Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24685738-20170605191359/@comment-24685738-20170607025038

"No." Rhaela murmured, her face grave. "At least, it wasn't on the itinerary."

The Forsworn and the Breton appeared to be making their way towards Princess Rhaela and Prince Arik, as well, though the reason was not clear. The way Arik was making eye contact with them, however, made it seem as if they were familiar with each other.

"Yeah... yeah." Donnel relaxed, sitting back down and taking a sip of his mead, not wanting to get drunk and embarrass himself in front of the first noblewoman he had been up close with.

"Y-yes, sir." The boy cowered, obviously intimidated by the tremendous size of the more aggressive of his rescuers. "I'm... I'm fine?" He murmured the last part like a question, his fingers brushing against the now-healed wound. As a peasant boy in a city of a million people, it was clear that he had never seen magic up close.

Aerion grinned, as he read through the names. “Jarl Brynja Gray-Mane of Whiterun.” He roared, and his own men, wearing Legionnaire’s armor, but in the color of white and red, moved forward, drawing blades. Although the middle-aged Nord woman tried to rise, shouting for her own guards, she was quickly shoved to her knees. With a single swing of a sword, the Jarless, a known Blackfyre sympathizer, had her head rolling around on the floor, while her children wailed and cried. Blood from her stump spurted onto Iden, pooling around his boots.

"Lord and Lady Redrain, Duke and Duchess of Cropsford." The Bright Prince laughed, the sweet sound rippling throughout the hall, providing a sharp contrast to the ugly words spilling from his mouth. His guards rushed a young couple, who could have only been children when the last Rebellion had taken place, meaning that Aerion, in his bloodlust, was punishing the closest thing to the original supporters as he could.

“King Martin Moreau of Jehanna.” He called, and his guards rushed to grab the man. The elderly king, a small crown balanced precariously on his bald head, looked both shocked and angered by the implication. “I fought with the Emperor’s brother in the First War!” He roared, dragging a decorative mace from his belt. He slammed it into the forehead of one of Aerion’s men, before he was stabbed through the neck by a blade.

Now, even the most confident of noblemen had grown worried. Not only had Aerion attacked royalty, but he had also taken out a man who was among the most staunch supporters of Maerys. Even the Emperor appeared to be slightly stunned, although he did nothing.

Some people stood up, as if to move for the door, although the ring of steel as guards drew their blades forced them back into their seats.