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 Guinevere Tully on Aug 23, 2017 19:42:12 GMT
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[attr="class","textieno"] Post's theme [break][break] Dauntless, Gwyn decided to investigate further the inner halls of the Sept. The so-called nobility was leaving the place one by one. It looked like whoever had come, paid their respects to the dead king; they had fulfilled their duty in honoring the dead. One of the guards waved a hand and beckoned her to stop for inspection; in response, she cast aside the hood aside. A guard told another, "She is with the Tullys, she must be!" Tully? Tully who? It didn't matter, she decided to roll with it. Guinevere nodded back with a reassuring smile, "Please continue on with the good work!" At last, she was in. Where to go, though? The priestess of R'hllor raised her chin, her emerald green eyes examined the figures that decorated the seven sides of the Sept. Once her eyes fell on the figures, Gwyn felt a pinch of pain. She took a seat and rose a hand to cover her forehead. It was a sudden migraine which accompanied with it certain images that reflected the likeness of the figures at each and every side of the sept. How could it be? Gwyn always knew the Seven as a Priestess of R'hllor; however, she managed to know them with a certain familiarity that didn't befit a priestess of her rank. [break][break] "The Father, The Mother, The Maid, The Warrior, The Smith, The Crone, and The Stranger" Gwyn mumbled the words. Suddenly, they became meaningful and worthy of not. Gwyn looked around, and she saw herself walking seeking to reach the end of the hall. What was this? Gwyn didn't understand what was happening; however, she came to conclude that might be a memory. A lost chard of remembrance of a life long past. Gwyn was amnesiac, she knew her own affliction. Sixteen years ago, she began a new life that had nothing to do with her real past. [break][break] Gwyn left her seat; she decided to follow that ghost of hers.
martell by blood, targaryen through wedlock. fiery and unkempt, the red sun will go to any measures to assure her beloved is seated upon the iron throne.
Post by RHIANU TARGARYEN on Aug 23, 2017 21:39:38 GMT
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Despite the evident fissure separating the two brothers, they were able to maintain a mutual understanding regarding the kraken and his gilled followers. She was thankful that the agreeance between two, given that her own blazing fire was aligned with the feelings of the Targaryen brothers. The throne was creating a divide but the searing blood that coursed through both of their veins could temporarily seal the gaping wound.
“Leave Quellon’s fate to the gods, my dragon-heart? I don’t think he deserves such an act of mercy, not after all of the heresy we witnessed him spew today,” the Dornish woman spoke the vehement words softly, desiring to keep matters between the three. A prying set of ears was the last issue they needed to face, if it could be avoided then that was best.
The entirety of her mood shifted as she watched Rhaegar hand Rayna off to Daeron, the manner in which he held her speaking to his instinctually paternal demeanor. A warm smile tugged the corner of her lips up, causing her to wrap her arms more securely around the serene baby dragon slumbering in her hold. “Surely you remember your uncle, little dragon. He loves you very much, as much as your father does,” she cooed to the ivory haired girl, pleased with her reaction to Daeron.
Her look steeled once more, a menacing gleam in her stare pairing with the resolute air that fell upon her petite form. A stare of ruby flickered between the siblings, who looked eerily similar the longer she studied them standing across from one another. “With fire and blood, as is the Targaryen way,” was her impassioned mumble to Daeron’s insistence of conquering Lord Greyjoy, conveying her agreement with the eldest heir’s desires.
Post by OISIN BARATHEON on Aug 23, 2017 21:43:13 GMT
As Oisin's father approached, the silver haired boy paled. This wasn't going to be good, was it? He smiled politely as his father spoke. At the mention of being sent back to Storm's End, his smile flickered for a brief moment. His brows furrowed quietly. Oisin kept his clenched hands hidden beneath his cloak as his eyes shifted down. He spoke quietly.
”...Yes father...”
Narrowed ice like eyes glared down silently as his mother spoke. He didnt even seem to notice the glare that she had given him. Being sent back to Storm's End clearly had more of an effect on the boy than his mother's disapproving glare. Only her hand on his hair seemed to snap him out of it. He glanced to her as she spoke of finding Aoife. Oisin gave a nod of the head before turning to go find his sister.
Post by AOIFE BARATHEON on Aug 23, 2017 21:55:09 GMT
Calm eyes watched the eldest Lannister son as he smiled. Ah, he didn't take her seriously. Aoife's expression didn't change as he chuckled while speaking. Her eyes shifted to the crowd before speaking softly. ”I see... it will, won't it..?” There was a soft pause in her voice before she eyed the Lannister, going from up and down. With a soft sigh, the girl practically whispered. ”Be thankful your house was not selected to attempt to orchestrate this madness for the Baratheons will be damned no matter we do.”
With that, she gave a soft bow of the head as LOGAN LANNISTER stood up and left. ”Farewell.” That was all she said as he left. There was nothing more or nothing less to say. A man that confident would have clearly made his mind up about anything going on. Men like that were attractive in that sense, but they were not as clever as they believed themselves to be.
Her eyes shifted up to glance at the man who then sat next to her. Ah, another handsome one. How nice. Aoife calmly eyed him before speaking softly. ”Ah... am I so insignificant son of the Kraken? “ she asked softly as her head tilted curiously to the side. Aoife's voice was calm, indicating no real personal opinion of her words- she was only stating facts. ”I am a cousin to the Targaryens, however, I unfortunately believe that you speaking to me will only cause more strife... if the chaos our parents were going to reap upon the wake was any indication.”
Alysanne is one of the three Targaryen children who purport they have claim to the throne. The now-dead King decreed Alysanne be Queen, and the unorthodox mother of three plans to become one.
Post by ALYSANNE TARGARYEN on Aug 23, 2017 22:02:29 GMT
Just once, she wished something like this could be a family-only event. Outsiders had no place here. If they would not pay their respects, they only came to tarnish the good King's name. Alysanne did find comfort in her reassuring daughter, however. Saera had always been close to her. While Alysanne did not have favorites, she bonded with Saera the most. Vivaenne was a little more distant and meek, and she was not sure where that side came from.
People began to leave, and Alysanne was fine with that. Carmilla Lannister stopped by her side and offered her condolences. "Thank you for your kind words, my Lady." One of he few Lannisters she could tolerate. She planned to be the last that remained, even after the body was carried out and burned. Arkas approached her, however, and Alysanne stared through tired eyes. The politics never stopped. She didn't mind that any other day, but today, she had wished they had. "Of course."
Alysanne had the weakest claim to the throne. She knew this much. But she would still fight for it, both to honor her father's wishes and because she did not think her brothers capable of being rulers. Looking to Saera, she stroked the girl's white mane once before kissing her cheek softly. "Go and mingle. This is too depressing for someone so young." The Princess stood and nodded at Arkas, following him to wherever he would lead her. She remained silent, prepared for a lecture, apology, or distracting matter altogether. Alysanne was always ready.
Post by Dalton Greyjoy on Aug 23, 2017 22:18:04 GMT
For someone that young, the girl sure was attentive. Despite the fact that it was a relative of hers that laid bare not too far from them, she was able to read the mood of the room rather nicely and could tell that their conversation was at least somewhat dangerous. Still though, the thought of that woman blowing up in his face too, just because he dared talk to her daughter was amusing. Yet, he stopped himself from laughing. It would have still been inappropriate to do so in this place, after all.
Or at least the Targaryens seemed to think that way. Funerals were a sombre affair for Ironborn too, but after the body was given to the sea, they usually went and drank in the deceased’s name. In his opinion, that was a much more dignified and respectful way to deal with it than plotting to destroy his life’s work. But what did he know. He was just a roach, apparently.
“Ah, young lady Baratheon then, I presume. Yes, I can see that your mother will just grow angry over it. But she would be mad seeing me anywhere doing anything, so I am not going out of my way to accommodate her.” He shrugged. Even in this situation, it was hard for him to not at least try to bring some levity to the table. It was in the young man’s nature, likely coming from his mother, just like his darker skin. It certainly was not something he’d inherited from Quellon, that much was for sure. “But no, you are not insignificant. I did notice you, after all. Just a little bit smaller, so I have to look down first.” He smiled, suppressing a short laughter again. “But to be honest, you seem like a good and nice girl. I never understood why our parents have to be at their throats all the time. We are not literal krakens, you guys are not literal stags. We are all people and people can get along just fine. I mean I have literally seen two guys get along wonderfully after meeting, but immediately hate one another once they learned one another’s last name. What is the point of that? A good man was laid to rest today, but a lot of people seem to have forgotten that.” He was borrowing some words from a Lannister there but that should be okay.
Post by Guinevere Tully on Aug 23, 2017 22:42:07 GMT
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[attr="class","textieno"] Post's theme [break][break] Gwyn wanted to follow her ghost, but the ghost was gone. The ethereal presence that walked beside her a few moments ago was no more. The last thing she managed to remember was her kneeling beneath the figurine of the mother trading a few words of prayers. Blasphemy! Heresy! Gwyn reprimanded herself feeling sorrow from the previous thoughts which engulfed her mind; she had only one God, and he was R'hllor the lord of light. Still, this had to have a meaning of sorts. She had been there before, in this place. And she was there for something important, something which changed the course of her life. At the end of the hallway, there were two men who had Valyrian features; they almost looked like each other, perhaps they were twins. They stared at each other with very menacing looks. "No," Gwyn had no intention whatsoever to go that way. She wasn't really sure about it, but these two seemed very keen in spilling each other's guts, and it was too much for her. Gwyn examined her whereabouts, and she found a dark haired young man and a young girl sitting beside them. The young girl had Valyrian features too. Was she a Targaryen too? She must be, Gwyn told herself. [break][break] The priestess found her way toward Dalton Greyjoy and AOIFE BARATHEON seeking a seat beside them. "Greetings," Guinevere smiled almost like a child offered a candy. Honestly, she wasn't sure how to start a conversation with them. Apparently, they were talking about important things which entailed Krakens and Stags. What Krakens and what Stags? Probably, the Greyjoys and the Baratheons. Gwyn wasn't that ignorant. "I am Guinevere Tully," Honestly, she didn't know if she was a Tully or not, but she was rolling with it. "I came late to the Wake," The Priestess looked really puzzled and confused. "Did something bad happen?" Gwyn had an ominous feeling which kept her stirred. [break][break]
Once more things felt like it was moving along. Any later and Ashe would have stalked away from this place in search of her better half, but now she was seated with the young Targaryen girl and the Tyrell boy, and before she could speak with Vivaenne to continue their conversation, a warm hand rested upon her shoulder.
Typically her response would be to jump from the touch yet something felt awfully familiar about it. And as his voice reached her ears, she found herself smiling like the young girl she once was, turning to look upon the face she had not seen in years... or at all! Surprise reflected in her eyes before turning into a soft and loving glance as she saw for the first time her second brother Ayden. How much he'd grown from the last time they'd met. Much like their eldest, he too had turned into a man in the time they'd been apart, and yet his crystal blue eyes remained the same. Clear, pure...
"Only if you grace me with yours." She whispered softly in return, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she reached for the hand that tapped her shoulder. "I missed you too Ayden... It's been far too long. I almost did not recognize you." She sighed softly as she turned to seek the form of her eldest brother as he too grew so much in the days they had not seen each other. But he was gone.
She hadn't seen him leave, nor had she notice the elder Greyjoy leave. Now that she thought about it, many more people have begun to leave. One by one, men and women dropped out and so the younger Stark took it as a sign that maybe they should soon as well. "We have a lot to talk about brother, and I doubt this is neither the right place nor the right time."
Turning once more to the Targaryen girl by her side, Ashe slowly reached for her hand, noticing something off with the girl. "Vivi, I think it's time we move somewhere else where the four of us could talk a little more freely." Softly, she squeezed the girl's hand in a comforting manner, hoping maybe a change of scenery could do her some good.
Post by AOIFE BARATHEON on Aug 24, 2017 3:35:38 GMT
”I see. Very well then Lord Greyjoy.”
Aoife's eyes studied Dalton Greyjoy as she spoke. Did he honestly not see the difference between anger stemmed from doing anything and the anger that would rise upon him speaking to her youngest child? Oh well. It wasn't like Aoife actually minded speaking to him. He was a bit more interesting to look at it- like a rare animal on display.
”We are literal stags. We merely file down our antlers.” Her voice was dry and cut, but it was clearly an attempt at a joke. Aoife shifted her head quietly to glance throughout the room as he spoke on of not understanding blood feuds. Softly, the girl spoke as if giving a lesson. ”The leadership of each realm was chosen to debate, argue and squabble in place of the people. There are more assassination ploys than there are wars. For every less war, several thousand lives are saved. That is the purpose of a nobleman's squabble.”
Aoife shifted her gaze towards the red haired woman, Guinevere Tully, who approached. She gave a small bow of the head as she was introduced as a Tully. ”I am Aoife Baratheon,” she responded in kind to the introduction. When another question came, Aoife's gaze shifted to the man sitting next to her before answering coolly.
”Our parents nearly turned the wake into either a murder scene or an arrest spectacle.”
"You could say that." A simple man, Cassius' mind could barely wrap around the fact that these 'visions', or so Aerys like to put it, that Vaelys had were anything more than fiction. He had no idea how they worked, or why. Only that somehow and in someway, it was a very real phenomenon. Everything he had spoken of had come to fruition, down to the makings of a potential bloodfest between His Grace's three children. Aerys' own words mirrored that of a conversation Cassius had had with his wife more than a months time ago, and while then he had remained skeptical, in the face of everything that had happened upstairs, it seemed like a very real possibly.
"He could easily march into the throne room and take it, yes. That is, if his true intention is to die a dishonorable death. There will be guards on all sides, waiting for someone bold or stupid enough to rob a possession of a King at his own funeral." Dragons, visions, the shattering of the realm - was this really what the world had become? "Unless you had someone to draw them away. How about you, Vaelys? With all these visions I'm sure you have already secured a plan that is fool-proof, no?" Cassius had no clue how or in what way he received such intel, but his naturally skeptical disposition fueled his otherwise sarcastic rhetoric.
It was clear to him, however, the true reason why his presence was needed during such an important event.
"If this is truly for the betterment of the realm, I shall be the distraction you need." He relented, sighing hard enough that he was sure even those above them would hear. He disliked doing things this way, it was unbecoming of a Lord. "Lady Alysanne and I are due for a long awaited reunion. She will want it to be somewhere where we can speak alone, I'll suggest the Throne room. Once there the guards will be too busy offering protection to their Lady to notice anything, leaving you with the opportunity you seek."
Last Edit: Aug 24, 2017 4:03:32 GMT by CASSIUS STARK
"I've missed you so, and I would love for us to catch up with one another. Please, I would love to meet your new comp–" his attention, diverted, before the finishing of his statement. It was but a rose untouched that caught his eye, a man whose stature represented that of archer; of course, call Ayden crazy, but he knew the hand of a sharpshooter when he saw one. "Excuse me, Ashe Tully, please give me just a moment and I will meet back with you and your compatriots in a short time. I wish to speak with someone whom seems to have caught my interest." Ayden stated, his eyes treading toward LORENT TYRELL.
And so with having departed from his sister for just a bit, he wanted to inquiry the man's attention. So with a purposeful approach did he come to halt before the male, asking with curious eyes, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but notice your stature. You could say I have the nose of a hound, but I know an archer when I see one; your stature and the presence you give off, just from here I could tell what you're capable of. How long?" he inquired, but before the man could answer, or even give him an answer should he had graced him with the time of day, did he say next, "My name is Ayden Stark, secondborn of House Stark, my father is Cassius. I just couldn't help myself, something about you just attracted my gaze and I just have to know!" Crystal blue eyes illuminated with peaked interest. "Am I accurate?"
Post by YULIYA LANNISTER on Aug 24, 2017 4:46:07 GMT
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The commotion was hushed, the ceremony commenced, and she watched gravely while inconspicuously reaching for Lyon’s hand in search of consolation. Jaehaerys hadn’t been a relative or had seen personally known the man for the better portion of her life, but none of this kept sorrow from taking up residence in her heart. The past five years spent at the Red Keep resulted in the sickly king creating a spot of fondness within the Lannister’s heart. She had admired him, direly wished for his terminal health issues to miraculously resolve, and thanked the gods for the opportunity to know the wonder of a man on a personal level.
But she knew all too well that all good things eventually came to an end.
This was the end of the reign of Jaehaerys II.
Carmilla was the first to excuse herself from the event and Yuliya bid her sister farewell, hoping she would catch sight of her glowing face soon enough. Logan departed too, but not before the little lion placed a kiss on his cheek to send him off. A somber sense of serenity had fallen over those remaining in the sept, peace restored since the problematic individuals had made an exit before the start of the commencement of the funeral. Eyes reddened from the tears she shed on the late king’s behalf, she stood and glanced over to Lyon. He had remained by her side, which earned a smile of gratitude from Yuliya that shattered her troubled demeanor.
“The idea of a funeral is to celebrate the life of the one who has passed, no? Why is it then that I can’t help but feel such a deep sadness today?”
En route to his eldest sibling, Lorent found himself sidetracked by a male of similar age but lighter in stature. His head tilted while he maintained his smile, though he wouldn't admit that he was pleasantly surprised. His eyes took in the figure before him and asserted that the fellow recognized his talent with a bow because the Stark was most likely a bowman himself.
"You flatter me, Ayden Stark. I am Ser Lorent Tyrell, thirdborn of House Tyrell," he replied with a slight bow to show that he was pleased to meet the fellow noble. His knowledge of royal families only really encompassed the South, so he had not recognized Ayden. The nobleman of the north seemed eager to prove himself, and Lorent found it hard not to oblige him.
"You are quite accurate. I took up archery during my time as a squire of the Hightower House, starting just about a decade ago. You have an interesting attention to detail! I take it you are also an archer?"
As the Prince of Dragons and once in direct line to inherit the Iron Throne, Aerys's Targaryen's sudden disappearance from Westeros was a loss that hurt his family in more ways than one. After five years in Essos, the Prince has returned to his homeland with hopes to prevent another civil war.
Post by AERYS TARGARYEN on Aug 24, 2017 6:10:24 GMT
“A silver tongue isn't as useful as a sharp one in Essos.” Aerys said with a smirk whenever Vaelys paid his ability to retort a compliment. His smile soon faded as his cousin spoke of the wedge the three heirs would drive between one another.
There was no doubt in Aerys’s mind that his father Daeron was the one true heir to the Iron Throne. Yet despite that, going to war for it wasn't the prince’s answer. His dragon dream conveyed a message that had become clear: the Targaryen house was on the verge of collapsing. It didn't matter if his family looked upon him and his impure blood with disdain, they belonged to his house that he would one day be at the head of. Whether they liked it or not. Preventing the entire realm from being pulled into a war that would destroy his house was more important than supporting his father.
“I do, but you’re not going to like it.” Aerys said, knowing full well his plan would put Vaelys in a position that he would rather not be in. Fortunately Cassius had one of his own and it was markedly better than the one Aerys had in mind.
Aerys nodded at Lord Stark whenever he finished speaking. “It’s almost perfect. Almost.” Aerys said, before contributing his own thoughts to the plan Cassius presented. ”I will be in the room, undetected, when this conversation takes place. Vaelys will burst into the room with bad news regarding Alysanne’s youngest. I’ll leave the theatrics to you, cousin. If anyone can sell it, it's you.” Aerys said with a smile.
”Once the room is cleared, I'll handle the rest.” His attention turned back to Vaelys. "Did you bring what I asked?"
Young, but feisty. The look on her face, though angered was extremely beautiful. Lukas had become quite good at reading one's body language, and digging through their layers without the others permission. It didn't take only words to convey emotions, and no matter what came next—which in this case was a simple "It'll be alright"; the reaction he looked for had indeed presented itself.
"My, my" The palm of his hand softly moved itself towards her knee before lifting off her body and back on the lap of his own person. "I thought you were beautiful with a smile on your face, but this look suits a fiery Dragon such as yourself much too well."
His digits fumbled around in his front pocket, locating the fresh rose that he always carried with him; the only symbol of his House besides the golden rose which lay printed onto his chest. Carrying the beautiful flower from his hand to her lap, he picked up the unfinished cup of wine and stood up. Quickly dusting himself with his other hand, he looked over to the Tully and then towards the Stark who had made his way towards his younger brother.
Looking at both of the beautifully dressed ladies, he offered a quick bow before setting off. "I'll meet you guys soon. I have some business to finish before we can enjoy each others grand company." He turned his back and effortlessly blended back in with the crowd, making his way towards the exit. Though, before leaving he made sure to lock eyes with his younger brother— a tradition they developed when together at events to keep themselves aware of their moves. Making sure he got the message, he made his way towards the exit.
He took one more glance at the lifeless body of the former King and said one more silent prayer. May whatever Gods that exist be gracious in the coming days. With that, he was gone, attending to matters of personal importance.
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