Adrian
The grand feast for the Iron Pointe arrivals was scheduled to begin at the Hour of the Cat, the time between the falling of the sun and the rising of the moon. It wouldn't be as large as the one celebrating the combined Lannister/Tyrell victory over Stannis Baratheon. And certainly no where near the size of the wedding between the King and Margaery Tyrell, as that event was already being dubbed the Second Golden Wedding by many in King's Landing despite it being weeks away. But still it would be a grand event. Lord Tywin Lannister wanted to send a message of unity to all in the Seven Kingdoms and by throwing a feast for the heir of Iron Pointe, who most likely would be named the new Warden of the North if the Lannisters won the war, he was doing just that. He was proving that King Joffrey could look beyond names and blood and sup with those that bent the knee.
Adrian had managed to gain an invite not because of his liege lord. In fact he was willing to bet it was in spite of him. He could already hear the Fat Flower telling him that it was wonderful for him to come and assist the king but everything was now handled and he could return to his duties at The Tombs. Because of course Adrian must want to return! The Tombs were so very important, everyone knew so! What with their walls… and their coffins… and how it was quiet and nothing interesting ever happened. So very, very important!
Adrian grit his teeth as he strapped his greeves to his calves. If he hadn't gone to see the Hand of the King there was no doubt in his mind that the Tyrells would be pushing him to leave.
'Seven hells, they probably would suggest I start out right now and provide me with an armed escort.'
The feast would see him fielding such poorly worded hints from Mace Tyrell, he just knew it. The man would be upset that he was there rather than at home but he couldn't send him away when he had been made a guest thanks to the Hand. Ser Kevan had found him after the 'trial', or whatever that scene in the throne room had been, and informed him that Lord Tywin wished for him to come to the feast that day. He understood that it wasn't something to get excited about… mostly just the Lord of Casterly Rock extending simple hospitality to the son of a lord, minor as he was. In his youth Adrian would have read far more into this act then there was, seen it as Lord Tywin preparing him for great things. Failure and disappointment had tempered such emotions in him and as such Adrian saw it merely as the most basic of kindnesses; Adrian was in the city, there was a feast, thus he needed to attend. The man probably thought the Tyrells would see it as some slight if one of their bannermen were excluded.
He snorted. 'Perhaps for anyone else but me? Why should the 'Future Lord of the Tombs' be shown an ounce of respect?'
The feast would begin during the Hour of the Cat, meaning that Adrian needed to be there sooner rather than later, for only the royal household could be late to such a meal. But it being not even the Hour of the Crow yet he still had time to complete the task that had been bubbling in his brain ever since he'd arrived in King's Landing. He hadn't gone straight to the Red Keep when he'd arrived on the outskirts of the city… instead, cloaked and shrouded, he had spent the night before in the wine sinks and brothels, gathering information from drunken men at arms and loose-lipped servants who thought that a bit of knowledge made them as high and mighty as the men they served. That was how Adrian had learned that a shipment of Arbor Gold was making its way from Highgarden along the Rose Road to King's Landing and, so long as the weather didn't turn, would arrive by midday on the morrow. To protect it the Tyrells had commanded some of their trusted swords to lead nearly a garrison of men as escort for the three wagons of wine, which would be served during the week before the Golden Wedding.
They had thought themselves safe as they traveled, with such a show of force. Though the war had cooled like pigeon pie left on a window still, there were still brigands and bandits roaming the roads and forests throughout Westeros, taking advantage of so many able men off to fight the wars of the rich and not at home protecting their own lands. It was also a status symbol, a way to demonstrate to the smallfolk the strength of the Reach and its ruling House. To prove that they remained strong and thus were entering into the marriage alliance with the Lannisters on equal footing.
Thieves would have been foolish to target such a caravan, despite the high prize. It was a death sentence. Even with them feeling bold as they neared King's Landing. Even with them sending nearly half of their men back home, no longer needed when aid was so close at hand.
The arrogance of Highgarden was their gift to him.
Adrian finished securing his armor, checking over the straps carefully. He had never even considered asking for a room in the Red Keep. That was far too lofty for the Heir of The Tombs. Instead he had selected a simple inn near the base of The Hill of Rhaenys. Comfortable enough, though he didn't spend much time in his room on the ground floor, though he was sure the innkeep thought as much. He had made clear that he liked to read and did not wished to be disturbed. A lie to allow himself freedom of movement.
When Adrian had been at the Citadel one of the only links he had forged, before the Tyrells had tricked him into his knighthood, was in architecture. It was important for a maester to understand how keeps and castles were made, so they might advise their lord in making improvements to their seat. Adrian had discovered blueprints form the time of Rogar Baratheon, the man who had sought to complete Maegor's Dragonpit after the Cruel King's death. It seemed that in order to properly build the tunnels and get supplies needed a small tunnel had been created that led from the bottom of the Hill to the very top, winding its way up through the hill. The entrance had been forgotten about… and thus, after the Dance of the Dragons and the fall of the Dragonpit and the rebuilding of King's Landing no one had remembered it when they had turned the foremen's house into an inn.
Adrian had easily figured out how to slip out of his room and down to the cellar where the tunnel began. A twenty minute walk through the dark tunnels eventually led him to a large sleeping chamber where the Targaryen dragons had once rested. A perfect place for him to store his wings.
He flexed his shoulders as he slipped into the harness, latching it to himself and feeling the magic woven into the dragon bone feathers connect with his body. With a thought the wings flexed and he freed himself, moving forward and collecting the final piece of his garb.
While he wasn't a great Lord, Adrian understood the importance of impressions. Just like the Tyrells with their great host to protect a few wagons of wine, Adrian wanted to give a proper… first impression to those that saw him. Everything had been created by Phinaes under the order to honor 'The Vulture King'. Boots whose armor resembled the grasping claws of a bird of prey. Gauntlets that resembled talons, complete with razor sharp fingers. A brown leather coat with a collar of white fur; warm in the waning days of Summer but worth a bit of sweat for the image it struck. And the helmet, Phinaes' crowning achievement. Adrian had quickly disagreed with making something with a beak, knowing that would get in the way. Instead Phinaes had gone with a full helm with etching around the mouth that harkened to the beak of the vulture without actually being such. But most impressive were the Yi Ti lenses that Phinaes had created, using different glasses from across the Narrow Sea. They amplified the dim light of the moon and stars when a certain lens was placed over them, while another would reduce the sun's glare. In the day it made his eyes appear to be two dark pools but at night… at night they glowed green like wildfire.
Adrian slipped his helmet on, buckling the straps before he moved to stand in the very center of the Dragonpit. All it took was a thought and his wings snapped down, propelling through the dusk sky and shooting within moments into the skies above King's Landing. He wasn't concerned with anyone spotting him, as the Dragonpit was something the people of King's Landing tended to avoid; ghosts and myths and all that. Anyone who did see something would either chalk it up to a large bird or having a bit too much cheap beer in their stomachs.
Arcing sharply Adrian couldn't help but grin as he raced out of King's Landing. The wings were truly amazing and not just because they granted him flight. The speed they gave him was astounding, allowing him to out pace a galloping stallion. And the wings never grew tired or began foaming at the mouth when pushed to go the distance. The city was soon well beyond him and all he saw below was the Rose Road and the occasional camp fire from travelers making their way to and from the city, though most of them were going towards it. Weddings meant so much trade. Food and wine of course but other shops would see hefty business coming their way. The Street of Steel would have knights from all over wanting to upgrade their arsenal fir whatever tourney sprang up (official or not) and a wedding only added to the mystique. A sword from the best shop in King's Landing was fine enough but being able to say it was forged when a king was married? That added to the story and every knight loved himself a good story. The tailors would also be busy sewing new doublets and gowns. Toy makers and tinkerers and jewelers would be churning out gifts Lords would bring back for their children… and their wives to apologize for not bringing them. Of course the reason they weren't brought were the brothels and the whores would be hurting their backs from all the coin they made in the weeks leading up to the Golden Wedding.
Yes, King's Landing was filling up with all manner of people seeking to sell their wares, despite the stink. The city was becoming bloated, festering. A fresh corpse waiting for the vultures to come circling in.
Circling through the air he spotted a several fires close together merrily burning, pinpricks of light against the dark land. And out of the camp's eyesight, within the forest, he spotted more lights, arranged in a diamond pattern. Diving down Adrian slowed his flight and pulled from the pouch on his hip another item Phinaes had worked on, this time based on a Myrish design. It was a tube, roughly the size of a small scroll, but heavy and coated in parchment that had been cured with some sort of waxing fluid, he didn't know quite what it was. Snapping it in half and dropping it he watched as it tumbled down, producing a green streak in the sky. After a moment the leftmost fire flashed purple; one of his boys had thrown the powder Phinaes had created into it. The signals sent Adrian rose up once more, returning to the large Tyrell camp below, circling once… twice… three times…
And dove.
He came down silently, the Tyrell men not sensing a thing until it was too late. His dive did not take him directly over their camp but just to the right of it, allowing him to pull up when he was about 2 feet away from the ground and snap out his wings. He felt a slight resistance as he made his first pass through the camp and when he circled around he got to see the delightful sight of six of the Tyrell men twitching on the ground, screaming and clawing at their legs… which lay several feet away from their severed torsos. Pulling into a hover he flicked his wings to shed them of the blood, looking down at the startled hired swords who had wisely decided to dive for cover rather than leap up to face him. Now though they all stood rigid, backs straight and heads lifted slightly to stare at him, swords drawn ready for him next assault. But Adrian merely hung in the air, arms stretched out in a taunting gesture, daring them to come at him, to try and take a leaping swing.
"It's the Iron Man!" one of the Tyrell men shouted, pointing his sword at him.
"Oh no," Adrian said, shaking his head. "I'm afraid you have the wrong of that. I am no man and my crown is not of iron." He flexed his fingers. "I… am the Vulture King."
The men of the Reach stiffened at that. Perhaps only warriors of the Stormlands could understand the hatred that name could inspire. Legends of the Vulture Kings that had terrorized the men of the Reach were told to all small children by their parents and/or nursemaids. The first who had rose up against the weak son of Aegon the Conqueror and only been slain by the combined forces of the Reach and Stormlands. The second who had forced Rogar Baratheon and King Jaehaerys to join together one last time to put him down. The third who had risen during Aegon II's reign only to be smote down to the stony Dornish lands. And so on and so on. Many Dornishmen had tried to take the mantle of the Lord of Carrion and Stone… and each had seen lesser and lesser spoils for their trouble. But Adrian had not chosen the name because he saw himself as a Bandit King. He'd chosen it purely to humiliate Mace Tyrell while also drawing all attention away from him.
For whoever would suspect a man of the Reach to take on that cursed title?
The Tyrell soldiers roared and screamed at his declaration, waving their swords about and daring him to come at them. He found it rather humorous that they were suddenly so brave, considering that their companions were still oozing life blood onto the forest floor from his first pass. Far be it for him to deny such noble man their desires and thus Adrian dove down again. This time some leapt away while swinging feeble blows at him while others dove for the ground, with one either brave or reckless warrior flinging himself onto his back and stabbing upwards with his blade. Adrian however chose that moment to dip his wing and hot blood splashed against his armor and he dug a great trench into the earth… and cleaved the fool's swordarm off as well.
Arcing back up Adrian glanced behind him before turning his attention once more onto the Reach warriors. "Is this the best Highgarden has to offer? Cowering men who couldn't even swat fly let alone strike me down!" He lowered himself to the ground, taking a step forward and enjoying how the men shifting back at his approach. "Your ancestors hunted down mine in the Great Vulture Hunt. Now you can't even face me. They are looking up at you from the Seven Hells and cursing your names for your cowardice."
Of course he didn't give a shit about their ancestors and what they had done to the first Vulture King. After all, the entire tale was built on false myth; the man they had managed to catch had been the lover of Queen Rhaenys, the true Vulture "King". Their ancestors had gone home believing themselves so cunning and smart when in reality the younger of Aegon's brides had laughed at them as she enjoyed her fallen lover's wealth and the spoils of her own hunts. What he did give a shit about was taunting the smug bastards that thought themselves better than him, the man with no family name, slave to the crypt of the Tyrells.
"Arrows!" someone shouted and the fools actually did something sensible and grabbed their bows and notched arrows. Adrian waited, rather amused, as they took aim, drawing back their bows and taking aim.
At the last moment, just as their fingers twitched, he brought his wings in front of him, creating two ebony shields upon which every arrow bounced off of. The pitiful tings of they made as they hit the dragonbone was such sweet music… but what was all the sweeter was the sudden cries his crew gave as they finally burst out of the forest and took the Tyrell men by surprise. It wasn't as showy as his fight but it was delightful all the same as his boys hacked at them with swords and axes, coming at them so quickly and fiercely they didn't even have a chance to drop their bows and go for their swords and knives. It was over within seconds and when Adrian folded his wings behind him he found the camp soaked in the blood of his enemies and stinking of Tyrell failure.
"I do so love it when a plan goes well," he said with a laugh, his crew bellowing with their own amusement. "Alright, let's get those wagons unloaded! We have buyers who are ready to taste the drink of kings!"
"Why not just take the wagons?" one of his men, Addam, asked in confusion. "Just a waste of time to move everything.
Adrian shook his head. "You can throw a tarp over a barrel and hide it from all the leering smallfolk easy enough. But a wagon is harder. Especially these wagons." He motioned for a torch to be brought over and he held it up so Addam could see that the wheels of the wagon weren't the standard spoke and wheel one might have expected. "The Tyrells wanted to make a grand show of this," he explained, gesturing at the wheels that had been cut and painted to resemble flowers. Rather than spokes ornate pedals blossomed within the wheel, painted gold and pink while the inner rim was emerald. "Think people might notice that?"
"Right boss," Addam said, chastised.
"Hey," Adrian said, grabbing his shoulder and giving it a shake. "I never do anything without good reason. Remember that, okay? Okay?"
"Yea boss."
"Good. Because this is a good night so stop looking so down!" He clapped the man on the shoulder. "Highgarden trash is dead and we are about to make a massive payday! I already lined up a deal with a Braavosi merchant to sell all this so all we need to do is get it to the ship, which will be easy enough." He paused before raising his voice to the entire crew. "I'm also keeping two barrels for us to enjoy… AFTER we get the rest on the ship." That earned grunts and laughs of approval and Adrian grinned under his mask. If there was one thing he'd learned from his treatment by the Tyrells it was that it was important to keep those that worked for you happy and content. And even the smallest actions could go a long way.
He watched as his crew brought in two more wagons and began the task of shifting the barrels over. Lifting up into the air he hovered 10 feet off the ground, observing all that was happening and keeping a lookout just in case the Tyrells had been smart and left a scout to keep watch. But it soon became clear that in their arrogance and the with the false safety brought about by being so close to King's Landing they had thought themselves secure and thus not needing such basic protection. A foolish move, to be sure, and one that had cost them greatly.
'Wagons will need to be destroyed,' he thought. 'Bust them up and then light them up. Especially the wheels. And we should probably hide the bodies. Anything that makes it harder for them to figure out just what happened here.' While he wanted the Tyrells to eventually know that they had an enemy far beyond their skill stalking them and their men he didn't want to make it easy for them. Let them start with missing shipments and vague hints of what might have happened. Then build upon that. It was all about image and fear, after all. During their trip back from the Vulture King's lair he had been thinking about the most notable figures in recent Westeros history: Aegon the Conqueror, Robert Baratheon in his prime as the Demon of the Trident, Aegon the Dragonknight, the Iron Man, The Mountain that Rides. All of them understood how to create an image and how to wield fear like a blade. The way they stood, the way they rallied a crowd, the way they just naturally built myths around them, sometimes without trying. Even how they became so feared either by creating titles or allowing titles to be placed upon the. Adrian was going to do the same. He was going to make the Tyrells cower every time a shadow fell upon them from on high.
Landing he walked over to Hurmin, who was seeing to the horses, calming them after Adrian's flight. He removed his helmet when he saw them begin to tense and held out his hands, making little breathy cooing noises to show them he meant no harm.
"What are we going to do with them?" Hurmin asked, stroking the neck of one beast.
"They are beasts of burden. Can't ride them, they aren't trained for that. And I don't have the time to break them in properly. Or a reason to break them in. I'll get Vonce to take them into the Riverlands, around the border, see if he can't sell them off to some farmers. Maybe make them just his cut… he's been lazy recently so this might just motivate him."
Adrian so did hate it when his crew got lazy. Its why he so enjoyed having Phinaes around. The man was never satisfied, always tinkering around with an idea, trying to improve it. He'd already come up with a set of gauntlets that could create concussive blasts just by combining Antony Stark's sunstones with brass. Insanely impressive, as the blasts could shattered even ironwood, crumple breastplates, and tear holes through good castle stone. But Phinaes thought he could do better and was experimenting with other metals, seeing if he couldn't improve the results. That was the kind of hunger Adrian wanted his boys to have, the hunger he himself had.
"If he does well," Adrian said, "he will get a large purse. But if he's lazy then he has no one to blame but himself when the coin shrivels up fast." He looked around before nodding. "Yeah, I like it. Get the horses unhitched and over to him. Then I want you to use Phinaes' gauntlets to destroy these wagons."
"You mean the Shockers?"
Adrian let out a groan at that. "Why are you calling them that? They don't shock things. They hit things really hard. Shockers is just a really horrible name."
"I like it," Hurmin said with a shrug.
"Well good for you. Then go be the Shocker and turn these wagons into kindling. That will leave the Tyrells guessing."
Hurmin though shifted easily. "A problem with that, boss."
"Oh?" Adrian asked.
"Brice has the gauntlets."
He shrugged, not seeing the problem. "Okay… have Brice do it then. I honestly don't mind who takes out the wagons." But Hurmin shifted again and Adrian's smile fell. "Hurmin… where is Brice?" The Summer Islander remained quiet. "Hurmin…" he put his helmet back on, eye pieces glowing as he spread his wings. "Where. Is. Brice?"
~MC~MC~MC~
Brice
In King's Landing there was a place where all the masters of their given craft gathered together. One did not try and become a tailor by settling in Flea Bottom, after all. No, one would set up shop on the Street of String, where the great masters of cloth and fabric would create everything from smallclothes to wedding dresses for the rich and powerful of Westeros. The Street of Steel was well known too, though it had lost a touch of luster with the rise of Iron Pointe, seeing as its lord Antony Stark had famously mocked the idea of moving to King's Landing. The Street of Flour was where the bakers all gathered and Butcher's Row was where the meat men slaughtered their hogs and cattle.
Then there was the Street of Forgiveness.
One could be pardoned for thinking the Street of Forgiveness was where the pious gathered to make prayer. After all, more than one person had sought to have a doublet made only to end up on the Street of Silk instead. Those that made that mistake… claimed to at the very least when pressed… would always make sure to find the Street of Forgiveness next. For that offshoot of the Street of Steel was where the great jewelers of King's Landing all gathered to craft the brilliant bobbles lords and ladies craved. The naming of the street was obvious… a man who had sampled the joys of King's Landings taverns, inns, gambling houses, and of course brothels would always make sure his very last stop was to the Street of Forgiveness where he might purchase a necklace, a ring, or some other piece to, in turn, buy his lady wife's forgiveness.
The Street was structured so that as one began walking down it they would first encounter the smaller shops, dealing in small bobbles and trinkets. This half of the Street was known as the Walk of Arrogance. Continuing on the shops would get bigger, more exclusive, with delights and treats to make one's eyes widen and purse to weep. A man would be confident, feeling that they could bypass the tiny shops because they were 'better' than them… only see begin seeing the prices the merchants asked for. The second half, the Walk of Shame, saw value decrease once more and a Lord would wander down the rest of the way, shoulders slumped as he accepted that he could not afford what lay behind him and so his only choice was to continue to these poorer shops, to embarrassed to return.
In the dead center of the Street was Lord Stryden's House of Dreams. The original Lord Stryden was long dead, and his family as well, but apprentices who had become masters on their own under his tutelage had taken over and kept the name, understanding the power in it. It had been said that Lord Stryden, during the time of King Aegon III, had been able to merely look at a person and within a week produce a piece of jewelry that not only would satisfy the one they cared for but also bring luck, good fortune, and plenty upon them. Of course the ones that said this, and loudly, were the current owners of Lord Stryden's. And such claims had worked their own wonders for they had been commissioned to produce several pieces for the King and his future queen.
Such work meant they had to protect themselves from the thieves and rogues of King's Landing. The House of Dreams had vaults commissioned by the same builders who assisted the Iron Bank, walls three times as thick as what was found in all but the Red Keep, and doors so heavy it took four strapping guards to shut them each night.
Said doors were now lying shattered in the entrance room of the House of Dreams.
The four men looked around to make sure no one was coming before entering. They were wearing basic garb with the only real embellishments being the mummur masks they had donned, each one depicting a legendary Targaryen King.
"Phinaes thinks those things need improvement?" one of Brice's boys, Viggo, asked with a scoff, gesturing towards the gauntlets that Brice was wearing. They looked rather big and cumbersome but Brice knew how to make them work to his advantage.
Brice scoffed. "That big brain of his is never satisfied. Just like Adrian. Wants to make things too complex, dreams too large. I'm a simple man." He walked up to the vault door that stood behind the counter and thrust his fists out. "With simple tastes."
The gauntlets flickered before unleashing twin blasts of bluish white energy. What was most impressive about the gauntlets was they didn't make a sound. In fact they seemed to suck in sound completely, so that when they struck the metal rather than the horrific clattering and tearing one might have suspected there was only silence. The metal crumpled and then bowed in before shredding under the onslaught and never once was there a sound. The night was utterly quiet, no one the wiser to the robbery. Brice glanced back and nodded as his guys grabbed hold of the shattered remains of the door and propped them up at the opening, just in case someone spotted something from far away. Once he was through Brice killed the blasts and sound returned once more as the last few fragments of the vault door clattered to the ground. But it was muted and wasn't about to draw much attention.
"Why worry about making the Tyrells look bad when we can set ourselves up as Lords in Essos with all this!" Brice said as he walked over to a crate and pulled out a sack of rubies, pouring them out into his hand. "We sell off the stones to get there, buy ourselves a city with the coin, and then begin making some real wealth off the fancy pieces." He grinned as his guys began to raid the vault, cracking open crates along with jokes as they loaded up the loot into the sacks they'd brought. "And hell, if we get strapped for silver stags… imagine doing this in the Iron Bank."
That got the rest of the gang cackling with the mere thought of utterly breaking the stuck up Braavosi.
"Look at this!" Viggo said, lifting up a crown and settling it on his head. "Bow before your king."
"That's for a lady, you moron!" Hectur shouted.
"What? No it isn't!"
"It is!" Bryan declared. "Queen Viggo, how might we serve you?"
"Fuck off!"
Brice though pulled the crown off and looked it over. "Fuck me… I bet this is for the wedding! Where did you get this?" Viggo took him over to a pedestal that held the crown along with other gems and jewels. "Fuck," Brice repeated. "It is… this is all for that Tyrell girl!"
"Wouldn't she get some older pieces? Isn't that like a tradition or something?" Hectur asked.
"You really think the Queen Bitch is going to let the Tyrell girl share her jewels?" Brice quipped. "God, I saw her once… looks like your cock would freeze right off if you stuck it in! No wonder Robert never wanted to fuck her! Only man insane enough to do so was the Kingslayer-"
"Ahem."
The four of them turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat and for the first time noticed they weren't alone. There was a short man, only a bit bigger than a dwarf but not much, leaning in the doorway of the vault. He looked like something out of the stories old washerwomen would tell curious children about pixies and sprites. His entire body was covered in red and blue fabric with black lines crisscrossing all over his limbs and torso. There was no armor any of them could see, just the tight fabric that showed off a thin yet muscular frame. Under his one arm was a whitish-gray membrane that was nearly translucent one second that appeared rather solid the next. On his wrists were black bands with small cylinders near his palm. The mask he wore had no features other than two great white eyes that seemed to express a look of bemusement that should have been impossible with features so simple. All together he looked like a performer for a mummur trope… or a trickster demon emerged from the depths of the Seven Hells.
"Well… this is amazing!" the figure said, his voice puckish. "Four Targaryen Kings all together!"
Bryan lunged at him only for the figure to easily cock his head to the side, Bryan's punch breezing past his head and striking the remains of the vault wall with a violent crack. The red and blue figure grabbed his arm and flipped him onto his back before ducking a strike from Viggo.
"Sorry about that, King Aegon!" the sprite declared in mocking apology. "Just a moment, I need to finish up with King Jaehaerys." He flipped away from Viggo, shoving him away before lashing out with a foot and kicking Bryan in the head. The sprite was quick… flexible too. Brice watched as he gracefully leapt about, dodging blows with ease. And there was strength there; Brice and his guys knew how to take hits but the figure that wasn't even 5 feet tall was landing blows that had them reeling. "Wait a minute," the figure said in astonishment. "I'm being to think you aren't really Targaryen! Maekar and Baelor wouldn't be hanging out with Aegon!" Brice snarled and tried to tackle the sprite only for him to leap away . Viggo hurried to his feet and drew a dirk only for the sprite to thrust out his hand… and fire a stream of grayish material out of his wrist that coated Viggo's hand and stuck it to the wall of the vault, leaving him trapped. "Those are just masks, aren't they? They look really cool!" The sprite leapt over to Viggo and somehow CLUNG to the wall, tilting his head and examining the man's mask. "Really love the craftsmanship! Did you get Orson to make these? I thought about going to him for my mask but he only works in wood and plaster-"
Brice growled and thrust out his arm, firing off his own blast. But instead of the strange gray material (that looked oddly like spider thread) his was a silent shockwave blast that caught the sprite and slammed him out of the vault and into the main showroom.
"…ow," the figure groaned, getting to his feet. "That hurt. And was… really quiet." Brice fired off another blast but the figure managed to leap away. "Seriously, that is really interesting. How are you doing that? Not the blasts because the Iron Man can do that but the silent thing!" Brice blasted at him but the figure leapt onto the ceiling, standing on it like it was the most natural thing in the world. "That is just amazing! And I seem to be saying that a lot. Amazing. Amazing. You ever say a word too often and it loses all meaning? Like King. King king king king king." Brice blasted at the roof but the figure just ran away from the blasts, babbling on the entire time. "Sounds like metal falling, doesn't it? Except you might not notice because you make metal sound quiet. Is that your power? Bet you can guess mine!" He leapt down and attacked Bryan, who had gotten up and tried to go for a sneak attack, punching him several times before wrapping him in the spider thread. "Come on, guess!" When Brice chose to simply blast at him he let out a groan. "You are no fun!"
"I'm loads of fun," Brice said as he watched Hector sneak up behind the sprite and raise a blackjack to cave the creature's head in-
-only to get yanked right out of the House of Dreams by a gray thread.
"Oh boy," the sprite said, shaking his head. "I had this handled!" he shouted.
"Sure you did," another teasing voice, this one decidingly female, declared and then there was ANOTHER sprite before him, this one wearing a white and black outfit with a hood and blue highlights. "That's why the shop is nearly destroyed."
"Come on, that isn't my fault! It's him! He can-"
Brice fired at the two and both leapt away.
"See?" the male sprite said.
"Yeah, I'm seeing it. Still, you are taking too long."
"I am not!"
Then a fucking THIRD figure, this one shorter than them both and dressed in a black and red outfit much like the male's, landed and shook his head. "Yes, you are," the third sprite said. "You talk too much all the time."
"It's how I deal with tension!"
"It's how you annoy everyone," the female stated.
The third nodded. "She has a point."
"I always have a point-" She snapped her arm out and caught Bryant right in the chest with her own thread, slamming him into the counter and locking him tightly in place. "But this might not be the best time to discuss this." With that all three sprites turned and stared right at Brice.
"What fuck are you?" he asked.
"We're the Spiders," the third one said. "And King's Landing is our web. It wasn't a smart idea to wander in here and begin causing trouble."
"Noted," Brice said before thrusting out his hands. But rather than fire at the newly named Spiders he instead blasted Hector and Viggo, caving in their chests and reducing them to bloody paste. He fired on Bryan next, the man cursing him right up until the moment of his death, before slicing his arms upwards, through the roof of the building. The entire structure began to collapse, the Spiders leaping out of the way, and Brice fired downward and shot himself into the air.
The last thing he saw were the Spiders firing webs, trying to keep the building from collapsing.
~MC~MC~MC~
Alright, let's do this one last time.
My name is Petyr Parker.
My name is Gwen Stacey.
And my name is Miles Muralus
We were bitten by wildfyre-enhanced spiders.
And for the last 6 months I've been the one and only Spider-Man
I though we agreed I could be Spider-Man too
Now isn't the time, Miles.
I beg to differ! Spider-Man is a better name than what you suggested!
And I've been the one and only Spider-Woman. I'm pretty sure you know the rest.
We saved a bunch of people.
Fought a bunch of guys thinking they could terrorize our city.
And we're going to keep saving King's Landing again.
And again.
And again. Because there are only three people who can protect the innocents of King's Landing.
And you're looking at them.
