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.
Pleasure rippled through Hans as he reflected upon events that had just transpired. His loins were still moist from activity, and if one dared to venture into his room they would find a slumbering whore; one put to sleep due to cruelty rather than kindness. Bedding Hans was rarely pleasurable for a female, whether they were paid for such actions or forced into it, his domineering nature never having taste for pleasing his partner. Introduce a whore into the equation and it was a mystery that the brute could manage not to outright kill the women in pursuit of his own release. Not that the whore would live to leave the keep. Should his wife discover her in their bed it was high chance that she would take the act for what it was, disrespect, and thus have the girl killed. And if any of his sons were to find her… well she might at least be bedded again before one of them used her for their own selfish desires.
The thought caused his lips to twist upwards into a slight grin. For all the wrongs he had done, his boys had managed to turn out somewhat right. They were all vastly different from the other, but they all merited his love; knowing what it was like to grow up with a father that simply scorned and abandoned you. This didn’t mean that he was soft with them. In fact, none of his children would likely consider him a loving father but he had been there every step of their maturation, and he had seen his labor produce bountiful fruit. Cayn, the first of his offspring whether legitimate or otherwise, was perhaps the favorite if for nothing else than that he was the first. He had been molded to be as Hans but was different in key ways. Smarter. Efficient. Dangerous. It warmed the heart to know that all of his sons were so. Cass inherited the brutality, and the love for fucking. Two traits that Lord Tully held very near and dear to his heart, if the lad would part his lips to speak a bit more they might have been closer. And then there was Andaren, the heir to the Keep and everything that the family name carried. He was a near replica of his father, save for the pillow-biting, and yet the disdain Andaren felt for his father was met tenfold; resulting in the pair being faulty at best.
“Boys,” billowed a voluminous baritone. Bare save for cloth that decorated his hips and wrapped through his groin, the brute traversed the halls of his keep in search of his sons; legitimate or otherwise.
Last Edit: Jul 8, 2015 22:51:56 GMT by AZOR MARTELL
Hans Tully was the epitome of excess and waste. Every move, every word, every motion executed with too much energy, too much surplus. Cayn sighed even as he felt the vibrations through the walls and the sounds echoing through the halls. The groaning of wood, the girlish cries, the low grunts. And on and on it went. Did he feel bad? No. But it did give him a headache something fierce. Eventually though there was silence and stillness and the ability to concentrate returned with some relief. Honestly, that man was just too overdone.
After all, Cayn preferred not to break his toys.
Many of his days were spent like this, lounging alone in a study with his boots up on a burnished table and a pile of cluttered books across his lap and legs. He hated it, he really did, especially when he could only focus for a few paragraphs before needing to switch books or just fantasize about darker and murkier things. Unfortunately, he had not exactly grown up in the usual highborn household, let alone even being one. He had no mother, no guardians, no companions, no one to learn from except perhaps his father, and that was only because Cayn vowed not to make the same mistakes as he. And Cayn was going to be damned if he grew inept and idiotic just because of his father's carelessness. He wasn't going to let that happen to his twin, either, so he had to be wise enough for the both of them.
Yet fuck was it dull.
Oh, did he speak too soon? It would appear that his sire had want for the company of his sons—an amusing notion. But it was never smart to keep Hans restless and tumultuous, so Cayn would carefully memorize the pages he had been on before slipping the tomes underneath his cushioned seat. He walked past the long rugs out the door into the halls of Riverrun, and all he needed to do was follow the sounds and the smell.
Because yes indeed, the smell. Even as Cayn rounded a wall and came face to face with Hans, he found himself sniffing the air and that unmistakeable scent of sex and sweat shot through his nostrils all the way to the top of his skull. His eyes would pass over his father's form, thick-set and barely clad to his own lean build and simple black breeches and boots. His eyes would move back to the face.
"Is she dark of hair?"
It was well known Cayn had an infatuation with the brunette kind. They and only they were reserved for the full spectrum of his whims, both pleasurable and cruel.
L.O.V.E IS JUST ANOTHER WORD I NEVER LEARNED TO PRONOUNCE
”Is she dark of hair.”
It was the only response that greeted Hans’s summons. For Cass stood in silence beside Cayn. Amber hues resting upon his father’s harsh visage, his own expression stoic. Soft pleasing features so cold as to be carved from marble. Yet, beneath such impenetrable stone, unpleasantness stirred.
He had not disturbed Cayn’s reading. He never had, even when the two of them had been children, Cass’s utter lack of interest in literature had been consistent from infancy to adulthood. Occupying the other side of the room, the towering youth had sat cross-legged, his spine against the wall. Hands occupied by a small knife and a block of wood, the wickedly sharp blade carving in graceful strokes. Whatever soft scraping as steel peeled away wooden layer after wooden layer might have whispered was effortlessly drowned out by the sounds of his father’s pleasure and his latest whore’s displeasure.
A soft smirk had danced lightly upon Cass’s full lips, though he did not pause in his carving. Amusement at the irritation that he could more than just guess Cayn was beginning to feel at their father’s lack of dignity. Amusement at how this game of Hans’s had yet to grow stale, despite him having carried it on for over a decade. It could only be a game. Roaring his climax throughout the castle, provoking his actual wife into taking insult. Only the Bitch had been rather lenient as of late. Her hands were clean of the deaths of the last few whores. Perhaps that was why Hans’s antics were becoming louder. Why he couldn’t just strangle the life from his wife and finally put an end to both of their suffering, Cass didn’t know.
There was much about Hans that Cass couldn’t understand. Like how the man took his pleasure only when his lovers were incapable of responding to him. It wasn’t dominance – Cass understood dominance. It was marvellous, breaking a capable, feeling human being, until they readily submitted to your every whim. But Hans took the breaking too far. Cass’s lovers could cry out, writhe and beg. Hans only seemed satisfied when his whores were silent and still. When they were capable of essentially nothing. Like fucking a corpse.
It was a demand that Cass could sense coming, just as Cayn had. Such scenes had enfolded before the twins more than just once. And, just as before, Cass would play his part. The act itself did not leave a bitter taste coating his mouth, as undesirable as Cass found whores to be. Too soft. Too submissive. But sex was sex, and sex always felt good. Like how food, even dry crusts of bread, always felt welcomed on an empty stomach. The distastefulness was that Hans was welcoming them both to a lover that he had already soiled. Scraps thrown at their feet.
Shifting his posture, Cass lightly bumped a shoulder against his brother’s. A gesture made familiar by Cass, as a handshake was to some. Or a one-armed embrace. A fist-bump. Forehead pressing. A meaningful glance.
Like a pack of lions, the bastards of House Tully gathered and for a moment Hans forgot that he even had a legitimate son. It wasn’t due to any mundane lack of love, but rather an affiliation and understanding that would never be shared between the bastard and children he shared with Sarra Tully.
“Are you sure you wish to crawl into bed with a woman after me,” the lord questioningly joked. It was meant as a simple jest, one that praised the sexual prowess of father while ridiculing that of son, but truthfully it was likely that women would prefer the young to the old. Not that Hans gave a fuck. He took women and did what he pleased with them, before discarding them and leaving them for someone else to deal with it. Never had romance or love stirred in his belly, and as a result never had he felt the desire to tend to their needs. In fact, through the course of his life the only females that he had ever seen a need to please were his own offspring and even then it was only in bouts of love never a constant flow.
Dismissing the thought from his mind, he switched his gaze from both of his bastard offspring and thought about the reason he had summoned his sons in the first place. “I recently received letter that I’m to serve on the Small Council as the King’s Master of Coin.” He knew not how the bastards of his line would react but he knew the rest of his house would likely rejoice. Truthfully, if either of the lads displayed a similar reaction their father would be wounded deeply, and one didn’t simply wound Hans Tully. Such an action would likely result in a physical altercation, and although both of his bastards were the closest to him in stature, the rumored half-giant was confident that he could deal out his own violent brand of justice regardless of how proficient they fancied themselves with combat.
Dependent upon their response the brute would go on to continue. “You boys are old enough to watch after yourself, but I cannot vouch for your treatment once I leave. Should you wish to explore the capital with me however…”
Post by DESMUND TULLY on Jul 22, 2015 15:33:08 GMT
CLICK. POW. NINE. THOU. WHAT?
Cayn would smile his small reptile smile as Cass expressed his thoughts in his unique, non-verbal way and Hans Tully revealed his own with his penchant for being a boor. Cayn did not share the views of either of his family members: thinking sex not so exclusively an act of empowerment and self-absorption as his father, but not so physical and self-satisfying as his brother. There had to be a delicate balance, a finesse to it. There was his own brand of foreplay, after all, and right up there with the climax was watching the life course and swim in a woman as in all the phases: approach, dawning, demoralization, succumbing, flatline. Yet perhaps most amusing of all was when she enjoyed it, just a little. The conflict in her face and body in such a case was the most delicious part of all—the self-hate.
Still, Cayn said nothing at the remark. Hans Tully knew perfectly well that Cayn did not give one dwarf's asscheek the state of the woman, only the quality of her hair. Whores and queens were not so different in the bed, as much as they begged to differ. They liked to be held down and fucked. All of them. Just a little. But to be denied the information on her hair meant absolutely zero follow-up interest on Cayn's part. Though, Cass was perhaps a different story. That was always interesting to watch. How many could say that they watched themself bed someone? Though to be fair, that kind of situation was more like dark-sider Cayn than anything. Cass's brutality impressed even his twin. Delightfully so.
But the next words would shift Cayn's grin from fanciful to cool. He was not expecting this, not at all, and found his posture straighten up the slightest amount as he registered Hans's words. A terrible irony, truthfully. Cayn half-expected the kingdom to fall into economic ruin by the end of the month; it was a jolly mental image. Yet Hans's departure would change many things, and Cayn felt like he needed to know them all before making some sort of choice. He had grown up with Hans's presence. To have it suddenly removed from Riverrun was altogether bizarre and jarring.
Cayn would slide his gaze to his twin for a moment, looking for of his tell-tale hints of his mood. Cass was, interestingly enough, the more 'outspoken' of the two. Not verbally, but in his emotions. Cayn had far more reservations... usually.
He would turn back to Hans. "You skip out an important detail, father," he would say after Hans made the offer to journey to the capital. An interesting notion, though Cayn could hardly imagine the court taking the bastard two well, either. "Who will govern Riverrun in your absence?" It was an ineffectual feat to try and manage the lands where one was not present, especially if in service to one such as the King. Doubtless Hans would be embroiled in court intrigue to pay much attention to the Riverlands... not that he did much anyway. And while the thought of Hans surrounded by gossiping highborn could entertain Cayn all day, he needed a response and was partially expecting the castellan as a reply. At the same time his disdain for his legitimate half-brother pressed him forward for answers.
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”Is she dark of hair.”