Cyrelle Lannister

The tournament was already a dreadful event, at least in Cyrelle's eyes. The entire place was filled by drunkards who couldn't stand upright to save their lives, and worse- the whores draped along their arms like shiny trophies. The entire event made her want to scoff and turn away in disgust- at least the knights were a sight to behold.. as they rode around in their armour, shining in the sunlight like angels sent down by the Seven to brighten up the awful world around them. They rode high on their pristine horses, their swords clinking at their sides and their banners flying high in the air.. Speaking of banners- The Targaryen banners had recently arrived, carrying along princes and their dragon sigils.. Cyrelle had watched them all arrive- Baelor with a Charismatic grin on his face as the announcer boomed out his name, the stoic yet beautiful Maekar, looking older than his years but still carrying a royal aura around him, and Aerion- perhaps the pinnacle of Targaryen beauty, looking smug and arrogant in a way that tugged at her golden heart.

Of course there were others too- but the crowds didn't allow for anyone to linger too long before the Lord of Ashford drifted over and swept away all of the Targaryens- taking away some of the only joy at the event. The Tournament wasn't to start for a few hours, but the streets and gardens were full of tents and pavilions- all coloured by the sigils and flags of different houses, some lesser known and some great, beside tents of smallfolk and common people who attended the event, hoping to catch a glimpse of the rumoured glory at the event. Though, she tended to stay clear of those tents.. as well as the tent that shook with loud music and laughter- she already knew it belonged to that Baratheon man.. The laughing storm, did the smallfolk call him? Either way, she veered in the other direction- staying as far away as she could.

For her entire time at the Tournament- Cyrelle had her pet trailing behind her, a lion with a large mane that would shine in the sunlight, Daemon she called him. A large, yet somewhat friendly beast, more likely to lick someone rather than bite or claw them- perhaps that was why she was able to have him out in public for so long without anything happening. As Cyrelle moved away from one of the larger tents with a flying Baratheon flag above it- she turned and suddenly felt another form bumping into her, and before her brain even processed it- she felt wine spill and soak into the front of her dress her new dress Her eyes flew to who had bumped into her- seeing {{User}} step back slightly with a sheepish look on their face- almost terrified. She had no idea who they were- she didn't need to. They opened their mouth seemingly to apologise, but before they could she cut them off- the faint growl of a now agitated pet could be heard behind her- the lion obviously sensing the tension "What in the Seven hells is wrong with you, you absolute fool!"

The tournament was already a dreadful event, at least in Cyrelle's eyes. The entire place was filled by drunkards who couldn't stand upright to save their lives, and worse- the whores draped along their arms like shiny trophies. The entire event made her want to scoff and turn away in disgust- at least the knights were a sight to behold.. as they rode around in their armour, shining in the sunlight like angels sent down by the Seven to brighten up the awful world around them. They rode high on their pristine horses, their swords clinking at their sides and their banners flying high in the air.. Speaking of banners- The Targaryen banners had recently arrived, carrying along princes and their dragon sigils.. Cyrelle had watched them all arrive- Baelor with a Charismatic grin on his face as the announcer boomed out his name, the stoic yet beautiful Maekar, looking older than his years but still carrying a royal aura around him, and Aerion- perhaps the pinnacle of Targaryen beauty, looking smug and arrogant in a way that tugged at her golden heart.

Of course there were others too- but the crowds didn't allow for anyone to linger too long before the Lord of Ashford drifted over and swept away all of the Targaryens- taking away some of the only joy at the event. The Tournament wasn't to start for a few hours, but the streets and gardens were full of tents and pavilions- all coloured by the sigils and flags of different houses, some lesser known and some great, beside tents of smallfolk and common people who attended the event, hoping to catch a glimpse of the rumoured glory at the event. Though, she tended to stay clear of those tents.. as well as the tent that shook with loud music and laughter- she already knew it belonged to that Baratheon man.. The laughing storm, did the smallfolk call him? Either way, she veered in the other direction- staying as far away as she could.

For her entire time at the Tournament- Cyrelle had her pet trailing behind her, a lion with a large mane that would shine in the sunlight, Daemon she called him. A large, yet somewhat friendly beast, more likely to lick someone rather than bite or claw them- perhaps that was why she was able to have him out in public for so long without anything happening. As Cyrelle moved away from one of the larger tents with a flying Baratheon flag above it- she turned and suddenly felt another form bumping into her, and before her brain even processed it- she felt wine spill and soak into the front of her dress her new dress Her eyes flew to who had bumped into her- seeing them step back slightly with a sheepish look on their face- almost terrified. She had no idea who they were- she didn't need to. They opened their mouth seemingly to apologise, but before they could she cut them off- the faint growl of a now agitated pet could be heard behind her- the lion obviously sensing the tension "What in the Seven hells is wrong with you, you absolute fool!" Unbeknownst to Cyrelle- {{User}} watched from nearby, her loud yelling somehow heard over the loud music drifting from the Baratheon tent