Unofficial Preview Round 19 vs Gold Coast Suns: Game of Domes

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Good day, gentle reader, and welcome to a tale I have lovingly called Game of Domes. Any resemblance to similarly named tomes is purely accidental, I can assure you. Either that or my proof readers on the sub-continent have been leaking again. I was very cross that a previous work, The Da Vincey Code, a wondrous epic about Bernie Vince's defeat of a dastardly Hawthorn Illuminati plot to attain the Holy Grail (drafting Christian Petracca) struggled to find an audience due to a similarly titled and themed story having already been released. Nevertheless, one presses on.

Please forgive a small plot hole in this tale; specifically around Lord Ablett not actually being available this week. I wrote this a few weeks ago when I had a bit more time on my hands. That time has evaporated and I actually can't be bothered changing things. I think the premise still works.

So, without further ado...


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Prologue

The hooves of the massive black destrier thundered on the hard-packed earthen road as Ser Hugh spurred it at speed towards Jolimont and the Red and Blue Keep within. He had been to court at the Keep many times, but had never been personally summoned there before and he had no wish to displease the Master of Whisperers, Lord Striker, by being tardy. The message, which had come by raven a few days earlier, had only said that Lord Striker had an important mission for him. Ser Hugh had no idea what the mission was, but he intended to fulfil it with aplomb, or die trying. There was nothing more important to Ser Hugh than furthering his family’s fortunes through loyal fealty to Prince Jesse. Well, nothing more important than good taste, but Ser Hugh saw no reason as to why fealty couldn’t be provided at all times in good taste.

The destrier was breathing hard, but Ser Hugh knew it could take much more punishment than this. He had called it Range Rover Sport. Once a man-at-arms in a crossroads tavern had quipped at what a stupid name that was for so fearsome a horse. That man had lost his head. Ser Hugh was known as a man of generally good humour, but one would do well to never joke about his immaculate grooming, accoutrements or steed; at least not within his earshot.

Ser Hugh turned his mind to the prospective purpose of his summoning. He knew that the self-proclaimed King in the North, Gary Ablett the Second of his Name, was heading south at the head of a formidable host. Did Prince Jesse expect Ser Hugh to intervene? That seemed unlikely since Ser Hugh had considerably more renown as commander of tailors, than of soldiers. Perhaps that was what this about; perhaps Lord Striker, or even the Prince himself, was searching for a new ‘look’ for the up-coming battle? God knew that their old banner had needed a re-design after Mad Maester Schwabb had made it a dog’s breakfast. He’d almost brought down the whole kingdom, Maester Schwabb, which was strange because Ser Hugh knew of at least one lord who had had several discussions of the highest quality with the man.

Thought of the possible reason for his summoning continued to occupy Ser Hugh’s thoughts as he covered the last few miles to Jolimont. As he brought his horse to a stop in front of the Red and Blue Keep, the beast snorting and stamping, Ser Hugh surveyed the edifice. Though he had been here before, the place seemed to be very much more imposing now that he had been personally summoned there. It was a massive round stone-and-steel structure sprouting many flags and banners. The name “Red and Blue Keep” was more historical in nature in that it had, for quite some time a couple of generations ago, been continually adorned with red and blue banners, however more recently those banners had been more likely to be the brown and gold of the evil house Hawthorn. That was preparing to change with the rise of Prince Jesse.

Ser Hugh cantered his destrier towards Gate 5 where he normally entered the keep and found his entrance was barred by a surly, unshaven guard with his left arm amateurishly tattooed, “No entrance by this gate milord.”

“I know you don’t I, boy?” Ser Hugh enquired. “You showed great promise as a rider under Lord Roos.”

“Aye, Howe’s the name. Roos never gave me enough glory at the vanguard, so I went over to Lord Buckley’s Fleabottomwood army. Now he’s got me guarding a back door…” Howe rolled his eyes, hawked and spat on the ground.

“I’m very sorry for you.” Ser Hugh said, though his tone indicated that he was hardly going to be kept awake at night by Howe’s plight. “I’ve been summoned here by Lord Striker for a, quote, important mission, unquote. So, you’d best be stepping aside and allowing me entrance, Howe.”

“Lord Striker told me to be expecting you and to see that you went to the side entrance under Gate 7. That way…” Howe poked his spear off to Ser Hugh’s left. “You can’t ride in there, so I was to take your horse and make sure that it is well taken care of.”

Ser Hugh grudgingly dismounted and went to hand the reins over to Howe. “See that you do take very good care of Range Rover Sport, Howe. Or I’ll see you flogged to within an inch of your –“

“Wha’? Range Rover Sport?!” Howe snorted as he reached out to take the reins. Like a whip, Range Rover Sport lashed out and bit off Howe’s left pinkie finger. Howe began jumping around in pain; he could actually jump very high, Ser Hugh noted.

“Do we have a problem here?” Ser Hugh asked of Howe.

“No, milord.” Howe grunted through clenched teeth as he clasped his injured left hand under his right armpit. “I’ll just tell Lord Buckley I hurt the hand playing fetch with me dog.”

Ser Hugh nodded his approval and stalked off in search of the side entrance under Gate 7. After some walking past Gate 6, his designer spurs jangling, Ser Hugh came upon a man leaning against doorway in the formidable stone wall at the base of the keep. “I say there, young man. I’ve been summoned here by Lord Striker. Would you happen to know how I could find him?” Ser Hugh asked of the man.

“We’ve been expecting you. I’m one of Lord Striker’s ‘Little Birds’. Proper Gander is the name.” The man offered his hand. Ser Hugh took the hand cautiously after ensuring his sword wasn’t caught up in his cape. [said cape is by Tormund Brightwater of the Hightower from his upcoming ‘Winter Marquis’ collection – fetching in azure with crimson trim] He noted the longsword that Proper Gander wore on his left hip and his scarred leather armour.

“’Little bird’? You look more like a sellsword to me.” Ser Hugh said.

“Well, Lord Striker’s Little Birds come from all walks of life, and we often get the best intelligence through not being what one might expect. My skills often see me frequenting the taverns and shops along the bay - Lord Roos himself is often seen down that way. Maybe I’ll be able to sell my sword to one such great lord requiring protective escort, and maybe I’ll learn something fascinating along the way that may be of interest to Lord Striker.” Proper Gander gave Ser Hugh a wink. “Follow me. Lord Striker has quite the mission for you.”

Ser Hugh followed Gander into a wide corridor that was intermittently lit by flickering torches in sconces on the walls. After 50 paces they came upon another man leaning against the wall of the corridor. Proper Gander nodded at the man who fell in beside them as they continued walking. “Another sellsword? Why do I feel like I’m not trusted?” Ser Hugh asked.

“Another of Lord Striker’s Little Birds, but hardly a sellsword. Ponsdale of Syd here is a Red and Blue - and sometimes Red and White – Priest. Not only that, he’s a brave tourney champion. Do you know that he defeated The Dog, Ser Luke of Hodge, three times in the melees at the tourney on Prince Jesse’s name day?” Proper Gander informed.

“Hah! I had some luck in that as The Dog will always attack from behind and the Lord of Light, P’rker, gives me eyes in the back of my head.” Ponsdale growled.

Ser Hugh was comforted that Ponsdale was there – he was renowned as a brave and honourable man, though this Lord of Light stuff was clearly foolish superstition. “Forgive me, Ponsdale. I didn’t recognise you in this semi-dark. I too was at that tourney, though I had to withdraw early when I got mud in the very expensive plume on my helmet – by Meredith of the Lily, East Campden. Why they insist on holding these things out of doors I’ll never know.”



Chapter 1

After another 50 paces or so, the trio came to a cavernous chamber that was filled with rough-hewn furniture and only lit by a roaring blaze in a massive hearth such that much of the chamber was in deep shadow. A robed figure stood in front of the hearth, silhouetted by the leaping flames. The figure turned to face the three men as they approached.

“Good of you to finally join us, Ser Hugh.” Lord Striker said with some sarcasm.

Ser Hugh was defensive, “Apologies my Lord, I got here as quickly as I could.”

“Does ‘as quickly as you could’ include stopping at Lord Jiska’s tavern to make SuperCommander trades and at Lord Randb’s keep to place your weekly tourney tips?”

“Well… in case this mission might take up the entire weekend… Ser Dahlhaus will never be this cheap again… he finishes my vanguard…” Ser Hugh stammered. How did Lord Striker know these things? Did he have someone following him?

“Never mind.” Lord Striker waved an arm dismissively. “Just know that I have my spies everywhere and if you cross me, or otherwise try to avoid the responsibilities under your fealty to Prince Jesse, I will know about it, and you’ll find your neck on the block awaiting Ser Topkent’s axe.”

Ser Hugh straightened; he would not have it said that he didn’t offer loyal service and he rather liked his head attached to his body.

"I see I finally have your undivided attention, Ser Hugh.” Lord Striker purred in better humour. “As you know, I have called you here to fulfil a very important mission… You should also know that the so-called King in the North marches on us as we speak?”

“I do know this, my lord.” Ser Hugh responded, “But, I’m not sure what this has to do with me. Ablett may be the finest warrior in all Aflos, but we have Lord Jones, Lord Viney, Ser Bernie, The Mountain Max Gawn, Jack Watts, Lord Chrish Brickhands… surely they are no match for us on our own doorstep?”

“That may be true – except for Lord Brickhands who is succumbing to his brick affliction and has almost fully turned to brick, meaning that he falls over with every other step - but what you may not know, Ser Hugh, is that King Ablett comes south with another, darker, purpose.” Lord Striker folded his arms inside the voluminous sleeves of his robes. “You see, we had always thought that the greatest threat to our making Prince Jesse our king here, would come from the west. However, my little birds are whispering that Ablett, and his Hand, Lord Eade, plan to convince Prince Jesse to come north with them. Clearly, we cannot allow that to happen or this kingdom is doomed.”

“Why would Prince Jesse go north?” Ser Hugh wondered. “He has familial connections to the west, so that I understand, but the north is full of crass twits who think that a bit more glamour and sunlight can make up for a mammoth shortcoming in culture. No offense, Lord Ponsdale.”

Lord Striker smiled, “It has been said that King Ablett has become a fanatical devotee of the Seven and has even taken to dressing in the rough-spun, drab robes of a sparrow. My spies tell me that he has had visions, which he fervently believes, that he has been chosen by the Seven to rule all of Aflos with Prince Jesse as his chief lieutenant. It’s nonsense, of course. I’m not a big follower of the Seven, but the sparrows of Jolimont say that they now talk with unseemly longing for ‘Young Cyril’ and ‘The Package’. Still, King Ablett believes that they will again regard him as their chosen ‘Little Master’ if only he can recruit Prince Jesse to his side. Prince Jesse is an emotional young man and we can’t take the risk that he may be swayed by such talk.”

“That may be.” Ser Hugh said, “Or it could just be an unconvincing plot device to appease the fanbois, but I still don’t know what all this has to do with me.”

“I hear that King Ablett believes that he is missing one vital thing that would convince Prince Jesse to join him. That thing is a bandwagon.” Lord Striker paused and smiled knowingly, “And I intend to give him one.”

Ser Hugh was confused and suspected that was exactly the reaction that Lord Striker was seeking to develop in him, “He needs a bandwagon to succeed in his dark purpose, and you intend to give it to him?”

“Indeed.” Lord Striker paused again and his smile grew wider, “We have a bandwagon right here. Of course, it’s a decrepit old thing and it’s been decades since it functioned properly. Oh, we’ve trundled it out a few times, but any resemblance to a functioning bandwagon has been all smoke and mirrors. We will give that bandwagon to King Ablett and that’s where you come in Ser Hugh. There’s no possibility that Ablett will accept the bandwagon as it is, but your taste and panache in making old things beautiful and desirable is well known and I’m sure you could present it to him an a state that would mask it’s imminent collapse.”

“Again, sounds flimsy… and treasonous, but let me see… I have a vision of the wagon resplendent in gold and glistening in zircon jewels…” Ser Hugh was already planning.

“Umm… if you think that’s fashionable.”

“Oh, good heavens no. But these northerners have no taste whatsoever. Make the thing as gaudy and expensive looking as possible, and that will be just the ticket.”

“I leave that to your judgement, Ser Hugh.” Lord Striker said.

“What then though?” Ser Hugh inquired, “We will have no bandwagon whatsoever, and Ablett will – even if it is a tarted-up pile of rubbish.”

“Ahh.” Lord Striker again smiled broadly, “If Prince Jesse deigns to be our king later in the year… or perhaps early next year… look, if he hasn’t agreed by when winter is coming again then it’s all over… his inauguration present to us will be a brand new bandwagon. And it will be unstoppable! Meanwhile, Lord Ponsdale here will load the old bandwagon up with wildfire and enough fuse to allow the two of you to get clear of Ablett’s army, before it explodes and kills all of them. Do you have any problem with that?”

“Not really,” said Ser Hugh, “but what’s in it for, Ponsdale? He-”

“The Lord of Light, P’rker, will have none before Him and Ablett is an infidel.” Ponsdale interjected, “I’ll willingly follow Jesse as my king in the South, while having a bit of love still for Lord Franklin as the true King of the North – not this jumped up little usurper.”

“Okey, that’s seems barely reasonable.” Ser Hugh said, “I accept your mission, Lord Striker.”

“Hurrah!” they cried in unison.


Chapter 2

[Insert montage, set to an 80s rock anthem, of Ser Hugh and helpers working around the clock to transform a broken down cart into a glistening gold wagon]

Ser Hugh and Lord Ponsdale head off with Range Rover Sport pulling the bandwagon behind with his marvellous 3.5t braked towing capacity. They get to Ablett’s camp and are admitted entrance upon showing the guards the bandwagon. Ablett and his followers all say, “Oooo shiny!” and clamour around the bandwagon. Ponsdale lights the fuse and he and Ser Hugh make a hasty getaway. As they are riding some way off, the lands behind them explode in dazzling green fire.


THE END


Now that’s how you finish a ******* story, George RR Martin!


Epilogue

Ser Hugh drew his mount to a halt and turned to look sadly back at the green flames that were licking at the underbelly of the clouds in the distance. In the light of the flames Ponsdale could see that his Ser Hugh’s cheeks were wet with tears, “Does the sight of so much destruction trouble you, Ser Hugh?” he enquired.

“No, they were just northerners…” Ser Hugh sighed, “I’ve never seen a dragon before, Ponsdale. I had so hoped we might see a dragon… or at least some ****.”

“Aye, some t***ies would have been nice.” Ponsdale replied longingly.

After another minute or so, the two men turned back to face the south and Ser Hugh flicked his reins and drove his spurs into the flanks of his steed such that it reared, “Tally ho, Range Rover Sport! Dees by 56!” and they galloped off into the night.
 

Tempy Tiger

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Loved it! Inclusion of the Range Rover a personal highlight. Perhaps BenKen could have been cast as a young beardless Tyrion Lannister? Jack Watts as Cersei?
 
Loved it! Inclusion of the Range Rover a personal highlight. Perhaps BenKen could have been cast as a young beardless Tyrion Lannister? Jack Watts as Cersei?

Ummm... maybe for the next book, due in four years.
 
Ser Hugh and Lord Ponsdale head off with Range Rover Sport pulling the bandwagon behind with his marvellous 3.5t braked towing capacity.

Range Rover Sports' marvellous towing capacity :'(:'(:'( Brilliant preview but that part was my favourite.

I wish my steed '2001 Land Rover Discovery' had as much power and prowess as your noble stallion!
 
Excellent stuff Ser Hugh, keeps getting bloody harder and harder to come up with something that is even in the same State as this, to say nothing of getting in the same Stadium. :thumbsu::thumbsu::thumbsu:
 
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Too much effort, this goes against every moral fibre of big footy. Its little wonder i refuse to do a preview when having to compete against stuff like this.

Well done SHP.
 
That looks like it took a lot of time and thought.

If melbourne don't win this by 40-60 points, ill be sick.

Not really, a couple of hours while I was supposed to be working. ;)
 

Black Hole Sun

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If Lord Ablett, the true King in the North, were fit to ride his steed into battle, this would be a far closer encounter. Not to mention his knights, Ser Prestia, Ser O’Meara, Ser Swallow, Ser Hall and Ser Rischitelli, who are all unavailable due to injuries sustained in previous battles with southerners.

This one may be closer than some of you think anyway, with the Sun’s three tall giants in the vanguard towering over your dwarves in defence, and Captain May in good form marshalling the troops from the backline and keeping Prince Jesse to two goals.

The Suns owe you one after the beating you gave them earlier this year, however the Suns don’t always pay their debts. Dees by 17.
 
If Lord Ablett, the true King in the North, were fit to ride his steed into battle, this would be a far closer encounter. Not to mention his knights, Ser Prestia, Ser O’Meara, Ser Swallow, Ser Hall and Ser Rischitelli, who are all unavailable due to injuries sustained in previous battles with southerners.

This one may be closer than some of you think anyway, with the Sun’s three tall giants in the vanguard towering over your dwarves in defence, and Captain May in good form marshalling the troops from the backline and keeping Prince Jesse to two goals.

The Suns owe you one after the beating you gave them earlier this year, however the Suns don’t always pay their debts. Dees by 17.

Prince Jesse only kicked 1 of our 24 goals last time :D
 
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