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<span class="mu-s">The Stormlands - Storms end 404AC</span>
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It was hard to tell which pounded in the Round hall, the rain on its roof and walls, the assembly of shouting lords or the Thunder lord’s head, normally he would be alert and diligent to the petitions, rivalries and conniveings of the gathering of Storm lords but the pounding in his skull was the only thing he could focus on, he suspected the fair lady had slipped something into his wine again and swore she would wear bruises when he saw her next. Below the dias the lord Mudd and Strong scuffled like dogs over a bone, they had initially petitioned over a disputed tollbooth but like many cases had descended into the childish bickering of old grudges and grievances, he suspected that if no oath was given and the guards not present they would be blades in hand or at least beyond petty brawling, petty they might have been in their status and power but Mudd and Strong were both men of the border to the crownlands and long experienced in battle.
In the assembly more still argued, Lord Stonepeake and his brother were threatening violence and war upon any who dared to side with Strong and the Black Swan had naturally taken to contrarian defence with the usual vitriol that denoted the strong hatred of them he held, Lord Stonepeake had raped his goodsister some three and ten years ago or at least he had claimed, Stonepeake had protested wanton willingness and the matter had festered unresolved. Unlike Mudd and Strong however the assembly was barely restrained by guards who had formed a thin picket between the two groups cudgels in hand and already reddened by foolish lords who should have known better than to dare the assembly's guards.
The regent’s council was no less preoccupied, next to him the elderly lord Selmy was horsley trying to whisper above the din of the hall about toll taxes and matters of coin and the ancestral claims of both houses, no doubt with some small profit for him though ultimately to the benefit of the Thunder lord. Ser Criston was in the midst of the assembly menacing a dozen lords with his Morningstar for compliance to little avail behind him the thin summer islander from Dragonstone was left unheard and alone in the storm, long forgotten to all but the Thunder lord.
The council’s fourth, the lady Strickland was already accounted for but absent as the Thunderer wanted, though he had paid the price for it dearly, the throbbing was intensifying with every moment that passed and not even a tonic of milk of the poppy had given him peace, an example would have to be made so as to bring an end to this bickering. As lord Selmy began on the claim of house Buckler, the Thunderer cut him off with a curt gesture and rose to his feet, he noted the few lords worth their loyalty had gone silent as he did so.
<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-r">’’ENOUGH!!!’’</span></span></span>
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