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Post by Jory Farice on Oct 28, 2012 20:54:54 GMT -5
As far as possible from Podrick Baelish's room in the mansion lies Jory's room.
It is a modest space, a desk with some paper and a couple quills with some ink. The bed is comfortable enough, a simple mattress and the pillow is stuffed with feathers.
A small round table for Jory to take his meals is also in the corner. The table has a single candle on it, half melted, reminding Jory of his simple house at Storm's End. Usually he rests his sword on it.
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Post by Jory Farice on Oct 28, 2012 20:58:06 GMT -5
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Jory returned to his room after being thrown out from the dinner. He still could not help himself but smile at the way it had all went, though he was worried about how they chose to handle it. Regardless, it was enjoyable despite the lack of food and drink. He went to his table and affixed his sword to his belt and drew it, swinging into the air for a bit and smiling.
A tournament, I can't believe I'm already going to one. Or perhaps they'll remove me from the lists, the better for me, I can't let anyone see what I am capable of. Though he was a bit saddened that he couldn't show those snotty nobles what he was capable of, or to impress the fair princess. Not that he expected to anyway.
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Jory looked over to his harp at the foot of his bed. Maybe... He begins to look through his drawers for something actually presentable and finds a nice red doublet slashed with purple. A pair of purple pants, though they seem a bit worn, and a red-orange hat with a fine goose feather in it.
A nice outfit, I could do with better, but oh well, I'm hungry.
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Jory came back, yet again, and threw his ripped doublet off, going through his drawers and taking out a green one instead with a darker green stripes on the sleeves. He had hoped that it still matched the dark purple of his pants, or he would look a mess.
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Jory quickly grabbed what clothes he could and strapped his sword to his waist, leaping silently out the window of the mansion and mounting his horse, making way for the Lion's Gate.
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