The Hearty Woodsman sat on the edge of House Lychester’s northern border, near the Red Fork, a few miles south of where the road forked south from the Riverroad. It was a sturdy Inn of two stories, with a wooden panel depicting a woodsman taking his ease on a felled stump and a mug of ale in his free hand. Beside it rested a wooden stable, and the land was cleared for a good fifty feet in any direction. The Hearty Woodsman was the last major stop en-route to Castle Lychester, which lay perhaps a half day’s ride south. From the road, a number of loud conversations could be overheard within , showing that, for now at least, the Hearty Woodsman was doing good business.

It was the middle of the day when House Blackfin’s party arrived. They were expected in Castle Lychester within the next day or so, with some time to arrive early as they had been invited to do. The decision to rest at the Woodsman or travel onward had not yet been made.

The Blackfin party was composed of sixteen members and dressed for travel, with arms and house colours on display.
Lady Gwendolyn rode prominently in the party, with her handmaids ‘White' Lanna Dun and Myranda Cooper. Ser Thoren Blackfin, his son Darvil, and squire Meryn Whaler, three guardsmen of House Blackfin, and Gerhart Rivers, the House’s Master of the Hunt all sported House Blackfin colours of green and blue. Ser Berion, his squires Valen Vance and Jerom Pierce, and three guardsmen of House Knollwood, sported the red and yellow colours of House Blackfin’s knightly vassal, House Knollwood.

Gerhart had arrived in advance of the main party, checking the road ahead along with his young apprentice, a shy boy named Nock. He had sent the boy back to join the others and stayed at the inn himself, watching as patrons came and went, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

He was dressed in his road clothes, his house colours not obvious beneath his dark brown travel cloak. A heavy sword hung at his belt with a well-used hunting bow slung over his shoulder. There were several faces he recognised... farmers, merchants and sellswords, but many more he didn’t. He resisted the urge for a drink, not wanting to risk an incident, so instead opted for a jug of water flavoured with pressed apple juice and sweet berries. He sat quietly by the door, watching.

The others would arrive soon...

Seated atop his rounsey, and eschewing the heavy chain worn by the guardsmen flanking him, Berion was wearing his far more comfortable riding leathers underneath a red and yellow tabard.

From his prominent position riding slightly behind Lady Gwendolyn, the young knight seemed in high spirits, chatting amiably with anyone in their group who would listen for more than a moment.  Granted this was hardly a surprise for those who knew the man well, as he was always like this before any sort of tournament or battle.  When his squires had asked him about it some years back, he explained that it was simply an outlet for his nervous energy.  After all, it was a far better option than drinking oneself into a stupor or brooding quietly in a corner.

As the Inn came into view, the conversation Berion was engaged in with his squires quickly died.  Glancing in the Blackfin heiress's direction, he momentarily caught her gaze before speaking up.  "If memory serves me correctly, this is the last stop before Castle Lychester, which shouldn't be more than a half day’s ride south.  It's entirely your call if we stop here for the day or not Lady Gwendolyn."

Valen rode just behind Ser Berion and beside his fellow squire Jerom Pierce. As the old inn came into view, hope sprang up in the young lad's spirit. The thought of stopping and enjoying the inn's fare was only part of it. The party was now only a half-day's ride to Lychester Castle. Once arrived there would be a wedding, a hunt, and most importantly a tournament.  His Liege, Ser Berion, would ride and break lances with a host of other knights and lords. It was not just watching the joust, but as Ser Berion was so oft to say, to learn from them.

Valen was also well known among the Riverlords. His surname of Vance, even if of the lesser house, held some weight. Being the Squire of such a knight as Ser Berion had in and of itself some reward. It was Valen's hope that he would be able to visit his cousin Kendred, a boy of eleven, and the Lord of House Vance of Atranta. No doubt his aunt Syreena would be there as well, acting as the boy's regent. If things went well, introducing Ser Berion to his aunt would be most splendid indeed.

Ser Berion was full of chatter while upon the road, as was his wont before a tourney. Though Valen never tired of it. In fact, it all made the weary business of plodding league after league bearable. The Squire loved most the tale of The Battle at Tumblestone. Where Ser Berion earned his spurs when he put down a Lannister Prince and his sellsword army on the very banks of that river. Valen could just imagine all the bright steel in the light of the sun that day. One day he too would ride alongside such men and be remembered, the Warrior be praised!

Then Ser Berion's query broke Valen's reverie. As they rode behind the Lady Valen's chocolate brown eyes ever glanced her way. She was certainly blessed by the Maiden. Aye! She had received the Maiden's kiss alright. Lady Gwen was the fairest of the fair. All would depend upon the lady's whim then. Whether to stop or press on to Lychester.

"My Lady? If naught else may I fetch you a cool draught of well water? Certes, the road dust has given you thirst?" Valen said with a boldness that even surprised him. Both cheeks immediately felt hot and looked as if he had stayed out in the noon-day sun of Dorne. He swallowed hard. "I beg the Mother's pardon My Lady and Ser."

Thoren Blackfin sat tall upon his horse, a mount borrowed from the house's stables. He didn't look uneasy on a horse, but those that had seen him aboard a ship would know that he belonged on the water. Over leathers that provided for a more comfortable bearing upon a horse, he wore a black tabard, lightly accented at the sleeves by the pale green and blue of House Blackfin's colors. To one side of his chest was embroidered the black salmon of Blackfin, barely noticeable unless one was close. It was flanked on the other side by a black bullshark, which featured on his personal arms.

He rode alongside his niece and with his son Darvil close at hand. He had lost too much in the way of family to lose any more, and would see that this trip would not provide another opportunity for the Blackwoods and their sycophants to harm his kin a single time more. The very thought put him in a bit of a dark mood, though Ser Berion's squire brought him out of it quickly enough.

He passed a wolfish grin to Ser Berion, and then to his squire. The young Vance boy was a good lad, and well suited to squire for a man like Ser Berion. If he had the aptitude, Berion would drill the skill into him and turn him into a fine knight indeed. Thoren could remember only faintly what it was like to be a youth of that age. He had been fortunate to not have been around any women who were considered as eligible as his niece till he had been a bit older, and that had been a blessing. He didn't know that he would have fared much better than Valen at the same age.

He looked to his niece for her decision.

"I believe we will at the least need to retrieve our huntmaster," he said. Rivers had ridden ahead, and might have a sense of things here.

Within

The Hearty Woodsman seated a good range of passing travelers and local smallfolk. A half dozen tables seated farmhands, labourers, tinkers, and crofters. toward the back of the Inn, separate from the rest, a large group of perhaps ten men were the rowdiest of the bunch. Unlike the others, these men wore swords, axes or maces, though many had laid them down to enjoy a mug of ale or cut of smoked meat. Few of the men bore heraldry openly, but amidst the group, some personal heraldry was visible. A pot, a hound, and a winged beast, were among them.

The men appeared to be involved in a game of chance. Three of them, younger and slighter of build, perhaps squires or servants, each had a half-filled mug of ale atop his head, and every few minutes one of the seated men would take a turn throwing an object. Oft as not his aim was true and the mug would go clattering to the ground; men would cheer, and a round of beers would be ordered, otherwise there might be a wince or a shout at the standing squire was struck with whatever was thrown, to a mixture of cheers or boos from the surrounding men.

Towards the door, the innkeeper, an older man of at least forty years, gave a slight frown as one of the squires buckled beneath a hurled shoe, but offered no word of complaint.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:04, Fri 15 Jan 2021.

Before Lady Gwen could respond, another young voice cried out.

"Nay Lady, allow me to fetch you water," called out Ser Berion's other squire, Jerom. "Valen's hands are unsteady, and he is sure to spill it o'er himself and you, while I would deliver you a draught as tranquil as the waters of the God's Eye."

The young squire had pulled his own rounsey alongside Valen and held his own reins tightly, ready to respond to Lady Gwen's command.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 03:31, Fri 15 Jan 2021.

Gwen slowed her steed to a walk, then stopped entirely. She certainly seemed to expect others to take care of duties requiring manual labor, and wasn't disappointed. She also seemed to be looking about for someone to help her from her mount. Though the heiress was quite capable of dismounting on her own, it always interested her to see who might volunteer to steady her as she did so.

The Blackfin heiress was dressed in an overcoat primarily containing the greens of her house colors, though pale blue of her travelling dress peeked through. Her brown hair was pulled into a single, long braid for travelling. At the start of the day, not a single hair had been out of place. And though that was no longer the case, the work of her ladies had held up quite well to the rigors of mounted movement. Some in her position might prefer wheeled transport, and eventually that might be Gwen's desire as well. But for now, she took joy in riding, even when done for simple transport.

She nodded at the question from the Knollwood Knight. "Your memory serves well, Ser Berion. And while there may be good reason to change our mind - let us plan as if we are spending the night here." It would give her more opportunity to spend time with those in the Blackfin travelling party. Making personal connections was something she valued, and there were several in the party whose company she enjoyed or whose counsel she valued.

Her hazel eyes drifted toward Valen at his query, and she nodded her assent. "Water for travelers and horses will be welcome." An eyebrow arched upwards at Jerom's commentary. "If your hands are steady, hold them out and let me see just how steady they are."

She did spare a nod for her uncle's suggestion concerning their huntmaster. He was someone she looked to emulate in many ways and didn't really need her leave to instruct people. That he looked to her regardless was just one more thing she appreciated about Thoren.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:00, Sat 16 Jan 2021.

In reply to Gwendolyn Blackfin (msg # 8):

Valen was to wait patiently for the Lady's answer though two things happened before it. First, Ser Thoren gave him and his liege a wolfish grin. That grin only deepened the color of both cheeks. Valen guessed the Master of Arms thought his statement far more than the innocent one he intended. Perhaps Ser Berion would as well. If so, no doubt, there would be a lecture coming. Secondly, Jerom could not help himself. He and Valen had what some would name a friendly rivalry. No doubt the other squire wanted equal attention from Lady Gwendolyn.

Yet when the lady gave him the answer he sought, Valen could see that she was waiting for assistance to dismount her horse. The Crone be praised, for Valen knew exactly what to do. His heel touched his rounsey, and the young squire pulled up alongside Lady Gwen and dismounted himself. With his best courtly bow, Valen addressed her.

"My Lady? I fear Jerom speaks the truth. He would do well to fetch My Lady's water from yon well. Now, with me free from duty, may I assist you from your horse. With your per... permission of course." Valen stammered and extended his hand to aid her if she was so willing. Yet after locking eyes with her, he could not hold her gaze. Those hazel eyes were much too much, so Valen averted his chocolate brown ones and waited.

"Of course Lady Blackfin" Berion replied with a quick nod before turning his gaze towards his squires, whereupon his demeanor became icy, his tone seemingly infused with iron.  "Quickly then, because you boys have other, far more pressing work to attend to."

The two squires were rather familiar with the look that Ser Berion had just flashed them.  No doubt that he'd find a rather large amount of extra work to keep them busy for the rest of the day thanks to their collective outburst.  After all propriety was quite important to the knight, and while he had little issue with the two boys competing for the affections of Lady Blackfin (as it was little more than harmless fun), the two squabbling in public like that reflected poorly upon him.

Jerom's mouth opened in a slight 'O' of surprise as he heard the commands of his Lady and Liege before he did as bid, taking both hands from his reins and holding them out in front of him. He held both arms out easily, with scarce a waver for several seconds, and a slight grin snuck onto his face.

His rounsey, a nervous beast, grew disquieted without the constant reassurance of Jerom's hands on the reins and began to sniff at some nearby grass, and took a few wayward steps. Jerom gave a frown, and stuck his tongue out of the bottom left of his mouth in a show of concentration, keeping his arms level as he had been bid. His rounsey gave a knickering sound and stamped the ground, growing frustrated with it's rider's inattention. In a flash, Jerom fell from his saddle, giving an "oof" surprise, he landed awkwardly on the road. He seemed uninjured, but struggled to rise, as he had kept his arms in the same level position all through the fall, maintaining his balance.

Gwen nodded at both the display of obedience and skill shown by Jerom. She drew a quick breath as he tumbled from the horse, but let it out slowly when he appeared uninjured. She beckoned the fallen squire toward her and held out some coins. "Since you have so ably and quickly dismounted, take charge of seeing our steeds to the stable. The coins are for the stable hands, distribute it as I would."

She then looked over at Valen and nodded her approval. "Permission granted." She swung herself carefully from her saddle, then allowed Valen to help her finish putting her feet back on solid ground.

In reply to The Many Faced God (msg # 6):

Gerhart tried to suppress a grin at the drunken antics of the inn patrons. He had seen many such games in his time, and participated in more than a few. He had once caught a young squire square in the face with a ripe tomato, splattering the boy with pips and juice, knocking the tankard from his head. That had won him a round of ale from a drunk sellsword who later tried to beat the boy for flinching. That evening had gotten messy very quickly, and the sellsword had taken a severe and well-deserved beating for his troubles.

He looked around, sipping his water and juice, wondering if the others would be along soon.

Thoren dismounted when did his niece, though he didn't immediately hand the reins of his mount over before unburdening it of his weapon, which he slung across his back as he customarily did. He chuckled lightly as Jerom fell from his saddle, though not cruelly so. He wondered if he been such a fool for women as a boy of that age, and concluded that he might have been had he not been such an overly serious lad.

"Let's go have something to quench our thirsts and decide whether or not to stay the night. If we decide not to stay though, I think that a better decision made sooner than late."

Mother's Mercy! Valen knew he and Jerom were in trouble. The squire need not look in the knight's direction to know that icy stare was upon him. Unfortunately, Valen was all too familiar with that tone in his voice, which meant extra work was coming the squires' way. He knew The Father himself would judge them both guilty, so there was no use making excuses. Before Valen could reach a plan of action, a noise brought his attention back to Jerome.

The squire had fallen from his horse! Though the two had a somewhat friendly rivalry, Valen did not wish the other lad any harm. They both served Ser Berion and House Blackfin, after all. A glance at Jerome gave Valen's mind some ease. He would be alright. He probably landed on his head. It seemed Lady Gwen was impressed as well. She gave Jerome the honor of seeing to her horse! Valen was about to protest when the Lady also permitted him to assist her.

Valen held out a firm hand and bowed. "Thank you, My Lady."

He looked up only briefly, allowing his chocolate brown eyes to gaze upon her perfection. As he felt the heat building in both cheeks, those same eyes were averted. After another, quicker bow, Valen was heading to ser Berion. There was nothing for it but to meet his punishment straight on!

"My pardon Ser! Please allow me to see to your and Ser Thoren's mounts personally. This way, no common stable boy will care for them and the Ladies' mounts. Jerome and I will brush them down and remove the saddles and such so they may cool down. Then and only then will we allow them water. Then, thanks to Lady Gwendolyn's generosity, we can use the coin given to buy some oats... mayhaps an apple if there are any. It would be my honor to do so, Ser." Valen bowed to Ser Berion before doing the same to Ser Thoren. "With your permission as well, Ser."

Gwen hid a smile in her horse's flank as she dismounted. This seemed likely to be an enjoyable trip regardless of any actual accomplishments they made. The Blackfin heiress did reach out her hand to Valen and used it to steady herself slightly after she planted both feet back on the ground. She first turned toward the squire and nodded. "Thank you, Valen." She smirked at his back as the squire retreated toward his knight.

She then looked over at her uncle and nodded once. "I think that's the right of it. Let's take a look, have a drink, and relax a little, for a start." Without further pause, she headed toward the entrance to The Hearty Woodsman.

Thoren was only too happy to hand the reins to the young squire, then gestured to his own squire, Meryn Whaler.

"Meryn, come with us and hold the door," he said. He gestured for the three Blackfin guardsmen - he thought their names were Alvyn, Symeon, and Theoden - to fall into a position. Two moved ahead, to clear a bit of a path for them if things were busy and find a place for them to be seated, one at the rear.  He and he walked along with his son Darvil and Gwendolyn, who was usually accompanied by her handmaids.

"Have you been to the Hearty Woodsman before, Gwen?"

Within

The heavy outer door of the Hearty woodsman cave a loud creak as the two Blackfin guardsmen pushed it open. Conversations within came to an abrupt pause, as many craned their necks to view the large party that had entered. The knights and men at arms in the back of the room continued their antics unabated.

The innkeeper looked up as more armed men entered The Woodsman, furrowing his brow for a moment as he considered their livery. Behind him, a young barmaid of no more than fifteen looked over his shoulder and whispered a few words into his ear. As the innkeeper glimpsed the more refined garb of Lady Gwen and her entourage and listened to the barmaid his eyes widened slightly and he gave a call of welcome."

"Lady Gwendolyn of Blackfin Den, and her knightly companions, come in, come in." He spat a curse at some of his regulars near the hearth, "I'll have three tables and more cleared out for you in short order, Milady and lords, have no fear. Please, come in and dine on our finest mutton and ale.

Without
The stable outside is large and well-sheltered, but somewhat poorly maintained. A lad of perhaps thirteen years lies dozing in a pile of hay nearby some unclaimed stalls.