The year is 286 AC. King Jaehaerys II has just passed, leaving the throne without a rightful ruler. While his three children fight for the crown, Winter creeps closer, and unimaginable darkness looms.
Not all alliances will be so typical this time. In fact, many people have a crucial effect on the way this story is told. As for the ending, we only hope there are enough people left alive to tell it after its passed.
Events
Join us for our first event, the wake of recently deceased King Jaehaerys II.
Updates
AUG. 19: So we are now officially open to the public. We have a mini-event flashback thread going on, and our main event just began. Feel free to make a second canon if you can keep both of them active enough.
Don't hesitate in pestering staff with questions; it's what we're here for! Let's raise a glass and make a cheer toward a successful launch of Winds of Winter.
Lyra couldn't speak ill of King's Landing, not for all the good it's done her. Her popularity in Fleabottom wasn't as renowned as it was in the slums of Lannisport, but the gasps of awe and the her name spilled from the commoner's lips like the moans of a whore did nothing to smother the rising flames of her ego. Even the jagged gazes of men lusting after her, the glares that set her skin alight with tangible pinpricks of flame akin to the lick of a heated poker suffused Lyra with a sense of victory over this territory.
The brawls back home had done their work of instilling her brand onto the impressionable minds of the people, and the ladder it manifested on Lyra's climb to infamy was far more invaluable than any paltry coin. Unearthing her passion for travel after completing that slow rise to power as a skilled sellsword, Lyra had worked towards creating a presence across the whole of Westeros, King's Landing being an all-to-obvious power move. It was now that the bastard warrior-for-pay traversed the reeking streets of the lower city towards her current target.
Like a modern actress' hunger for opportunity, Lyra also still wanted for that desperate "big break". By no means was she a titan among the court or gentry, let alone a shining pillar of violence for any of the great houses of Westeros. Yet. It was all a game in of itself, though. And jobs such as these--the one she was partaking in, currently--did no harm. People of influence had started appraising Lyra's unique gift for wielding the blade, and taking up the sword for them was a facile activity for the appropriate reward.
With nonexistent difficulty, Lyra pulled her weapon from the fleshy calf of a burly man who'd become a recent nuisance to more successful businesses that made their home in King's Landing. Services like this were becoming more recurrent, she noted. Handling jobs the City Watch couldn't be bothered to wasn't bad revenue though, and it hardly ever called for murder on Lyra's part. Unfortunately, it did end up calling for subtly, which Lyra had unwittingly chosen to forego on this run. She shouldn't be getting in trouble, not for ridding honest shopkeepers of this terrorizing cunt, but it did look pretty bad, removing her sword from some squealing pig's leg. Honestly, couldn't he shut up?
[attr="class","gold"]hi sorry if this sucks orz but have an ely~
ulla
[attr="class","sun"]A Sad Lament *
I never thought I'd hear
It seemed that even the mighty Kingsguard needed to take a rest, even though it was most unwelcome, Elysia had been told that she was allowed a day's absence just because she had been guarding the castle all week. The woman would not have minded, if she did not receive a hearty scolding from her fiesty, ex-employer, Saerysa, for working too much and for too little. The younger girl wouldn't understand, of course, but the blonde humored her all the same. And so the woman found herself wandering around the streets of King's Landing that same afternoon, her helm forgone to reveal her flowing locks, glistening in the little sun that penetrated the walkways of the promised city. The sights and sounds around her were lively and brisk, the common commerce of the place that slowly took over her senses, especially her sense of smell. You will know where you are in King's Landing by the way the place stank after all -- the smellier, the poorer, and by the smell of it, she was nearing the sector slums.
Aegon's way had always been her haunt when she was a child, what with it the clearest route to the King's Square from the inner toils of Fleabottom. It might be the only route she had remembered, having been cloistered in the putrid bowels of the place since she could walk, she did not have much chance to explore the whole of King's Landing. Still, she did not know the reason why her feet led her here, here where most of the memories she had would be better off buried and forgotten, lost in the sea of glory and valor she achieved over the years. Maybe it was because old habits die hard, or maybe it was because she was led here by the will of the Seven.
Clad in her pristine armor, the spotless, white cape of the Kingsguard on her back, and her silver rapier strapped on her waist, the people made way for her and some even bowed in respect. There was a time when said people had sneered at her for practicing with her wooden swords, when some of them even spat at her for breaking the norms of what was socially acceptable for the poor, unfortunate fools that found themselves rotting everyday. There was a time when she was just like them -- hungry, defenseless, hopeless, and without a dream. She never forgot that, nor did she ever thought she could. Stepping foot in the abysmal world of Westeros' poverty was a grim reminder that however white her cape was, nor shiny the armor on her body, she was still the child that was thrown away twice, the girl without a name.
A scream pierced her ear just a short distance from where she stood, surrounded by grimy stalls of food or what seemed to be food. She strode purposefully, her hand resting on the hilt of her rapier as she went towards the direction of the noise, finding a small cluster of people blocking a nearby alley. Without much difficulty, she waded into the throng, emerald eyes scanning the vicinity for the possible cause of the conflict. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the man on the ground, quite massive to his credit, yet with a sizable wound on his calf, courtesy of the blade that was wielded by a woman. She raised an eyebrow, hand still steady on her weapon as she held her head high and motioned for the spectators to go away, "Nothing to see here, move along." It was not a statement, it was an order, and one icy glare from the knight made the people scatter. On to the business of dealing with the woman, though, just made her temple throb. Where were the City Watch when they were needed?
"You have ten seconds to explain why you are about to commit murder, my lady." Everyone is a lady to the woman, after all, respect earns respect, and she will call anyone a lady or a lord no matter what status they appeared to be, "I do not condone violence much, but if you have a sound reason as to why, I may just let it pass." Or not, depending on what the stranger would answer.
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