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.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 27, 2015 2:25:40 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
The last Daemon heard of Ser Arri Vankurt, another lord presided over Storm’s End. Back then, in the days when age still played the part of friend, Daemon studied the names of his father’s loyal men as much as traditional lordly duties. He recalled that Arri served with strength and valor. A sudden and inexplicable disappearance robbed him from the Stormlands. It had been years since then, and now Daemon ruled over his father’s lands and keep, and age lay in wait to gnaw at his bones. Yet word travels quicker to those close to the Crownlands. When a raven informed Daemon that a Ser Arri Vankurt toiled away in Kings Landing, the new Lord of Storm’s End hastily arranged for his return to his court.
Daemon would wait for Ser Arri in his great hall. Great antlers protruded from hangings on the wall alongside banners of gold and raven black, the stag sigil of House Baratheon proudly displayed. The room was spacious and cast in Storm’s End’s rough stone. At the far end, back toward three high and narrow windows, a great wooden chair faced the large entrance into the hall. Atop it sat Daemon, and there he received visitors of varying stature in his capacity as lord. Today, however, the hall had been cleared out, and his reunion with Ser Arri would be more personal and private.
“Leave me. Instruct the guards to let in Ser Arri when he arrives. Do not permit anyone else to enter unless they’re family,” Daemon instructed two members of his household guard, nodding to them as they departed. And thus did the Lord of Storm’s End wait alone in his hall, a small book opened in his right hand. In it, Daemon had scribbled personal notes for himself, information worthy of remembering. But the book had only seen use relatively recently. Nothing on Ser Arri Vankurt lived upon its fresher pages.
Ser Arri Vankurt...What sort of man have you become?
"I know the fecking way" Arri spat at the squire that helped him off his horse with difficulty. Riding was no longer a pleasure for the man now that his entire body hurt at the smallest movement, it became torture. He shook off the squire with a threatening look and started limping towards the main hall, his cane tapping loudly on the stony road. What, they want to acclaim me for my courage now? Commend me for my honor and show of strength? Shit, giving me a dagger and a murderer would be more satisfying. Storm's End stood just as he remembered, all the scratches, all the holes in the walls and buildings were still there followed by new ones. Arri wanted to feel nostalgic but he could only feel pain as his legs moved woobly. It's a wonder how the world stays the same but men change such rapidly. Time, it's always the fucking time. You wait to take a rest and the world catches up to you. That's why you always have to keep going forward, shitty for me that i have this limp.
Two guards allowed him to enter the hall, their stag armors flashing before his eyes, like a flash of memory from his graceful past. No grace in him now, the man wore a biterness in his visage equal to the pride and disgust in the faces of those men guarding the door. His eyes fixed on the sole person in the room and he hurried over to it. Daemon fucking Baratheon . Arri never imagined this is what their meeting would look like after so many years. He always envisioned two respected men, warriors of their time sitting face to face, drinking and sharing war stories. This was far off however. Instead of healthy powerful men, there stood a cripple and a... Let's see what type of lord you are. "My lord!" he said loudly enough for his voice to boom in the halls. With the support of his cane he tried to kneel on one knee as much as he could without breaking something, nowdays that seemed difficult. More than usual. "I feel blessed to be here in your humble home" he continued. If there's one thing lords and ladies wanted and needed was to feel superior to the lower man. Now, of course, not all of them, but Arri doesn't know what kind of man Daemon is and he's not going to risk being in the middle of a child's fit of rage.
He was curious to see Daemon. That's one of the reasons he came here, curious to see how well the heir to the Stormlands grew. But that was only the half, the other reason well... Arri needed to see if he was worthy of receiving the secrets he held. He raised his head weakly as he struggled to straighten himself up , trying hard to keep as much decency in his movements as he could. "What is the reason for my... calling".
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 27, 2015 4:10:05 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
The doors creaked open loudly, and Daemon slammed shut his small notebook upon their parting. Through the opened doorway limped Ser Arri, though Daemon would not have ever identified him by appearance alone. Each step the knight took had the echoing stomp of a cane to accompany it. How ironic, for Daemon took to using a cane for support in order to create a facade of physical frailty when in the presence of those he distrusted. His own cane lay against the right side of his chair. He could not immediately gauge whether Ser Arri employed a similar deception or if he truly needed to support himself. Regardless, Daemon would play along.
The man looked older than Daemon had expected, even though he understood that a great swath of time stood between them. Ser Arri seemed far more grizzled, rough, and worn. His hair now swayed with shades of grays, and his youthful vigor seemed to have entirely abandoned him. To Ser Arri, Daemon would not look as old, though still much older than memory could provide. Aside from the cane’s repetitive thumping, only silence passed between the two men, its tension their manner of greeting. But then Ser Arri boomed loudly, and strained himself to bend a knee.
“Rise, Ser Arri,” Daemon bid him, gesturing with his right hand that the knight should stand tall. “I fear there is little that is humble about Storm’s End, but still the blessing is ours that you’ve finally returned.” The doors roared one last time as they closed behind Arri, and thus the two men truly gazed at each other in private. Ser Arri asked Daemon straight away of his intentions. Before answering, Daemon’s eyes traced the man’s figure and physique, lingered for a brief moment on his cane, then shifted back to the man’s eyes. Clearly, the knight had seen better days. What on earth had happened to him?
“It pleases me to see you again. When you vanished all those years ago, my father could not discern the reason nor the location of your departure. I admit my own failure at the same task shortly after. I received a raven recently that said a man who hailed from my lands now lived in King’s Landing. A knight by your name. I’m glad that the information proved true. Much has changed over the years, for both of us. I am no longer the heir, but rather the lord of Storm’s End, with a wife and children of my own. But I would ask you, in this private meeting, what sort of man have you become? What has happened to Ser Arri Vankurt that he should not return home for so long?”
Arri looked up at the man, no, the lord that stood before him, the big silent room giving sound to his pain. "Change" he said strengthening the grip of his walking cane. There was no real good answer to the question. The events that have brought him here were long since forgotten and hidden even from the royalty, so what good would bringing them into the clear do. Ain't i just a smartass "The world caught up to me milord because i couldn't move forward" he tapped at his legs, leaning dangerously to the right looking like he was about to fall when he did so "I can't say i'm surprised to see you sitting on that chair. Baratheons are known to be sturdy and strong people and you rushed right trough the walls of time. You , my lord, have left the world behind you gasping for air" There wasn't much else to say here. A few praises, some hard truths hidden behind philosophical facts, avoiding the narration of a sad story and then.. "I'm sure you are aware of my honorary title. It is the main reason i haven't returned to Storm's End. The dungeons have kept me a busy cripple..." and a dangerous man.
It was a strange feeling nonetheless for Arri. Ever since his return to King's Landing there have been very few people that didn't resent the fact of being alone in the same room with the man. Not only the prisoners but the lords and ladies as well. As a torturer you have the tendency to interrogate people outside of the prison cells and it usually bites you back in the ass. That's why in this game of false smiles and pretense pleasantries you have to create walls. Illusion. That's why religion is such an important thing in ruling. It encourages illusion, makes the peasants who's life is shit feel blessed and the rich feel god-touched. Arri always had a certain level of respect for it even if he believes it's all bullshit. If you rule with fear, why not make that fear directed at the Gods?.
But now he stood before Daemon and it took just few minutes of small talk to realize that he is truly a Baratheon. He had a way of talking and posing that emanated strength. If you push the stag you get the antlers, so the cripple better keep his true feelings about the lords as hidden as possible.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 28, 2015 19:55:03 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
Change. A deflection from the truth. It seemed that all of his years away hardened Ser Arri more than Daemon expected. Old age could do that to a man, aye, but the reason for Arri’s crippling when he once walked about proudly full of strength remained unanswered. Daemon listened warily as Arri elaborated, and moreso when the knight reflected the conversation’s focus on the Lord of Storm’s End himself. When at last Ser Arri referred to his new title, Daemon recognized his time to reply. He leaned forward in his chair, raising one hand to his chin while the other cupped the end of an armrest.
“Yes, the raven’s note made a mention of such. Ser Arri Vankurt, once a knight sworn in service to House Baratheon of Storm’s End. Then vanished for the better part of two decades before assuming the mantle of the Crown’s own torturer. Yet much of that time remains unaccounted for. Knights are trained to kill, yes, but that hardly qualifies them for torture.”Something happened to him, Daemon surmised, glancing at the right leg which struggled to keep Ser Arri standing. “But I suppose the reason for that is that you’re not comfortable sharing that story, even with a private audience. Fair enough. You have not journeyed her from Kings Landing to reveal all of your truths to me.”
A brief pause as Daemon stroked his chin’s pointed, black-haired bristle. “What I would like to know is if my family and I can still count on your blade and your mind. You are uniquely positioned as both a man once in service to my house and now based in King’s Landing. Perhaps your fighting days are done, perhaps not. But there are other ways that you may serve your homeland, and it you. What say you, Ser Arri?”
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