A Call to Arms

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 The Lord of the Fallen and the Wolf of Westeros, Tag Jon/Alma
LOGAIN ANCARTH
 direct link • Jul 29 2017, 04:16 am
Quote
Commander of the Fallen Cohort
Blackheart
SWORN TO TARGARYEN
ESSOS
Eighteen years
Ryder • HE/HIM • 21 posts
Offline


It had exhausted almost all of his sources and even made him use his name to find out where Jon Snow was. The rightful ruler of Westeros. Logain wasn't even sure why he was trying to find Jon. But he wanted to fight for him, He wanted to win for him. Maybe it was because Jon had the most to gain from Logain and his men and would appreciate them more than any Westerosi Lord would have. Logain could cement his men as true legends of the War of Westeros. While he guessed Jon would have no gold to give him, He knew there would be promises of great wealth, Or at least he hoped. He didn't know how his men would take promises. Cold hard coin had always been their preferred option. Half now, Half later or an ongoing payment while they were in service. Most of them probably didn't even know what a cause was beyond a coin, Even Logain was slightly put off by the idea of no payment straight up. But all his men were rich enough to hold them over a war.

He had been given the location of the ship that Jon had called home. Logain was dressed in a simple tunic and a leather jacket rested firmly over his body, laced together across his chest and a crossed . He wore a leather belt, attached was a small bag of coin, The Longsword of the Fallen and a pouch where he kept an assortment of items. Logain knew the port from the description that he had been given. He had sailed into it not even two years prior. Logain hadn't brought any of the Harbingers for this, He hadn't even sent word of his coming. Logain's hair was tied loosely in a bun behind his head. He was well groomed, He had even shaven for his meeting with Jon. Though he probably would have shaved the next day anyway.

He rested his hand on his sword, Not may in the city would try to approach a well armed man. Though Logain was young and seemed more robbable than he was. People that approached were usually met with a dark stare, And the ever so slight raise of his sword out of it's leather sheath. Logain was beyond his years wise in battle and war and command of his company. He was amongst the Youngest of the Sworn Brothers of the Fallen and yet he commanded them all, It was quite an achievement, Or at least he thought. Those who challenged him at the start soon became some of his firmest supporters, They had grown ten times richer under Logain.

Logain's eyes came upon the ship that Jon had been using as a home. He swallowed as he approached. Two men soon approached and one of them used his beer belly to push him back. Logain was taken back slightly. The fat one soon spoke. He was a sailor, A fat, ugly sailor. Fatter than Fat Berlo, And he was pretty fat. "We'll have yer sword, Boy." Logain looked the men with a cocky smirk. "Aye, You'll have it, If you don't move outta my way. I have no interest in killing today. Well other than you two if you don't let me pass." Logain said notching his sword out of it's resting place with his knuckle, showing the glint of the castle forged steel blade. The second man, a Skinny runt of a man spat out laughter. "Two of us one of you. Hardly seems fair." The Skinny sailor spat.

Logain took a moment before speaking. "Aye, You're severly outmatched here, Hardly seems fair. Do you want to get three more of your boys and blind fold me. You fuck's might have a chance then." Logain said. The fat one looked at the skinny one and they both started laughing. "Funny one ain't you." The fat one managed to get out. Logain nodded. "And deadly one." Logain feigned drawing his sword and with his other hand he grasped the head of the fat man and slammed the middle of his forehead against the mans nose. He felt the man's nose and maybe even part of the mans skull crack under the force. His hand then moved towards his sword, the skinny one who had already drawn his sword to point it at Logain. It was more of a Pirates sabre than an actual sword. Logain hadn't even had a chance to draw his sword before he saw the man go for a swing at him. Logain moved quickly and in a moment he was behind the mans blow and was able to draw his sword. The man turned and slashed unskillfully at Logain again. Logain parried the blow with no more effort than it took him to take a shit at night before bed. The runt then caught a forearm to the face and a straight jab to the throat. The man dropped to his knee's and his sword, He could hear the man start to gargle and scratch at his neck. Blood soon started to drip from his lips that started turning blue.

Logain looked at the man with pity as he sheathed his sword and drew a dagger, there was now a begging in his eyes, He was begging for an end to the pain, A quick way out of the pain. Logain danced the blade lightly across his neck, Not enough to kill but enough to draw pain and eventually a small amount of blood, He made sure that the man's blood did not sully his blade before speaking. "Your blood isn't worth the effort of cleaning my blade." Logain said as he let the man slump down and die on his own. He was glad that the port was empty. The guards would just think this a brawl between two gangs.

Logain made the rest of the way to the ship of Jon Targaryen. Logain nodded to the guards as he introduced himself and passed off his sword. "At least polish it for me, Won't ya." His jest was met with cold eyes and Logain just nodded. "Or maybe not." Logain looked around for a moment before spotting the Targaryen lad. "Your Grace." The words were half a jest, He somehow made it seem like it wasn't as much of an insult as it was a joke. "I am Logain... Ancarth. Lord of the Fallen Cohort." He guessed that the King would probably have no idea who they were, Maybe he had heard of them, If not he wanted to make him feel stupid for not knowing who they were. It also pained him slightly to use his last name, But when speaking to Kings, Noble names carried weight and this was a time he needed as much weight as he could pull. "Is there some wine or ale and a couple of seats around? I would like to speak to you."



Notes: A bit of filler in there, I just wanted to explore Logain interacting in a fight and stuff. Feel free to have Jon have seen the exchange or something to make it useful.
JON TARGARYEN
 direct link • Aug 11 2017, 12:09 pm
Quote
his grace
the wolf of westeros
Sworn to the Seven Kingdoms
ESSOS
18 years
alma • she/her • 244 posts
Offline


Though the docks were no doubt prone to becoming the scene of unannounced and often unnecessary bouts of violence, the fact that the very man that stood below them on the docks, the one who only seconds before caused some familiar faces to curl in agony, and their bodies to wretch and shake as they gave themselves into the hands of Stranger and his cherished direwolf, Ghost, very uncomfortable. From the moment the white haired man appeared before them, the beast stepped forth in lieu of its master, drawing back its grey-white flews as the ringing of a blade being drawn filled the ears of those present. Its dull shine was eclipsed by the hound's bare-toothed snarl, showcasing its massive bite whilst it growled. The guards accompanying the fallen King of Westeros were uneasy; even as the man turned in his weapons, they were unsure of how trustworthy this man was still. That easy, confident walk. That shit-eating grin. Did this man not know that his activities had not gone unaccounted for? That Jon, in the time he had spent here, had painstakingly tried to keep a low profile in this, his sanctuary, and that unnecessary murders would certainly send him back to that detestable Aydrian's fine villa? Jon curled his lips in disapproval, casting his eyes downwards as the man spoke.

Logain. Lord of whatever the fuck that was. Cohort? Jon looked at the lad and he looked no better than a deceiving bard. Jon let him go on for the time being. He had disposed of his visible weapons, but the fact that he had killed men on his way here was reason enough for Jon to call on the guards to do a more thorough search. "Give me a reason to to let Ghost have his way with you. As far as I'm concerned, you have only proven yourself to be a murderer," Jon simply noted, stonefaced as he looked towards the stranger, still skeptical of his intentions. "Who is to say it wasn't Robert that sent you? And Lord of the Fallen?" He scoffed. What was that even supposed to mean? Were titles losing their weight? Were they being appropriated? There was no point in dancing around the matter, of wasting a thought on it; Jon, though calm and collected, felt threatened.

Jon's direwolf growled in the intruder's general direction, as if echoing his own feelings, before he shushed it, turning to the man, angered by the fact that this could only breed scandal of the sort he detested. "If you want an audience, take off your clothes. All of them. Prove to my men you've nothing to hide," Jon stated as he pointed his sword towards the man, uncaring of whether or not he followed through.
LOGAIN ANCARTH
 direct link • Aug 12 2017, 02:21 am
Quote
Commander of the Fallen Cohort
Blackheart
SWORN TO TARGARYEN
ESSOS
Eighteen years
Ryder • HE/HIM • 21 posts
Offline


Logain watched as the King came to him, He could feel the chastising look at him already. Logain didn't care that Jon had seen the murder. It just showed what he was capable of. He had enjoyed it as well. Logain had wished he had been able to keep a dagger or something on his person, He felt bare without his sword. Logain stood silently for a moment at Logain's question. "Well, Since you asked so politely, I have men that have seen more battles than any of your men have ever thought about, Who are lead by the toughest eighteen year old that Essos or Westeros have ever seen," Logain loved talking himself and his men up, He had grown adept at it and surprisingly enough he managed to pull off every job he accepted. And on your second question If I was here to kill you, I probably would have brought more men than just myself and be wearing armor."

Logain almost lost it when Jon asked him to strip. Logain cocked his head sideways. This had been the first time someone wanted to test him by taking off his clothes. He didn't know what angle the King was playing but he went along with it and dropped his leather jacket and undid the nothes on his belt before dropping them around his boots and kicked his boots off. He let his manhood swing free in the cold Bravossi air. He pulled off his shirt and let his bare, pale, scarred chest show. He was quite well built. He brushed his silver hair to the side and looked at the king. "Is Your Grace pleased with my cock and balls or would he like a closer inspection?" He smirked his smirk and cupped it in his hand. "The only sword I wield currently is attached to me." Logain nodded as he stood getting slightly cold in the air of the dock. Logain had no care that he was naked, It didn't phase him.

"You're not exactly the Targaryen I'd hoped I would be naked in front of. But I mean, How many men can say a Targaryen has seen their cock?" He teased said as he approached the king, Still naked and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want me to swear some sort of vow, You can hold my cock while I do it. We can make it a Targaryen tradition." He said still smirking. "Now can I put some fucking clothes back on?"
JON TARGARYEN
 direct link • Aug 15 2017, 11:15 am
Quote
his grace
the wolf of westeros
Sworn to the Seven Kingdoms
ESSOS
18 years
alma • she/her • 244 posts
Offline


Despite the young man's assurances, his lack of modesty still kept Jon suspicious of him, alert and on his toes; who was to say the man before him was no liar? Then again, what benefit could he draw from believing him? Perhaps whatever men he claimed to lead; perhaps a helping hand in winning the war ahead. But Jon was a rational being; for all his vices, for all his indiscretions and lack of care towards the world, he very much remained in touch with reality. With his reality. It was what his dear Elaena would do, he figured, and what their father painstakingly tried to teach him while he was still among the living. He needed, now more than ever, to keep a level head, and for his surrounding kinsmen to understand the need for discretion in these dire times.

They were, after all, guests in foreign lands. They had promised to support Aydrian's ambitions, whatever those consisted of, and Jon made it his personal mission to be as respectful as possible of Braavosi sovereignty; he wanted to pose no threat, to involve himself in matters here as little as possible... He already had too much to shoulder, given the Iron Bank and their demands for reimbursement after the catastrophic loss of King's Landing, and he wanted no more to weigh on his calculating mind. He did not need the death of two average joes, which would ultimately call attention to his presence here; he did not need dipshits like this one, annoyingly shooting back comment after comment. Though they were meant to reassure, Jon held his ground and his sword, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the naked man as he rattled on about his manhood. "If you hold your manhood so dear, I suggest you speak only if I ask a question. Lest you want Ghost here to relieve you of your precious cock," Jon stated as he gestured to the massive dog beside him, his expression as stoic and stern as it had been since the so-called Lord of the Fallen appeared before him.

He smirked a his joke, taking no offense, despite the obvious allusion to his sisters and his aunt. But he wasn't about to get distracted by petty commentary. "I've seen more impressive specimens," he noted as he shrugged off the man's hand, leaning the blade he had drawn gently against his arm, eyes locked on the silver haired man before him. It was odd to face someone with so similar Targaryen features, but he decided not to give these any weight, focusing on the words spoken. The demands. He looks to the guards, who had prodded through the pile without being able to find more, nodding in the young King's direction. "Give him his cloak alone," Jon ordered before turning his back, raising a hand over his shoulder to prompt the man to follow him into the cabin at the back of the ship.
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