An old man in a rough grey-black robe stood before an altar, before him was an audience of knights who were sitting on simple oaken pews. Behind the knights stood their retainers, men at arms and levied peasants alike. The room the men had gathered in was seven sided, its roof held up by seven large beams. The walls of the room were plastered in white, but had turned to a more white-grey with time. The walls each had a painting hanging up upon them and a small table beneath them, decorated with the appropriate symbols and icons of their above aspect. All of the aspects of the seven were present, each having a large painting, all except for the Stranger. The Stranger had no table beneath him and only had a small grim image that sat above the entrance to the room. Above this image was a small window, a man in his middle years could be seen through it.
Lord Harrold Arryn was dressed in a dark blue woolen tunic, the sleeves and collar being decorated with intricate depictions of mountains and birds in a golden shade. His hose were in a rich red and on his feet he wore dark brown pointed turn shoes. He sat up straight in his chair, keeping his eyes focused on the old man but looking at the knights below every so often before re-fixing his attention.
The old man had a rough beard and only a few clumps of hair clung to the side of his head in a broken ring around it. However, it seemed that age had impacted him little elsewhere, for he stood tall with a straight back and a booming voice. On his neck hung a bronze sword, with bright green disease engulfing its edges. He came closer to his altar and began to speak clearly though in an accent strange to those who had gathered, his voice bounced around the room in an echo.
“Men of the Vale, the gathering of such men as yourselves fills my heart with warmth and hope. It is men such as you that the weak and innocent must rely on in such times of treachery and betrayal as we live in now. Rhaenyra Targaryen has forsaken everything holy with her selfish and material ways, attacking her kin and burning good men and women with her beasts. She has cast aside the Father’s judgement, for she sees herself above justice, honour and the rule of law. She has spat upon the Mother, forsaking the love between husband and wife by birthing bastards born of adultery. She has brought shame to the Warrior by attacking the weak and undefended and claiming
It as a victory. She has smashed asunder the Maiden’s virtues with her disgusting and unchaste ways. She has misused the gifts of the Smith to achieve her base desire for power, she prefers slaves to honest craftsmen. She has stamped the Crone’s wisdom into the dirt, foolishly attacking her faithful ally and awaking the wrath of the most devote and honourable warriors in the Seven Kingdoms. Warriors who will not rest whilst injustice of a would-be queen corrupts the realm. When the Stranger comes for her at the end of her days, we know on what path he will lead such an evil and corrupt woman.”
He raises his arm and points to the Stranger whose painting sits above the door. The audience turns and looks at the Stranger. A dark shape with the head of a skull, it would seem to stare at a man without regard for where in the room he was sitting.
“Now is a time of war, a war that the first Andals started but we must finish. In the North, the disgusting and vile wolves cling to their trees and deny the truth of the Seven. They have taken the Three Sisters and now march on our neighbours, the Men of the Vale shall bring them into the light of the Seven. More heathens and savages have also attacked the faithful. In the West, we hear of Krakens attacking House Tully, our noble allies. These are the allies of the false Queen, heathens and heretics who deny the truth to live in darkness. She consorts with them to give herself power. A true, honest and holy man of the faith owes her no loyalty, for her actions are disloyal. Rhaenyra spits on the Seven, thus spitting upon those who would serve them. Now is the time of holy war, as the purest and most faithful in Westeros, it is for the Men of the Vale to continue the work of their ancestors and send the heathens and their so called Gods to the depths of the seven hells where they can spout lies and falsities no longer. It is the faithful that truly win in this life, for they forsake the material and praise the Seven who are above such petty affairs. Fear not death, for when the Stranger comes for you, he will take you to your rightful resting place, whilst your enemies will be forever tormented for their vile sin. Though the heathen may plunge a sword through your heart, you are truly the winner for you have served the Seven faithfully and will be awarded as such. Now let us sing. I believe you will all know the hymn, Blessed Seven.”
Blessed Seven we call upon you
fill our hearts with endless faith.
Bless the faithful, curse the sinful.
Hold us in your powerful arms.
Blessed Seven, blessed Seven
praise the seven-pointed star
(pointed star)
praise the seven-pointed star.
Righteous Father bring us justice,
Loving Mother embrace us,
Mighty Warrior grant us victory,
Graceful Maiden protect the weak.
Blessed Seven, blessed Seven,
judge the wicked from the pure
(from the pure)
judge the wicked from the pure.
Smith make steel a holy armour,
strengthen walls against all foes.
Crone extend your lamp before us
let it light the sacred path.
Blessed Seven, Blessed Seven,
give your wisdom onto us,
(onto us)
give your wisdom onto us.
Seven who are one, seven who are one,
we devote our lives to thee
(lives to thee)
we devote our lives to thee
When the hymn was over the men created a line to the preacher, who would then give each man a blessing and usher them out of the Sept. Harrold waited for the room to be largely emptied before he made his way down to talk to the preacher. Harrold’s voice would echo around the room.
“Steffon, a most wonderful sermon.”
They smiled at one another and then embraced each other, both of them patting the other hard on the back.
“I thank you Harrold, it has been so long since I have spoken about such things to anyone else.”
“Do goats not make for good listeners?”
Harrold smiled at Steffon but the old man stared at the floor, lost in some deep thought Harrold imagined.
“Oh, uhm, no. Uh… awful listeners. The tribesmen are even worse…. Warrior bless you Harrold, I must go now to my room. Yes.... Many thanks…”
Steffon walked from the sept, his face turned to a frown, obviously he was asking himself a question. Harrold laughed to himself when the old man had left and then knelt beneath the portrait of the father in solemn prayer.
Harrold's prayer was disrupted by someone who had entered the Sept. Harrold turned to look who it was, delighted when he saw Joffrey Arryn. Joffrey spoke with only a slight hint of warmth towards his father, his face expressionless.
"Father, I came as soon as I heard word of the betrayal. My men are ready to avenge Gulltown and kill that bi-..... woman."
Harrold stood up and turned to his son.
"Good, I shall spread the order to leave amongst the Lords and our host shall be ready to move. Joffrey, I would like you to lead the vanguard, show the Vale how their future Lord commands on the field." |
Re: [RPHS] Dance of the Dragons
Originally Posted by Belthasar Bolton
