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 THE REAVING KING on Aug 18, 2017 3:51:25 GMT
Quellon’s Ironborn were out mingling with whores. His son was doing what sons did at that age. And he was here, in the solitude of the Red Keep’s library, reading.
A Greyjoy. Reading. Instead of whoring, axe-throwing, or fighting, he was studying scrolls and tomes.
The irony was never lost on him. His brothers were hounds, his father a blind monster—but a monster nonetheless. They took his books and burned him. They beat the maester to dissuade him from teaching Quellon. And now they were dead—buried under their ignorance, and the Lord Reaver’s steel.
King’s Landing would come to know no different fate. Even now Quellon studied, learned, absorbed. Maps of the Red Keep’s layout were spread out before him. Some he would take back to Pyke, others he would memorize. These were paths for the Ironborn to infiltrate. Holes in the impregnable system.
He just had to discover the secret tunnels the castle was rumored to have. Find those, map them, and he effectively had the crown in his palm forever more.
A footstep gave pause. Quellon looked over his shoulder. In the darkness of the library, a figure moved. Assassin or spy? Enemy or fool?
“A fellow reader?” Quellon asked. Were this his death, he would not betray his suspicions. Were this a fool, he would greet them, and shoe them away.
The Red Keep was a strange place to be in. At least for the beauty beneath the white cloak. Slender fingers, pale and flushed danced over the aged pages of a rose scented tome that had caught her eye. The men in armor who stalked her wherever she went positioned themselves outside of the library, outside of view, leaving her lady in waiting by her side, glancing curiously over the book, asking questions to which she was only happy enough to answer.
She closed the tome and held it against her chest, sharing whispers with the maiden, her cloak trailing behind her in a flutter as she moved, almost gliding across the stone floor. Lines of books, books she'd seen, books she'd just discovered. There were much to see and she was nothing short of excited to see what else she could dig up while she waited for her spouse.
As she passed an open corridor, where tables lined and books were strewn all over their tops, she caught by the corner of her eye, a figure, large and nothing else. Swiftly she'd move, hoping not to catch his attention, finding herself stopping in front of a book case just behind him. This wouldn't do... but it was where she needed to return her book, and retrieve a new one to share with her attendant.
With any luck, the figure would pay no notice to the figure hidden beneath the pristine cloak which stood out even against the colors of the red keep's library.
Post by THE REAVING KING on Aug 18, 2017 4:14:46 GMT
“Royal colors means royal learnings,” Quellon said. He turned fully towards the girl. Cloaked as she may be, she could not hide what she was.
“And royal learnings means royal birth.” He strode forward, grey-gold cloaks whispering as they flowed over stacks of books and wooden tables. “And royal birth means a certain last name.”
Quellon stood behind the cloaked noble, a shadow, a mountain, a threat, a lord. He did not touch her. He kept a respectable distance between them. But his presence was there—and it could not be ignored.
“It is rude to see a lord paramount and not greet him when he greets you.”
She could hear his words, they weren't far apart. Her rose-red lips released a sigh as she heard footsteps approach her and her companion, who simply turned to face the man and bowed respectfully, keeping her head down until asked otherwise.
The elusive stark turned, most of her face hidden beneath the shadow of her cloak, yet it could not hide the glimmer behind her eyes as she looked towards the other for but a moment before giving him a curtsy out of formality. "I apologize my lord, I had hoped not to disturb you in your studies." As she had hoped he would not disturb hers. "Had I known I'd be running into you I might have put some thought into wearing something more presentable."
"If I may my lord. What brings you here to the most boring part of the red keep when others would be out drinking themselves and socializing?"
Post by THE REAVING KING on Aug 19, 2017 18:23:06 GMT
Quellon waved away her comment about clothes and turned back to his table.
“I am studying. Something that the lords of the day seem incapable of doing.” Quellon rebound the scrolls and closed the books as he talked. This girl didn’t need to know what he was looking into. “Though it is interesting of you to ask me that question. You are here now, the day before the funeral. Reading.”
The Lord Reaver looked back to her. His narrowed eye hinted at a predatory interest in what she was doing. “I don’t believe this to be customary behavior in the North.”
"Not all of them." She corrected him, the contents of the scrolls already long since etched into her mind, though there was far too many reasons a man would be looking at maps and schematics, though the immediate possibilities that came to mind brought a bitter taste to her tongue.
"One more day within an empty room wasn't to my liking. And I have no wish to be spending my time, walking through King's Landing with a guard tailing me by the shadows. This was enough of a compromise. After all, a book is better company than most men in my opinion." She studied his face, his reactions, his words beneath her gentle gaze. A mild twitch of her lip was her only response to his look.
"Were you expecting me to sit by my lord's quarter's sewing garments all day?" She asked with a raised brow, annoyance buried beneath her unchanged tone. In another time, in another life, she would have spent her youth learning to wield a sword if only she could, but as it was, she could not strain herself. "Perhaps you meant something else. Regardless, I am here and so are you and neither of us seem interested in following what is customary."
Post by THE REAVING KING on Aug 20, 2017 15:10:02 GMT
“You are strong willed,” Quellon said. He gathered up his materials and began to put them back where they went. “And easy to offend. You would make a good match for my son.”
Quellon looked back to Ashe. “Have you ever been to the Iron Islands?”
The question was a trick. He wanted to see if she knew who he was, and also wanted to see how she would react to him changing the topic so quickly. If she was quick-witted, she would be the perfect match for that swashbuckling fool of an heir. If she wasn’t, then he’d be able to ply different information out of her all the same.
Either way, Quellon’s predatory gaze never left Ashe. The moment she stepped into this library she became his prey—and Quellon did not let go easily.
She shook her head, slender digits resting upon her chest. "I spent the majority of my life knowing only the four corners of my room and the sun and moon through my window." Though of course, that wasn't all true. "I've only heard of the Iron Isles from whispers and tales, and to dream about it's stormy shores is the closest I've been to it." She continued, taking to the change of topics in stride.
Reeling back to his first statement however, she found herself correcting him from thinking she'd be available for his son to marry... or at the very least, make it bitingly obvious she had no interest in such an arrangement. Not like she had any say in it had she still lived in her father's house. "Though I am honored to hear you'd think that of me, I must not be wrong to also think you'd say that of just about any woman that piques your interest my lord." She spoke, hinting upon the tales she'd heard from down south. "I simply find no joy in sugar coating my words before someone who could take it's sting. Do not take that to be a sign that I'd make a good wife to an Iron born lad. Much less your own Lord Reaper." She hadn't forgotten his words from but a minute ago, nor what she'd learned whilst studying of lords and houses from years long past.
She now knew him, granted he was not playing with the clues he'd given, and he definitely knew where she came from, or was it just a guess? Regardless, being in a room with this man made her feel uneasy, and she did well not to show it.
Post by THE REAVING KING on Aug 20, 2017 18:14:00 GMT
“Greenlanders have an interesting personality trait,” Quellon said. “They always seem to think they’re safe when they’re not.”
The Lord Reaver took a step towards Ashe. And then another. Even if she ran now, she was well within his grasp—the little noble lady had forgotten that she was alone with the most dangerous man in all of Westeros.
“They think they’re safe in their castles. In their court rooms. In their cities.” As he spoke, his voice filled with gravel, his eye grew wider, his teeth more bared. “Because of that they lose sight of why the Seven Kingdoms are one. They don’t respect their history. They forget their place.”
The Lord Reaver of Pyke loomed over Ashe now. If she took a step back, he’d take a step forward. If she moved to the side, he would block her path. She was a fragile girl, a lady with no protection; a sheep, and not a wolf.
“And it is time you remembered your place, Ashe Tully.” Quellon’s eye narrowed, and in the darkness of the library it appeared as if it were a black slit—an emotionless, empty void that would let her glimpse the barest of terrifying insights into Quellon Greyjoy’s soul.
A chill ran through her spine as instinct told her to run. Of course, she was the last person capable of doing such. All she could do was step back, the woman by her side only staring in shock, as Ashe found herself backed into a book case, looking at the angered kraken, feeling smaller, and smaller with every step.
Her fingers felt cold as she clasped both hands together to hide the shaking, listening to what he had to say. No, she had not forgotten. She was far too smart to forget such a simple fact, and yet here she was, reckless with her words that was never meant to insult him at all. What she hoped to mean was she wasn't what he thought she was, and how she'd be an ill-suited choice to bear an heir. After all, six years into marriage and she still hadn't born a child of her own.
So of course, it would come as no surprise that the young pup would be shocked to find the sudden rage the other displayed. Her heart pounded like drums in her ears, clawing against her chest. Her mind threatened to cast itself into the darkness before what she could only describe was darkness given form before her.
Go away... She pleaded voicelessly as she looked at the man. GO AWAY... She cried out without a sound as fear held her in it's vice, constricting her lungs and her skull as pain wracked through her brain, threatening to black her out. For but a brief moment before that, she felt light, weightless yet was immediately crushed beneath a torrent she could not see. It felt like drowning... drowning in a seething rage that would have easily erased all traces of her soul.
What... what was that? Was the Lord Reaper's presence that much devastating upon her person? Whatever it was, it left her with an immense headache and the need to pass out, stepping back into the book case, only to slide down on the ground and holding her head, alerting her lady in waiting to her side, mindful to get in between her lady and the angered lord to spare her the full brunt of his intimidation, herself too scared to call for a knight for help. Meanwhile, Ashe couldn't even find the strength to cry at that point, as all she could do was hold her head with gritted teeth, praying for the throbbing to stop.
Last Edit: Aug 22, 2017 17:48:29 GMT by Ashe Tully
Post by THE REAVING KING on Aug 22, 2017 17:44:02 GMT
Rivers.
Rivers and snow.
That is what Quellon saw as something picked up his head and slammed it back into the table behind him. Splinters fell with maps, and the crack of his skull was nearly as loud as the crack of the broken table.
And he couldn’t remember how it happened.
Quellon laid half buried in scrolls and books, staring at the dark eaves of the royal library. Sunbeams speared him from the windows, and his one good eye moved under something else’s control. His breathing did not come; his limbs were iron without blood. It was as if a witch’s dream had claimed him, but he was wide awake.
“Is everything…” A voice somewhere a thousand miles away said.
“...Greyjoy…” something else murmured.
Underneath the sea, 20,000 leagues as the crow flies, something with a thousand arms twitched and floated upwards.
Quellon blinked. He blinked. First he flexed his fingers, and then his toes, and then he rose, a rising eruption, flinging half the broken table from him and into the nearby bookcase.
Amongst an avalanche of parchment and ruin stood the Lord Reaver of Pyke.
His hair stuck to his sweat-slick face. His breathing was rough and quick. His eye was bloodshot and focused on empty air.
What was that? Quellon looked around the library. If someone hid in the shadows, they were not betrayed. Slapping the back of his neck, he felt no poison dart or open wound. Looking at his hands and wrists he saw no strange bites or marks. This was not the work of poison.
The backpedaling step of Ashe’s lady-in-waiting caused the giant to wheel around and grab her by her throat. Gagged-up spittle covered his robes and she pulled at his fingers but they were the jaws of a panther on the neck of a doe. He lifted her to her toes, off the floor entirely, dragging her back along the bookcase. His eye locked onto her red-dyed face.
“What did you do?” She mouthed something unintelligible, maybe a Please or a You’re killing me, and Quellon squeezed harder. “What did you do!?”
Ashe Tully had maybe only a few moments to save the life of her servant before Quellon crushed her windpipe like an overripe melon.
It took a moment for Ashe to recollect herself, brought back from the edge of blacking out by the touch of her companion, though no sooner had she felt the touch than it disappeared, and instead, she heard the voice of Quellon Greyjoy.
She opened her eyes and all was a blur, her right eye twitched as she raised her head, the sensation akin to the stirr of liquid content within a barrel. One breath, two breaths, her vision took it's time to clear, though she could make out the shapes of both the lord and her servant. She needn't the full clarity of her eyes to realize what was going on as her eyes grew wide and she stumbled forward, almost tripping over excess cloth as she was almost a step short of taking Quellon by the arm and begging him to release the girl.
At first her voice failed her as she opened her lips to speak, but soon it crept out, bit by bit as she called for him again and again until the name rang in her ears. "...joy... Greyjoy.... Lord Greyjoy!!! Release the girl!" Her heart once more began to race, fearing for the young girl's life. "She's done nothing wrong! Please release her at once!" Ashe spoke, as clearly as her voice would allow her, not a hint of lies upon her face should he even bother to look upon it. The young pup was no liar, and she knew well enough that the girl had done nothing- or at least, can't have done anything. After all, she was but a simple farm girl who found work in the keep once she reached the right age. She was excited even to come down here to King's Landing for the first time in her life and now... now this. There was not much else that Ashe could do. She hadn't the strength to pull the girl free from his grip, nor did she the courage to raise her voice any louder-- not after feeling fear for the first time in a long while.
She hadn't even known what had transpired in that moment her mind begun to ache. She hadn't noticed the broken table and the disarray of books and maps. All she saw was the Ironborn lord strangling an innocent girl for a crime she could not have commit. She felt a the familiar touch of tears welling up from the corners of her eyes as she waited for him to release the girl, waiting... waiting... praying... Until she finally found enough of her voice to call for the help of the men who shadowed her, the two dressed in Tully colors rushing in, either to find their lady helping her choking lady-in-waiting up or a very dead lady-in waiting. Regardless, Ashe would forbid them to draw their weapons and instead have them stand at attention... in case something else happens.
Post by THE REAVING KING on Aug 22, 2017 19:29:16 GMT
Quellon looked over his shoulder at the armed soldiers. Likely Tully’s, but maybe hired help from somewhere else. They were not Targaryen warriors nor Kingsguard. Quellon could have killed them both with the books around him.
The Tully bitch’s crying made the throbbing crack in Quellon’s skull split open. The pain was lightning behind his eyes, frying his sense of control. Leaning his head back he sighed. And then he shoved his forehead directly into the aids own, splitting it open, and threw her to the ground. There she lay, curled and bleeding and crying and pissing herself, a ball of shivering woman at his feet, broken in every way.
Savagery was a tool. And like all tools, they rusted if not used.
“I will find out what you did,” Quellon said. He looked to Ashe. “I don’t know what poison you used, or if you’ve learned magic girl, but I will find out. And then I will do to you what you did to me.”
The guards stepped forward and Quellon shot them a look that froze the piss in their bladders.
Stepping over the husk of an aid, Quellon left the library, rubbing the wounded back of his head. It was not poison. His thoughts trailed to the mystical books of old as he added the name ASHE TULLY to his ever growing list.
Sometime later that night, while Ashe Tully was sleeping, men would break into her aid’s sleeping quarters and drag her screaming off into the night.
Her eyes never left his hands as they slowly crushed the neck within them, and all she could do, was watch as her vision blurred by the edges at the sight. She was here... right now, and yet she still felt like being swept up beneath the waves, fighting to stay afloat while the ring of armor drew close.
She heard the crack as skulls met, and seemed to have found herself broken out of whatever stupor she was in as the girl fell on the ground, crawling to her lady's lap in fear. Ashe could only grant the girl some comfort by her touch and her soft whispers as she felt the other shiver in her arms.
Ashe still couldn't fathom what had roused Quellon Greyjoy to anger. She was in no way capable of pouring through the conversation that transpired to search for an answer as the man had once more, filled her ears with his voice. She had no answer to him. She knew nothing about what happened, nor was she aware of any poison that could have been used on the lord. And magic? How would either her and the girl know any of it?
She watched Quellon leave, thankful that it was over and so gave the frightened girl a hug before giving her off to one of the knights to be brought back and be looked after. She herself took one of their hands and rose up, looking upon the massive back of Quellon Greyjoy.
How until she'd be able to see him?
Ashe felt lonely as she shared her bed with none, curled up beneath her sheets as once more she'd dreamt of the cold lands far north. The rivers where she now lived, and... the stables? The latter was an image, gone with the blink of an eye as a loud crash brought her eyes awake, her door springing open as men worried for the safety of their lady searched for her.
After reassuring them all was well with her... one of them asked her to come to her aid's quarters, only to find the mess that was left in the tresspassers' wake.
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