Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24685738-20170605191359/@comment-3293219-20170607110332

Apollo42 wrote: 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. Iden quickly reached for his stilletto, upon seeing the woman, who he had been talking to, mere moments ago die at his feet. He could still feel the warmth of her hand, her last words still lingered in the air.

He drew it from his sheeth and lifted it, pressing the tip of the blade into his teeth as he disinterestedly scratched at the remnants of food that vexed him.

Not really fearing being turned on, given his insignificance in the grand scheme of things, he merely watched the spectical. Waiting for this pre-pubescent try hard to finish up on his attempts to act like an a 'big man.'