Information


Myrcella has a minion!

Ser Pounce the Ounce




Myrcella


The Golden Feli
Owner: Gwin

Age: 1 year, 5 months, 6 days

Born: December 17th, 2011

Adopted: 1 year, 5 months, 6 days ago

Adopted: December 17th, 2011

Statistics


  • Level: 1
     
  • Strength: 10
     
  • Defense: 10
     
  • Speed: 10
     
  • Health: 10
     
  • HP: 10/10
     
  • Intelligence: 0
     
  • Books Read: 0
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Unemployed


"If my future is something to be bought, I will tear down such a marketplace."


The day is grey, too grey, for a tourney of this like, Myrcella thought. There would be no jousts in the mud, the horses' legs caked merely from getting their masters to the arena. The lists were a swamp where the trenches from mounts' hooves had been filled by the rains ere the attendants could fill them.

So she sat, in a thick cloak and under wooden eaves, awaiting the combat. It was not cool enough for frost in the south, even in wintertime, but she saw her breath before her just the same.

"My lady, you tremble," a soft voice commented from behind her.

"I'm aright, Brienne. Only the chill in the air." Myrcella smiled wider than she felt, shifting around in her cushioned seat to convince her protector. Brienne was sworn to her side, same as her brothers and their guards, and she would have no other; this she told her knight.

Brienne flushed, and Myrcella felt her smile grow genuinely this time. A child's loose tongue, she knew her guardian could blame the heartfelt words on, but Brienne was not one to patronize, and never cruel.

"All the same, my lady," Brienne said with such a careful gleam to her eye that Myrcella did not know if she meant the weather or her very knighthood. "The fires are grown inside, should you want for them."

"The combatants will have no comfort, especially on a day as today. I would do them a courtesy to forswear a few of my own," Myrcella replied even as the fur on her cloak tickled her nose, making her wrinkle it in distaste. So much for a lady's honesty, she thought guiltily, undoing the clasp to absolve herself a little.

Horns resounded, a metallic rumble piercing through the stillness of the cold, and the air seemed to hold a shiver all its own. Myrcella wondered if this was what magic felt like.

From rasping stone doors came the fighters, and she watched the first emerge: a towering mass of a man in mail and metal plate, a bright banner upon his chest proclaiming heritage. So many fought for family name, continued honor, all manner of prideful things. She thought it a waste of time, exciting though the duels could be.

When the second came, a slip of a shadow unfurled from his stone door, and she felt her breath leave her. The young man was slight, with skin nearly as white as snow, a dark mane of hair shaken loose. He was small compared to his opponent, though he seemed not to be fazed as he sized him up, a slash of red paint--or what she hoped was paint--like a mask across bright eyes.

"Is he from the wastes?" Myrcella asked. Even the armies would not go there, in the uttermost north where nothing green could grow and the snows were said to shroud demons. The crowds in the stands around her were gasping greater than she.

"I don't know," Brienne said, and Myrcella heard her knight's sword unsheathe a few inches. Such wariness? "...I don't like the look of him."

Makes one of us, Myrcella smiled to herself, and willed herself not to jump as the warrior in question turned his gaze right to her--dangerous, almost... playful?--and the horns blared once more.

The match began.

Story by Gwin
Layout from:

Pet Treasure


Pet Friends


Brienne
So much devotion. I hope your vows do not keep you from trusting my word.

Kreiss
You are... different, like me. Awake, where all else is like a foolish dream.

Kuno
The only friend who has nothing to gain from me. That means much.