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 Sept 12, 2017 1:30:40 GMT
They had both been adventurers. The Panther of the Sea was a famed corsair, and Daella was a silver-haired wanderer, a roguish princess discovering the world alongside her husband. Quellon envied them at the time. Sasa was lost to the waves, Bathi dead to magic. Love had been taken from him. Mayhaps he’d find it with her, if he could just get her away from her husband.
Quellon stood outside of a darkened hallway. He took in a deep breath, smelled the shit and blood that lied within. They had both been adventurers. Kindred spirits. And now they made mortal enemies of each other.
Somewhere deep down, there was a dying ember. It was the sole memory of a one-sided love that the Panther of the Sea felt towards this western woman. Once upon a time, it burned hotter than the Doom she had been left in. That was why he stood before her at the wake, robes open, waiting for that killing strike. He would not have hated her had she done it. And she would have died with him, he knew.
Quellon took in another breath. He stepped into the abyss. With one hand he grabbed the torch on the side of the wall and lit it against the cobblestones. Rows of cells lined the hallway, and traitorous royal captains shied away from it. These men, covered in grime and muck and wounds, were destined to be sacrifices to the Drowned God.
The Reaving King passed them. His black cloak and his black armor and his black Valyrian steel made him the spectre of death traveling through the jail of the damned. Though the Iron Islands didn’t worship the Seven, even now Quellon felt the presence of the Stranger close by.
He stopped at the last cell. Here was chained his greatest prisoner, second only to Aerys.
Daella’s arms had been chained above her to the back wall. She had been given nothing to wear other than a cloth sack, torn and too small to cover her properly. Straw covered the ground underneath her. Steel bars separated him from her.
Quellon let the firelight kiss her face. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”
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