sucker wasn't conscious to hand out his own money, she let it go. She was getting in thick with her new friends now, and the bet was more of a bargaining chip to get the contest started.

[url=Endurance(Resilience)][/url] 5d6k5+2, 18(vs 9)

"
Oi, girl,"
a patron calls out from another table, "
Yer a good sport at drinking. How 'bout a more physical challenge?"
He emphasizes his proposal by stretching and taking a fighting stance. A few others are paying close attention, no doubt standing something to gain or lose from him, depending on the outcome of the contest.

Loreia's friends in the guard exchange glances and fidget with their sword arms, while she - still at the table - stretches a little as well. No one can respond to such a challenge without a serious thought, but that was always in the back of everyone's mind, so she shrugs it off with a winsome smile and meets the patron's stance with her own. "
No harm in it - for me, anyway."


Heedle orders the two contenders to vacate the interior of the Huntsman for the duration of their contest, so they do, and anyone wishing to spectate follows. The challenger takes a wily stance and Loreia moves first and boldly, grinning overconfident from the drink.

Loreia goads her challenger early on. Unfortunately he sees through it, and doesn't buy it. On top of that, her inebriated taunt doesn't make all that much sense.

[url=Persuasion(Taunt)][/url] 2d6k2, 5(vs 9)

Although it starts out promising, the fight is nothing grand, with the two of them jostling for victory. Eventually, Loreia manages to get her opponent to yield the conventional way, and those taking bets exchange money and head back inside, none too impressed by the display. The loser himself suffers a few bruises from the fight. Thankfully the fight sobered her just enough to help him back inside and offer a compliment for nearly matching her.

[url=Fighting(Brawl)][/url] 4d6k4, 10(vs 9)

"
I'ssalright, you coulda beat me, you coulda,"
she comforts.

"
That's right, I coulda,"
he responds.

*I'll go ahead and add my summary as well: Brawling 2 DOS, Fighting 1 DOS, Persuasion -1 DOS: Total, 2 DOS. Total of all rolls: 33*

[Baelon Drakeson]

Baelon enters the bar, having exchanged the finery he wore to the Bread and Salt welcome for more comfortable and durable clothes. He stands in the doorway for a moment, scanning the room for a good spot.
Looks like the service here is shit. Not enough servers for this many people.
Then he spots a corner table where a drunkard is holding one of the barmaids pinned in his lap, one hand binding her wrists and the other not so subtly pawing under her shirt, having already untied and loosened her bodice. The look on her face is a mixture of fear and disgust, but her struggles are insufficient to escape the far stronger man. The beginnings of tears well up into her eyes as he laughs at her helplessness.
Perfect, three birds with one stone.

Approaching the table, Baelon addresses the drunkard loud enough for at least half the room to hear over the din of drinking, carousing, and the occasional brawl.
"
You there, louse. You are sitting at my table and that is my server that you are manhandling. I pity that you are ugly enough that no woman would lay with you by choice and from the smell I'd say that whatever disease is rotting your insignificant manhood makes you unwelcome at brothels, but that is no reason to force yourself on this lass. Unhand her and leave - I would rather not contaminate myself with your filth, but if you insist I will beat you bloody and have your sodden ass dragged to the alleyway."


[url=Persuade(taunt)][/url]: 4d6+2 15 1d6 2 1d6 2 (the one is substituted by a 2, so 16 total) [2 DoS]

The ugly drunkard shouts incoherently, shoving the barmaid to the floor and charges wildly at Baelon, who easily evades the wild swing. He grabs the man's greasy hair with both hands, pulling his head down into Baelon's swiftly rising knee. The man collapses to the floor, blood dripping from his shattered face.

[url=Bold Arrival - Fighting(Brawling)][/url]: 5d6 21 [3 DoS]

He helps the abused woman up from the floor, looking deep into her eyes, his hand gently cupping the side of her face, his thumb wiping away a tear slowly rolling down her cheek.

"
Are you okay?"

She nods, gratefully.
"
What's your name?"

"
Becca, my lord."

"
Becca, take a minute to recover, sit and catch your breath."

She nods again.
"
Good."

He slides his hand up under her hair to the back of her head and pulls he in closer, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, then let's her go.

Baelon looks at the unconscious drunkard.
"
That is not going to make him look any better. You there,"
he gestures to a couple of men at a nearby table. "
Drag this sorry excuse for a man outside. He'll no doubt be robbed blind, but it's the least he deserves."
One man starts to protest but the other man grabs his arm, silencing him.
"
Yes m'lord, we'll do that."
The first man protests to his companion, but the second man says something too quiet to hear, and the first breaks out into a grin. They eagerly grab the bleeding man's arms and drag him to the door.
"
Oh, and do make sure the guard find him after;
if he ends up with his throat cut it'll be a headache - and we'll all remember that he was last seen in your company."


Turning back to Becca, who by this time has re-laced and tied her bodice. He places his hand on her shoulder.
"
Becca dear, when you are up to it, some ale please. And don't worry, I'll keep my eye on you - if anyone else gives you a hard time I'll see to them."


By the time Becca returns with his ale - on the house, she tells him with a flirtatious smile - the two men come striding in, eagerly calling for another round of ale, which they pay for with coin that was likely the result of a recent unexpected windfall.

Baelon passes the evening with several more visits from Becca, each time with a fresh mug of ale and another round of flirting and seduction.
[url=Bold Arrival - Endurance (Resilience)][/url]: 3d6 10 [1 DoS]

OOC: 6 total DoS - we've almost doubled the 10 mark. Total of the checks: 47

[Loreia]

Loreia glances over from her contest of drinks at the silver-haired man saunters in. She meets poor Becca's gaze from across the way. No use. With renewed determination, she returns to her contest with her head a little clearer, keeping some propriety to finish the contest first before turning her attention. Hang in there, she thought to herself.

She breathed freely when she noticed that the newcomer decided to take the matter into his own hands, and did so with with ease, and her ear perked when one of the men he issued orders to addressed him with title. This silver-haired lord warranted investigation of sorts.

Later, after her brawl - the end to the demands of the unspoken rules in the barroom seemed difficult to fathom - she approached the table of this lord while Becca was away. "
'Ello there, you handled that one outside pretty good, 'milord',"
she opened, placing a hand on the top of the back of a chair to hint at an innocent motive. "
What lofty barfly comes to lend a helping hand to the little people tonight?"


*We could probably take this to new thread if I get to talk to Baelon*

[Ser Jorah Holt]

Ser Jorah entered the bar, still dressed smartly and looked around for someone, before spying them in conversation with several people.

[Leifnarr Longshore]

As the night goes on arguments seem to grow strong among two groups of rough people.
One is the Roxtons, the other are the Ironborn.
Given how much violent the Ironborn nature is, everything here could turn into tragedy, given the amount of blades which the Ironborn hide on themselves under the clothes.

Everythings is smoothed up as the thundering voice of the Longhore colossus invites the Roxtons to a drinking context.
"
Let's stop being idiot, and let's see who's more male than others with drinking ale"

Leifnarr is rude, but he also knows that the murdering nature of the Ironborn could mean only trouble, if they stab a reachman during this tourney … so it's better to turn everything into a drinking party…
[url=Persuasion (Taunt)][/url]: 4d6 17

One of the foolish, overly drunken, Roxton shouts: "
You, big Ironpig shut up!"
but its voice is stopped by Leifnarr's heavy fist.
[url=Fighting (Brawl)][/url]: 4d6 15

"
Anybody else to complain about it?"
the big Ironborn say.
After a shocking silence…"
Well done"
a fat Roxton says taking a tankard of ale "
But I'll do you the same through beer, rather than fists!"

With a cold smile Leifnarr takes his own tankard and the context begins…
[url=Endurance][/url]: 5d6 13

… after an hour there is more than one Roxton on the ground while the ale keeps on being poured into the big Longshore mouth.
...but who is winning and who is losing really does not matter, since everybody is drunk and all hostility between Ironborn and Reachmen seem to have been drowned into beer…

TOTAL: 45

[Tristain Croson]

Ser Tristain enters the inn, his dour expression making him appear less than cordial at first. He takes a seat at random, not paying much mind to who's around him. A loud man and his retainers enter and drinks are dished around before Tristain gets a chance to ask for one himself so he takes it and drains it gladly. He was still brooding slightly over his father bring him up to make a fool of him before Lady Tully when a serving girl unexpectedly falls into Tristain. He acts swiftly and manages to catch and she lands more in his lap rather than crashing over him and into the table.

Startled she jumps up and apologizes, "
I'm so sorry, sir!"
She makes to continue but the man who had been attempting to get his hands on her when dodged and tripped into Tristain called out, "
Here, woman! Damn it all, I just wanted a feel!"


Tristain glanced up at her and could started to puzzle it out based on her expression of disgust and distress. With a growl, Tristain gave a heave and jerked his seat forcefully between the man and her and asked, "
May have another drink, my lady?"
His intent was to interject himself, force the man to lose interest, and get her out of sight and out of mind. It didn't work.

"
You great lout, move aside, she's mine,"
the man bellowed.

"
She's not your whore, be about your business you blubbering idiot,"
Tristain snarled over his shoulder at the man, paying him no mind.

[url=Persuasion (Taunt)][/url]: 4d6 13 1 DoS

He hadn't thought his comment particularly goading, but before he realized it the man was standing behind him, "
You don't get to tell me what is or isn't mine. If she's not a whore then perhaps I'll visit your mother, I wager she is."
The man couldn't have known he probably couldn't have said anything worse to Tristain Croson.

Tristain rose from his seat, rage playing across his features but he made not a sound. He turned to face the man and looked him once in the eyes, the message that the lines have been drawn and the man should back run now was clear but unheeded. The man stepped forward and puffed up his chest like some rooster. It all happened in the blink of an eye...

[url=Fighting (Brawling)][/url]: 7d6k4+4 20 3 DoS

The man predicted Tristain's outburst and raised an arm to defend from the right hook that came in hard but, Tristain was both faster and stronger and the blow plowed through to collide with the man's temple. The next strike was a furious jab from the left hand which was only to keep the man reeling while the left and reached out to grab the man's belt (grabbing the skin of his gut and waist along with it). Tristain let out a roar as he lifted with all his might, as the man's feet left the floor his left hand caught his neck to help balance and lift the man into the air where he hung for what seemed like an eternity. But it was only half a second in which Tristain hurled the man to the floor at his feet with a great crash. The man lay there unmoving and Tristain's wroth quickly faded as he realized what he'd done.

As he looked about, Jox Roxton came up cheering through the somewhat stunned patrons nearby. "
Now that was quite a show, short lived, but impressive all the same!"
He clasped Tristain on the shoulder and said, "
Remind me not to let you get the first swing in, nor let you take me off the ground like that, haha! How about a drink or three?"


Taken aback and Roxton's compliments he nodded, "
Aye, I could use a few of those."


[url=Endurance (Resilience)][/url]: 4d6 18 2 DoS

Tristain spent the next few hours drinking and conversing with Roxton and his men, telling stories and making japes. Tristain found himself in an unusually friendly mood around the man and drank deep and laughed hard amongst the company.

Total DoS 6;
Total of Rolls 51

[Reader]

Results:

Ser Jox Roxton's disposition changes to:

Dislike Loreia Merrgal - he's a man of style, and her crude taunts are too base for his tastes.

Amiable towards:

Ser Tristain Croson.
Nathaniel Mason.
Ser Baelon Waters.
Leifnar Longwaters

[You should all note disposition changes in your private forum]

[Aerion Storm]

There are times Aerion Storm swears the Seven watch over him, just to see to it he's never quite proud, never quite pleased with himself, never quite happy.

A dozen years ago he'd been a bastard boy raised up into the personal service of the greatest knight in the realm.  A few years into that service, starting to fill in his lanky frame with muscle, he'd been proud.  Proud to serve Ser Harbert, proud of his sword training, proud of his compliments on how he rode.  Pride was a dangerous thing for a bastard, and an older squire, in service to another knight, had reminded him of that;  Bold Jon Roxton.  The Reachman was a handful of years Aerion's senior, a swaggering cock who bragged about all manner of sexual conquest that Aerion found distasteful, and talented enough to break three lances with him and not fall in the mud.

When they're happy, the gods checked the pride of bastards with Reachmen like Jon Roxton.

And here the bastard was again, proud, years later.  Loyally serving Ser Harbert for long enough, sweating enough, bleeding enough, training enough, riding enough, that he was on his own.  A letter with him inviting him to a nearby tourney -- still just a squire, but riding on his own, his own silvers to spend on stew and ale, his own schedule to keep while he traveled, his own glory to win at the tourney -- and the bastard was on the road, feeling like a man.  Feeling almost like a knight.  Feeling proud.

And what happens to his life?  The Seven laugh, and in walks Bold Jon Roxton again.

"Fuck," Aerion mutters right into his ale cup.

The evening becomes a tense blur.  Storm first lays low, finishing his flagon, sending dark looks across the inn, waiting -- certain that Roxton will notice him -- for the worst.  The worst doesn't come, so he drinks more, and waits some more.  Still no worst.  His night ruined, his mood foul, tired of being tense for no bloody reason, Aerion finds himself trying to help the worst along; if the gods sent Bold Jon Roxton to ruin his night, the least they could do is bloody get on with it.

One of Roxton's men provides Aerion the opening he needs to invite disaster;  a bump in a hallway, a snarled insult at Storm's Baratheon livery instead of an apology, and Aerion's blessing him upside the head with his good right hand.  Other Reachmen wade in -- more of a blur, it always is when he's fighting more than one man at a time, it feels -- but when the dust settles, there's no steel involved.

And no challenge from Bold Jon Roxton, no rising to any bait, no reminding him of self-righteousness in years gone past.

There's wine replacing ale, silvers casually tossed to the innkeep in exchange for the trouble, and -- Gods be good -- a compliment on his footwork and power.  There's a long night of drinking, remembering fantastic tilts, laughing about old knights, recalling stories of shared experience serving them.  There's bruised and battered men-at-arms downing flagon after flagon with a bastard, and -- maybe, almost -- calling one another something besides "The Brocket Bastard" and "Bold Jon Cockston," by the time the sun comes up.

When bastards think they know what the Seven have in store for them, the gods check their pride with men like Bold Jon Roxton.

Endurance, diff 9: 3d6 13
Brawling, diff 9: 5d6 19 [5,2,5,6,1]
Fighting reroll, Blood of Andals (rerolling 1): 1d6 6 [5, 2, 5, 6, 6 with reroll, so 24, not 19]
Persuasion: 3d6 7

[44 total;  wouldn't have taken first place or anything, but solid enough I think the two can walk away more like friendly rivals than wanting to shank one another.   ]

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