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.
[attr="class","likedoinfo"]When news of the beginning of the King's End had reached Riverrun, two groups of riders had left the city upon the streams. His father had taken a couple of bannermen up North in order to hold council with Lord Stark before coming down South. Edyn had led a circle of knights toward the capital, going ahead in order to prepare the arrival of Lord Tully. While he didn't like making his father's life easier, he hadn't needed an excuse to separate from his maker, leaving the Northmen and their cold behind.
Riding faster and a thousand miles fewer, Edyn had plenty of time to spare in King's Landing. Upon one of those days, he found himself in the weapon's yard of the Red Keep. A couple of knights from the Reach had spread their flower-scented talk about roses and chivalry.
"Is that how you boys fight?"
The biggest fight that followed: the two flower boys that had been sparring couldn't make up their minds. Which knight would get to teach this red-haired villain a lesson? Struggling about who would get to go first against the scowl-faced redhead from the Riverlands, they only came to a decision when Edyn pointed toward one of them. Face to face, the knight from the Reach and the knight from the Riverlands began their struggle...
"My name's Ser—Ufgh!" No, that couldn't have been his name. While he had assumed some silly fighting pose, Edyn had stepped forward and not even drawn his sword fully; merely halfway out of its sheath, he had brought the butt of the handle into the center of the flower boy's abdomen.
"Uh huh."
... While the two dragged themselves out, not wanting a part in the lack of chivalry, the redhead looked around the training area, wanting to consolidate his unspent anger upon a new target. Flowers get stepped on.
Post by Guinevere Tully on Aug 25, 2017 21:14:15 GMT
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[attr="class","textieno"] Three days before the wake... [break][break] Guinevere set her first step in Westeros, perhaps from her own perspective. There was something familiar lingering all over the place, a sense of nostalgia which was deep as the clear stench which polluted the air. The Priestess of R'hllor covered her nose with her hands as she stepped through the Streets of King's Landing. Gwyn walked aimlessly and without purpose like a newborn kitten opening her eyes to the new world. The redhead's senses were overwhelmed by the white noise produced by the hustle and bustle of the common citizens. She began her ascent from Blackwater bay ignoring the call of fishermen who wanted nothing but to sell their merchandise. Luckily, the Priestess managed to avoid flea bottom. This area proved to be intimidating to someone new like her. Gwyn's thoughts were heavily clouded with rumination; she was supposed to preach the word of R'hllor. But how? This was no Essos where the temples of the Lord of Light were a recurring phenomenon and a common theme. In Westeros, she had no allies whatsoever. In fact, everyone held a good potential for being a staunch foe. If she tried to utter the words of the Light, the clergy of the Seven would call her a heretic. If she managed to display her gift of wielding the flames, they would call her a witch and burn her. No, she had no friends in this forsaken land. Gwyn was on her own, for the moment; she had to adapt to the new environment and understand the circumstances of which these lands were suffering from. Eventually, she would have to make her move. [break][break] Clad in a red cloak, Gwyn kept the leather which caressed her skin hidden. Under the red hood, Gwyn preserved her Tully features unobserved from throngs of people who wandered the paths of King's Landing to attend to their own matters. By then, she heard a certain interesting conversation. They required a healer in the Red Keep; the Maester who supervised a certain yard didn't report in, for whatever reasons. Out of the good of her heart, Gwyn offered her services for free. After all, the priestess was a herbalist; she knew how to soothe what ailed a fallen knight whether it was an ointment to ease the pain, or a needle to sew open wounds; Gwyn knew what to do. For an hour or so, she assumed the mantle of a healer. She stood there observing the knights sparring with each other. Until came a knight who had the same color for a mane; he parted a few words with another knight. And there it was, the end of a hilt driven deep into the other knight's belly. Why did men like to fight? Gwyn had to ponder the matter for a few moments until she marched on to see if anyone of them got wounded. But no, they were fine. One of the knights retreated. The other, however, searched with his gaze looking for a new target; he looked like a beast ready to hunt his prey. [break][break] "Don't break yourself, young man!" She told Eden. "Your fury will cloud your judgment and dull the edge of your blade!" She advised him. Well, she cared. Gwyn was ruled by kindness, and her maternal instinct kicked in when she saw anyone in distress.
[attr="class","likedoinfo"]"Watch your mouth, foreign witch."
Edyn had been looking for a body to pound his anger into, but the other knights were being quick to retreat. Squires weren't foolish enough to try the Tully knight. He'd made a reputation for himself. Today hadn't been his first fight, and it wouldn't be his last.
"These are the Seven Kingdoms of the Seven Holy Saints. Don't forget that. And don't forget that I'm Ser Edyn Tully. Address me without thinking about your tongue again, and neither your fire god nor the Seven will protect you."
Certainly there was some anger inside the young man, but swinging his tongue about, making threats and sharp comments, wouldn't dull it. That only put him in more of a mood to spread violence. The knights she had come to heal had already disappeared with the rest of them, leaving the two redheads alone in the courtyard. The Red Keep was large enough. It had more than one gathering spot for those that wanted to train.
"Off with you."
Turning away from the witch, clearly he considered her something lesser, extending not the most basic principles of conversation or even politeness. All the fearful squires having gained distance left nobody to serve him. With a grumble, he served himself.
Even though it was early in the morning, he combated his thirst with ripe wine from the Reach. The boys had left it, and he claimed it, thusly, by right of conquest. By the time he'd been through the leftovers in the flask, he would be surprised if she was still there.
Taking no note either way, he disrobbed his shirt, dipping his head into one of the water-filled barrels by the side of the yard. The water wasn't as icy as he wanted it to be - fresh, clean and crystaline - like the streams of Riverlands.
But he had to make due. Like he always had.
Edyn growled again, apparently angry at a water barrel and its contents. Eyes closed, he looked up toward a rainless sky. Water had soaked his hair and shoulders, making the mane of redness cling to his neck, all the way down to his shoulder blades.
A body steeled by combat no doubt, had also suffered from it, littered in blows ranging from freshly green for the newest hits to deep red for the oldest hits. And all kinds of blue in between.
Post by Guinevere Tully on Aug 25, 2017 23:07:48 GMT
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[attr="class","textieno"] Was it written on her face she was a priestess of R'hllor? [break][break] Guinevere took a step back; she was quite stunned by his reaction. The growl in his voice was more enough to make Gwyn frightened. The priestess gulped her spittle managing to keep an eye contact with the redheaded knight while receiving punishment in the form of venomous verbal words. Did she insult him with her presence? Gwyn felt guilty, but she wasn't sure what kind of mistake she had done. Where foreigners considered lesser creatures around these parts? How did he know she was a Priestess? Gwyn's soul got pulled apart between a need to flee his sight, and the need to help him. Gwyn felt pure fear, but her maternal instincts were stronger still. "Off with you," He told her; however, she didn't listen. On the contrary, Gwyn continued following his steps but she gave him the space he deserved. The priestess left her cloak behind, catching the side her arm; she watched him drinking the flask of Arbor gold like it was nothing as if it was water. He paid her no heed. Perhaps, he didn't care if she was around or not. The good news, he hadn't hit her yet. The bad news, he might hit her in a burst of rage. Why was she that angry? What kind of turmoil churned his soul? The anguish translated itself in his behavior and demeanor. Was he always like that, furious and angry? [break][break] "Ser Eden Tully," Gwyn managed to muster her courage and address him accordingly. "Why are you so angry?" There must be a reason why he acted like that. If she could help resolve the matter, his soul might be mended. The Priestess looked around her, and she figured she was alone with him. Where did the other knights go? Actually, did that mean she was more courageous than them? "Ser Eden Tully," She called his name once more. "Let me help you, please!" She took a cautious step forward as if she was nearing a caged beast. "You are wounded!" Gwyn took another step forward. "You need medical attention," Guinevere was a few steps away from him; she had the ointment ready to be administered, and she could sew any open wounds. He didn't seem stable, though; she and every right to be afraid. [break][break] Would he let her? Would he let her heal him? Or would he hurt her?
Edyn turned to the sound of her voice, revealing that the front of his body was as beating-laced as the view she had gotten on his back. Did she really think he didn't look healthy? He would have looked a lot fucking worse if he hadn't won those brawls. For month, Edyn Tully had chased every fight, brawl or conflict - or had it been for years?
"I'm not wounded," he denied.
By being there, she refused his orders. Defying common sense also, could a goodness in a person really be so large that it wanted to force good upon those that did not want but need it - even at the risk of personal safety?
Edyn would be kind enough to educate her.
Stepping forward, he discarded the flask of wine. In the same motion, he smacked the ointment out of her hand, leaving it to roll over the floor like one of his tumbling opponents from earlier. Filling the void between them, he took half a step forward, like he had with the Reach boy. This time his hand did not drive his sword's butt into his opponent's stomach though - the priestess was grasped by the throat and he shoved her along until her back hit one of the yard's outer pillars, where open space was framed by a roofed walkway.
"You'd be surprised how much suffering a body can take. Cutting people with a blade is mercy, not beating them to death with a club is civilization. These aren't wounds. These are bruises."
He let go of her throat, raising his palm, as if he meant to sent it across her face. But not yet.
"Do you want me to educate you on the difference with a physical example?"
Post by Guinevere Tully on Aug 26, 2017 20:36:01 GMT
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[attr="class","textieno"] Edyn Tully denied her an uttered word, a word he believed false or perhaps an accusations of sorts. He was wounded, Gwyn was sure of it. The wound, however, was deep in the heart and took the form of great anger. When he stood up, she knew he was bound to hurt her. "R'hllor, Lord of Light, give me strength!" Guinevere thought to herself, words of prayer. Edyn took his first step, and she stood her ground; Gwyn wasn't going to run. If anything, she was a fool who believed in the greater good of things. And fools often suffered and stepped on, until the day they break and implode from the inside. With a slight of a hand, he threw away his flask the same way he forced the ointment from her hands. [break][break] The second thing she knew was his hand holding her neck as if it was a lightning match if any existed in the world of men. For a moment, Gwyn wanted to defend herself; she wanted to wrestle with his grasp, or even better perhaps; she could have burned him with her holy flames. But no, she clasped her fists, like balls, besides her; she walked backward wherever he was leading her into. His grasp was indeed strong, but he didn't want to strangle her out of breath. And at last, she felt her back getting rammed into a wall. For a moment, Gwyn gritted her teeth; she felt a great deal of pain which numbed her back. Why was he doing this? What was trying to accomplish? Gwyn didn't try to dispute his argument. This man was a beast; she was standing before a monster. These were her thoughts when he left her neck and threatened to slap her face. But beasts had hearts too, and so even monsters. Gwyn thought to herself again; she knew she was going to suffer. [break][break] "Will hitting me alleviate a modicum of your burden, Ser Edyn!" Gwyn' lips curled in a sad smile, and her green eyes were lamenting the fact he was going to hit her. She saw it in his eyes, and she wasn't going to stop him. [break][break] She was a fool, a kind-hearted fool.
[attr="class","likedoinfo"]Did the red-haired witch expect her rambling to make him see reason? Edyn Tully's wounds, if internal, had been bleeding for years. Would her words scorch them out and stop the infection that was his rage?
Unlikely.
Edyn's palm drove through the woman's face, sending her head from one side to another. Certainly that would wipe her smile off her face. A knight shouldn't hit a woman, but he did it. Being a knight wasn't a tale of chivalry. Those Reach boys liked to think that. But the Riverlands had their trouble with the Ironborn and the Vale had their trouble with the mountain people.
These fights had been going on for generations.
A thousand years.
And why? The Riverlanders were still around. The Ironborn were still around. Their children doomed to repeat the conflict. There was only one way to solve the issues, wasn't there? Who gave birth to the next generation of Ironborn? To the next generation of mountain people?
The bellies of women.
Eryn drove a fist into Guinevere's stomach, forcing her into the wall at her back, and then, likely, to the ground. Did she have more staying power than the young knight from the Reach? Doubtful. Grasping her by the shoulder, Edyn whirled her gasping frame around and threw her into the dirt to her ointment.
"Go on. Heal your wounds."
Standing tall above her, he ran a hand through his damp hair. Slicking it down his neck, he didn't want stubborn tresses to obstruct his view of the woman.
"I'm not done."
He could beat her out of the Red Keep, through the streets of King's Landing, and leave her in the streets of Fleabottom, like a used up whore, battered and bruised. And that would still make him superior to an Ironborn.
Some people were slow learners.
Edyn took a knee, bending infront of her frame. He reached out, picking up her chin in order to force her gaze on his. "Look at me," he ordered, his face a cold-hearted mockery of her sad smile. "I'm going to beat you until killing you becomes an act of mercy. I'm going to beat you like a dog if you don't stop talking. If you don't stop smiling. Look at the floor if you know what's good for you."
Post by Guinevere Tully on Aug 31, 2017 15:38:41 GMT
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[attr="class","textieno"] And there it came, a slap in the face; it struck like a boulder made of steel. [break][break] As his Edyn's hand connected with Gwyn's face, she felt like her mind was melting down into her body. No, it felt like the froth of soap getting drained into a cesspit. The world around her was no more. All she could see was endless darkness, someplace beyond the reach of holy flames. Unbalanced, Gwyn was going to fall. Unaware of it, Edyn's follow up came like an act of mercy. If Gwyn had fallen on the ground hitting her head again, she could have suffered worse injuries. The blow he had dealt her, she didn't feel it's pain. Like a ragdoll, she was pushed into the ground. The Riverlander goaded her to use the same ointment she was going to use to soothe the pain of his bruises. He knelt before her; he said things she couldn't hear. All she could hear was white noise. All she could feel was the scorching heat of the sand beneath her. Guinevere was beaten into submission, and she was no knight to endure the might behind his punishment. A cruel fate, it was. Why do kind people have to suffer? Was it a universal rule of some sort? Was the world a place of discord between the strong and the weak? A struggle between the powerful and the meek? These were questions her mind didn't care to hear as it grew nonchalant to answer. There was something else, the darkness; it lulled like a mother would do her child. She fell into the sea of her soul, into the obscurity of her lost memories. [break][break] Edyn's actions triggered a memory event; Gwyn was recovering a shard of her memory. [break][break] When she opened her eyes; Edyn wasn't there, and the Red Keep wasn't either. By then, Gwyn found herself somewhere else. She looked out of the window to find the crystal clear waters of Riverrun. There was a scent lingering in the air, the smell of a cooked mutton. Gwyn was supervising the work over the kitchen, and she was helping as well. She saw herself from a very close distance, a step or two away. Gwyn left the Kitchen after telling the maids what they had to do. She had to follow her, the one who looked exactly like her. Her steps led Gwyn to the outer yards. Her emerald gaze fell upon a young figure, four years younger than her. He had stark red hair and golden eyes. Gwyn looked back at her younger self as the latter addressed the boy, "Edmund, stop playing with the sword! It is almost time for dinner!" Who was Edmund? He looked so familiar! Gwyn felt a strange sense of warmth engulfing her heart. And then, everything went white; she was waking up. [break][break] Guinevere opened her eyes; she winced in pain feeling the whistle blowing in her left ear. The priestess' vision was blurred and unsteady; she couldn't see well. Gwyn raised her chin a bit to find a man who shared almost the same features. "Edmund, is that you?" Her words faltered, they left her lips weak. No, he wasn't! The boy would never do that to her, he would never do that to her!
[attr="class","likedoinfo"]Out of all the things he could have expected - it wouldn't have been the name of his father. Taken back for the slightest of moments, his rage disappeared. That might have seemed like a gracious act, but mercy wasn't at work here. Merely confusion. Almost dumb-founded, the young Tully looked her over with a questioning gaze. He was trying to figure it out, but what was his mind supposed to make sense of?
Just the ramblings of a beaten whore.
His father had always insulted his mother. Marrying that Stark whore had just been an official affront.
And lowly whores, like this red-headed harlot might be lucky enough to pick up talk of the whore-monger of Riverrun. The confusion on Edyn's face parted. It was replaced by disgust. His jaw tightened. If not for the sounds of footsteps behind them, he would have beaten the life out of her for her insolence right then and there.
"Speak that name again, you foreign whore. Come before me again, you filthy outsider. And I will kill you."
Giving her a good dose of himself as a parting gift, his boot stepped upon the ointment that was still on the floor. Crushing her medicine, gift and mercy under his soldier footwear, he gave her a look of utter hatred and disregard.
"If I see you again, I will drag your body into the woods and hang you from the tallest tree I can find."
Picking up his garb and another skin of wine, Edyn whirled around.
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