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 25, 2017 21:18:25 GMT
The Storm God hurled his fury at the Iron Islands, and Quellon enjoyed a book.
He sat in his study, the ancient history of the Andals in his hands illuminated by the soft glow of firelight. Thunder shook the stones occasionally, and hail slapped the windows alongside rain and wind. It was background noise to Quellon, who found the rage of the Storm God a soft lullaby at worse.
The sudden knocking on his door ruined his reverie. His servants had been told to retire for the night and his men shouldn’t have been stupid enough to disturb him. Closing the book, Quellon rose from his seat and stumbled over to the door. He was more than a little drunk.
Quellon stared out into the hallway, ready to slay with his evil eye whoever disturbed him.
No one was there.
A small fist tugging at his robes made him look down.
For fucks sake…
The twins, but eight years old, were enemies that Quellon could not route.
He sucked his teeth and sighed. “You are supposed to be sleeping.”
Post by Robin Greyjoy on Aug 25, 2017 21:43:43 GMT
The storms raged on. Winds wailing, water drumming and thunder roaring. It was loud. She could sleep, but it was loud. She could sleep but stormy nights were great for bedtime stories. Bedtime stories were more interesting than sleep.
"But we want to hear a story." Robin rubbed her eyes, one hand firmly holding her sister's own.
Last Edit: Aug 25, 2017 21:47:14 GMT by Robin Greyjoy
Post by Luciya Greyjoy on Aug 25, 2017 22:01:00 GMT
A small hand let go of Quellon's robes as a pair of earnest, gold eyes looked up at him. Not a hint of sleepiness, nor the drowsy head bobbing that came with being up this late. Luciya eagerly nodded at Robin's words, "Story." The night storm was a comforting song, but it was nothing compared to the stories that came before bed. The one's that they managed to pry from their father when he wasn't busy, and around to tell them.
Post by THE REAVING KING on Aug 29, 2017 18:31:40 GMT
Quellon scratched his head. One demon tried to play the “I’m your daughter dad, c’mon,” and the other acted like it was her birthright, decreed by the Drowned God himself, to demand stories of her father.
Thunderous laughter crackled in the distance. It was a sign—his daughters were storms Quellon would never be free.
“Fine.”
He scratched his head again and then, without preamble, scooped them both up. There was a daughter on each shoulder as he walked back to their bedroom. Their weight was light and wanted. They did not know this, or perhaps they were observant enough to notice, but the love for them held in the Lord Reaver’s heart made his cheeks flush red and his heart flutter.
“Remember what I said about paying me,” Quellon said as he tucked them back in. “Tomorrow you’re both scrubbing my ship clean.”
The Iron Price could come in many ways.
Sitting down beside their bed, Quellon pulled his robes tighter around him and relit the candles. Through the windows, the song of storms allowed Quellon to ease off into another life.
Post by Robin Greyjoy on Aug 29, 2017 19:04:17 GMT
Robin beamed as she rose from the ground, and saw the world above the head of her father. A tiny arm snaked about his head as she held onto him, her voice ringing with laughter in melody with the falling rain. Being the more expressive of the two, it was far too easy to tell how Robin felt, and as her laughter was endless around her sire, it was obvious just how she felt about him.
Though just as quickly as her cheers rose to her lips, it fell as she was reminded of the Iron Price she had to pay. She clung to her father's head in protest, elbows resting upon his head. Her lips were upturned into a frown as she whined. "We already had to do that last time. You can't be serious." Though unlike her usual complaints, her words ended at that. Robin knew better than to deny him her dues, yet it didn't stop her from voicing out her dismay, and never would it do so. She'll clean the ship come sunrise, but for now in a hall with just the three of them, she'll be a child.
Back beneath their sheets, she looked at Quellon, her frown still resting upon her lips. Not for knowing tomorrow's chore, but because she wanted to listen to his stories, draped in his sheets with her sister and upon his bed while the storm raged outside the window. His chambers where his presence was strongest.
She hadn't asked. Not when he was ready. Nothing, not even the boisterous Robin, would dare disturb the man from his stories. Not right now at least.
Post by Luciya Greyjoy on Aug 29, 2017 22:44:12 GMT
Luciya found purchase as an arm looped around her father's neck, a small cheek pressing against the side of his head. A grin had formed on her face at the new height, a tickled, soft pitched giggle the response alongside with the loud laughter of Robin. Had she more time on the man's shoulder, if he hadn't spoke of repaying him by cleaning the ship, Luciya would have started to make braids in his hair.
Instead she looked as if a mouthful of sea grime had been shoved into her mouth as he lowered them both onto his bed. The small girl wriggled around, finding a handful of the sheets and scooted closer to Robin. It was warm; the bed filled with the smell of him. She could close her eyes and fall asleep then, if not for the promise of a story.
Wide-eyed Luciya waited in silence. The cleaning of the ship wasn't something that they hadn't done before; she remembered the first time quite clearly. The ends of her fingers had hurt for days, her back just as bad from the constant work. If that was the price to pay for the luxury now, then it was one that Luci would gladly pay. Just not without a few disgruntled looks, and big, pleading eyes directed his way to give them another sentence.
She nuzzled into the pillow, brought the sheet up closer to her chin and buzzed in place.
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