Red is the color of death (closed)

[Theomore Tullison]

That guy? Wasn't he dead or something?

Theomore could not exactly be telling the truth if claiming not to be surprised to see Ser Raynald again, but on the other hand, should he be? The man had a talent for rubbing people the wrong way that had been cultivated for so long that the reason nobody had killed him yet could hardly be the lack of trying.

"Ser Raynald, it is good to see you up and about again." Theomore gives him a smile, with this one, you better hope that you could make him see you as his friend and be prepared for just about any other option imaginable.

[Ser Raynald Dulver]

Raynald's tent could not have been lifted for more than a few hours as men reported seeing the Mad Dulver entering camp with his men not long ago. It was an excuse of a small pavillion, old and battered by both neglect and weather, and it was surrounded by Raynald's men. The Whoresons, named after their wicked nature, were still working on the camp, making fire, cleaning the field around the tent, with a few standing watch with their weapons in hand.

Theomore, free to enter the tent, found the knight inside washing his bearded face vigorously in a bowl of water, doubtlessly trying to break the heat of the dornish sun. "Ser Theomore", Raynald replied with trickling water from his hair, being clearly surprised by Tullison's presence. Though not as impressive in height as his nephew Waldon, and despite his middle age, the Red Dulver was still a large and intimidating man. "I've heard you have been made Commander of this host. I congratulate you for such an honorable duty, Ser." He said while picking and donning a rough cotton shirt.

It was rare to see Raynald in such an amiable mood, but to receive compliments from the man was something entirely new. The word was that someone tried and failed to kill the man by poisoning, and in fact it was visible Raynald was a bit pale and with some good pounds gone. He still had fire in his small green eyes, though there was something clearly different about the red knight.

[Theomore Tullison]

"I heard the same thing, too, ser." Theomore makes a joke, a rare occurrence for him these days, perhaps old faces could bring out the old him? "I also heard you were bit by a viper?" So to speak.

[Ser Raynald Dulver]

"A viper?"

Raynald laughed, offering a small table with bread, cheese and slices of jerked meat to his guest, but for another surprise there was no sign of wine in the tent. The man was called Madman for his unpredictability, but so far he was being quite hospitable.

"I suppose you can say that, yes. And such viper learned, just like many others, that it is not so easy to kill off a Dulver." Chewing a piece of cheese the knight opened his arms showing that, after all, he was well enough.

"Well then, enough with the pleasentries." Raynald's eyes were a mix of fever and wit. "You have orders to carry, a fortress to take, and an army to command. Yet here we are, two knights licking each other most courteously. Tell me Ser, what bring you here?"

[Theomore Tullison]

"Must I have a reason beyond checking up on an old acquaintance, Ser Raynald?" Theomore looks at the red knight, a bit puzzled. "Truth is, you are a man that the powers above seems to have taken an interest in, wherever you go, things tends to happen, and yet here you are, still alive."

"I find it wise to expend such efforts as I can to count myself among the friends of such men, ser. And what friend would not come by to offer greetings, given the opportunity?"

[Ser Raynald Dulver]

Raynald was amused by Theomore's choice of words, raising his eyebrows in revelation. "Oh I am certain the Seven are watching me, Theomore." His tone was unsettling, his gaze was cold. "For the gods themselves have told me so." Feeling the need to better explain, Raynald moved his hand as if he could touch the description of his dreams. "I've seen it, Theomore. In endless nights of pain I've seen it. The fire, the burning light. The final punishment for sinful men. The wicked will have it coming."

Raynald looked to his own hands, and then raised his eyes to the knight who had also fought with him in the Stepstones and showed him a smile half-hidden in his thick beard. "So perhaps we should not haste to take their interest for love, huh?"

[Theomore Tullison]

"I think ser, that we know better than that, you and I" Theomore's smile only sticks skin deep, though he was starting to doubt if the gods cared about righteousness at all. They certainly could not be all good and all powerful at the same time. "The world around us is proof enough, the wildfire attack on the inn leading to us being here, Dorne of all places, waging war, Battle Valley, knights and ladies of the summer forging a peace that will not long outlive the king." Not that any peace between Black and Bracken had any hope to do that to begin with, but it illustrated the point nicely enough.

[Ser Raynald Dulver]

"Ah, dornishmen" Raynald waved his hand in despise. "It could not go differently with this filthy rabble Theomore. Fear not, as they will soon regret their treason. To my eyes, it all makes sense. Why would the gods spare me, of all men? I was not a pious man, Theomore. How many Septons died by the hand of lesser men? How many righteous knights have met their end with no glory at all? Why is Red Dulver the one who, despite all his sins, sits before you in the shadow of a dornish fortress instead of burning his soul in one of the Seven Hells? Why spare such vile and cruel mortal man?"

Raynald smile had crooked teeth and his green eye gleamed with madness as he left the question in the air without the proper answer. "We will hardly understand the will of the Gods, Theomore. But still they watch us, as every man has a duty to perform. I just happen to finally see which duty is mine."

[Theomore Tullison]

"And here I thought I was the only man that liked to hold others in dramatic suspense over that which I am yet to share, ser." Theomore did not hide his hope that Raynald might share the details of his revelation. Though he found it wise not to ask directly, the Red Dulver wasn't known for his predictability.

[Ser Raynald Dulver]

"Isn't plain to see, Theomore?" The old knight took another bite on a piece of cheese from the table. "My house carries a pickaxe as a sigil for the famous ingenuity of our founder. For generations my kin crafted the spoons and bowls used by richer houses. My grandfather was a shrewd craftsman, my father a talented craftsman and my brother manages our mines with experienced eyes. I have never worked the land, visited our mines, nor touched any work tools beside these ones" The knight pointed to his weapons resting over another table, mainly his vicious greatsword used on the Stepstones.

"My trade has a different nature, Ser. It isn't a pretty one, that's true, but I learned to perform it well. That's why the pickaxes in my personal sigil are red, you see? It comes from blood. That's the only craft I ever learned to make. Death. Pain. And punishment."

[Theomore Tullison]

"There is certainly a high demand for such work." Theomore nods in understanding, quietly wondering what was more scary, Red Raynald with a purpose, or Red Reynald without. "Though I would assume the gods have little need for just another man of the trade taking commissions for gold?"

[Ser Raynald Dulver]

"Yes, yes, I am just a man, of course. I've seen the dragon flying in the sky, Theomore, I am not blind to the proportion of things... but so it happens that even the smallest man may achieve great things. Here you are, a man made of flesh just like me, born in a minor noble house just like me, and yet you have the honor of commanding the army of Aemond Targaryen himself. In your shoulders rest the weight of history being written. Can you hear it? Can you hear the slow writing of the godly pen?"

With a whistle, Raynald summoned one of his men, a middleaged bandid with teeth black from years of sourleaf chewing. The man had Raynald's scale armor with him, and imediatelly started helping the knight on donning it. "I am just a humble man who was blessed with a divine warning, Theomore. For most of my life I lived savagely, neglecting a simple truth: all men are pawns for the wills of the Seven, and it is past time for me to do my part".

[Theomore Tullison]

"A small man can indeed cast a very large shadow" Theomore agrees. "There were great kings before the dragons arrived to Westeros, some carving out their realms by little more than their own wits and will to do so. Sometimes only for their legacy to crumble with less able successors trying to hold it all together. Others see their ancestors still lording over the lands they claimed."

"All such men understood the roles given to them, and played them to their full potential. And countless more that did so did not warrant a note in the scrolls the maesters keep at Oldtown. I myself am not entirely sure as to which part is mine, but I think I am somehow manage to play along."

[Ser Raynald Dulver]

"Well I do not envy you" Raynald said while Shitmouth tied the shoulder plates over his scale armor. "This Wyl fortress is a tough nut to crack. And they surelly have some ill intent inside those gates. You can never trust a house whose sigil is a snake. It's they nature to bite your ankles. Just like the banner."

[Theomore Tullison]

"Oh, they planned on us, ser. Of that I am sure." Theomore agrees. "But I doubt they could ever make any provisions for Vhagar."

"A battery of scorpions might stand a chance against that beast, but two? Those will only manage to catch his attention before being turned into kindling."

[Ser Raynald Dulver]

"Aye, we have dragons. But they're not truly ours are they?" Raynald's eyes were gleaming with malice, but also with hard truth. "I do not think the Prince is interested in making your task any easier." The knight let the commander savor his words. "Had you a dragon, would you haste to throw it over a castle filled with archers? Imagine the burden of being the last owner of such a magnificent creature. The shame of it. It almost burns."

Raynald was now tying his belt, "I think dragons are not so different from horses, Theomore. Splendid beasts. Very useful too. On the Steptstones I had one so strong and so swift it could run for a day without stop. Dark as the night, hard as stone, it's name was Spit. Twisted his leg on hard terrain, tsc, a real pity. I had to sacrifice it, no choice there. You see, despite all it's strength, despite being able to pull a full heavy wagon with no effort at all, despite surviving a spear through his back, Spit could not survive a rocky slope." He seemed amused by his own line of thinking. "A maester once told me horses can't bend their legs properly. A price these creatures paid for for their strong backs, he told me."

Raynald looked to the outside, as if searching the clouds for the mighty dragon. "Can you conceive such a thing? Weakness that is born from strength. The Seven are indeed a crafty bunch."

[Theomore Tullison]

"Why bring a dragon if you fail to use it, ser?" Theomore looks as if he is thinking out loud. "If the royal host crash against Wyl, one wave after another, and the castle withstand the tides, then much shame upon Prince Aemond. And should we take the castle at the cost of half of our men, with the greatest dragon alive watching from the skies, many a lord lending their strength to his campaign will question why he did nothing."

"No, Vhagar must take the field and brave the fire of archer and ballistae, though his main job is to provide cover and distraction, and most of all strike fear in the defenders. However, you are right, ser. A Targaryen would sooner sacrifice ten thousand men than subject his dragon to serious risk. And so would I, if House Tullison were so fortunate to have any dragons, that is."

[Ser Raynald Dulver]

"Of course" Raynald moved a step closer to Theomore. "So we've stablished that despite having a dragon you cannot truly make use of him. Saddly you also do not have the ten thousand men you were talking about. What do you have then, Theomore?" Raynald spoke as if the answer was obvious, but the fever of madness in his eyes were unsettling at best.

[Theomore Tullison]

"My own wits and resourcefulness has carried me well enough so far, good ser" Theomore replies quickly "I have been given command of Prince Aemond's host that attacks from the ground as he attacks from the skies, I will return to the Riverlands to marry a lovely young lady and take dominion of a Hall and surrounding lands which I may pass on to my children. Not too long ago, I shook the hands of Prince Daemon, and he spoke of the love he bears for me." It wasn't all that rosy, and Theomore's demeanor does suggest that it is not so much bragging as good natured examples, and that he may be exaggerating how much of such accomplishments came out of his own skills. "I suppose that if men can be born under lucky stars, I am likely to be one of them."

"Or maybe I just see the world for what it is, and thus can find the path where others are blinded by the comforting truths they create for themselves." How come he almost believed those words? They would be truths if all agreed to them. Alas, some men chose the way of pain, for themselves and others, making the world a darker place, to pretend that it was full of light was foolish, but just because he accepted that this was so, should he really walk the path fully? Not that he had much choice now. Perhaps all he could hope for was that when a way out was offered, he would see it. In the end, it will not matter, the lives consumed in the present will be nothing compared to the tide of fire and blood to be heralded by the bells of King's Landing.

"But what of you, Ser Raynald? Death, pain and punishment of the wicked, was it? Or did I misunderstand your words on that account?"

Dunno if we're doing this or not, but in case we are:
intrigue iniative: 5d6k4 17
ID: 11
DR: 4
Composure 9/9
Objective: May need further discussion in pm.

[Ser Raynald Dulver]

Raynald chuckled while listening to Theomore words. There was no malice in his smile though, only the juvenile joy of a trickster. "Nay, my good ser. You may be as blessed as you say, no one question your honor, but it is not about those graces that I'm talking about." The red knight peeked again outside, as if making sure no Targaryen was flying over his tent. "Yes it is true, I am a simple man, a person of lesser tastes, perhaps. Your conversation with our Aemond, for instance. I could not see myself side to side with higher men, like our Royal Prince, as you do. I am very aware of how disturbing my... nature... can be." His eyes were tiny cracks on his red face while searching the skies.

Raynald was an ugly man, big and dirty. His teeth were rotten, his face smashed countless times in battle, his odor nauseating. The man still lived like a sellsword despite being the younger brother of a Lord. For that and for more many considered him a savage. Still, there was something magnetic about his eyes, and when he finally found the words to express his thoughts, they sounded quite reasonable. "Years ago we fought together on the Steptones and we hardly shared a fire. Still, I know we both witnessed the horrors of war. The killings, the rapings, the cruelty... the madness. It changes you, you know that. Some men more than others, I think. Well, it definitely changed me. Sometimes I think I got lost on all that blood, never coming back. A husk of myself returned to my home, yes... but in a way, part of me never left those bloody waters. And here we are again, in the breaking of a new war, you as my commander, I as an old man." Raynald returned his gaze to Theomore, merrily picking an orange from a bowl, and offering it to the other knight.

"Back then I cared for nothing, Theomore. Trust me when I say that now I care." Raynald peeled his orange with his dagger, putting a juicy slice in his mouth. "That's why I'm trying to give you my most precious gift. Perspective."


Intrigue Initiative: Intrigue Initiative (against Theomore): 3d6 10
ID: 9
DR: 3
Composure 9/9
Objective: via PM

[Theomore Tullison]

Theomore nods, having known many a man not coming back quite the same from war. Some never came back at all, and more than one felt guilt for living through that which others did not. War turned the world into a harsh and brutal place that saw fit to break those who did not learn to steel one's heart against it's horrors. Wrecker Jon living with the ghosts of his fallen men for a decade before he found peace in the embrace of the stranger. Benjen Frey, molester of women, with a temper that gave him his epitaph. The Red Dulver. And himself, no better than any of them.

"I would be honored to receive it, Ser Raynald."

[RP may be a post or two ahead of the actual influencing]


Iniative 17
ID: 11
DR: 4
Composure 9/9
Objective: discussed via pm
Influence: 6d6k5+5 20 3 DoS, 4 influence for each, 12-3=9 dealt to composure

[Sponsored content]