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Evelyne Spyre

"You think just because I am a whore, that I am dumb? How quaint."

0 · 1,209 views · located in Tibera

a character in “The Price of Blood”, as played by Mrs. Sara Banner

Description

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"You think just because I am a whore, that I am dumb? How quaint."[/center]



The Basics




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Full Name: Evelyne Spyre
Nicknames: Eve, Lyn
Gender: Female
Age: 28
Rank/Title: I guess one could call her a Lady, though really she is a Mistress and a whore
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Kingdom/Alliance: Falor




What's on the Outside




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Hair Color: Dark brown, nearly black
Eye Color: Black
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 145 lbs
Tattoos: None
Piercings: None
Scars: Very few scars are upon Evelyne's body. She tried to keep her body as unmarked as possible, as it is her livelihood.
Description:Evelyne could be said to look a bit exotic. Her features are soft and warm, almost unsuspecting of the sharpness of her mind. Her smile and kind eyes allow for a sense of comfort among those whom she confronts, a mutual feeling of trust almost. Her skin is lightly tanned, her eyes and hair the same shade of mocha brown, and her body holding a feminine build.




What's on the Inside




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Personality: Evelyne is a very versatile girl. Having been educated before becoming a whore, she is a lot quicker that most people assume her to be. She very sly, always thinking 20 steps ahead to look out for herself. Despite this, she is a genuinely kind person. She does what needs to be done, to whatever extent, but that doesn't necessarily mean she likes it.
{Calculating, Charismatic, Seductive, Alluring}
Evelyne is a very versatile girl. Having been educated before becoming a whore, she is a lot quicker that most people assume her to be. She very sly, always thinking 20 steps ahead to look out for herself. Despite this, she is a genuinely kind person. She does what needs to be done, to whatever extent, but that doesn't necessarily mean she likes it. She knows she is very alluring and sexy, and uses this to her advantage whenever she gathers information at her work.
Hobbies:
Dancing
Reading
Singing
Habits:

    She tends to bite her lip when she's thinking.
    She hums to herself o\whenever she's doing mundane things like cleaning.
    Oddities:
      She's never actually been in love. Despite sleeping around and meeting men from all over the world, she's never been in love.
      Likes/Loves:
      • Music
      • The effect she has on men and women alike
      • She's starting to like Christoph
      • Proving herself to others
      • Reading
      Dislikes/Hates:
      • Being treated like she's stupid
      • Ignorance
      • Cruelty for the sake of entertainment
      • Stupidity
      • Being kept in the dark about things




What's Done Is Done




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Biography
Place Of Origin: Falor
History:Evelyne was never a very suspecting girl. Born to a simple artisan, she was given the basics in education, being taught to read, write, cook, and dance, as any young girl would have been. She was generally a relatively plain girl, not choosing to wear any extravagant dresses or hairstyles. It wasn't until her mother left her father, when Evelyne was 13, for a richer man, did things change.

By the age of 16, her mothers new husband had raped her quite a few times, leaving her feeling broken and unsafe. She had gone to her mother repeatedly for help against her husband, but her mother just ignored her. By the time she was 19, she left the house, unable to deal with the abuse any longer. Figuring she wasn't very good at anything else, she took up work at a local brothel. Proving herself in her sexual prowess and wanton talents, she worked her way up the ranks, being traded from brothel owner to brothel owner, each new whore house closer to the Kingdom than the next. She managed to make friends in high places by being sold as an escort as well as a whore. Learning secrets of loads of the Lords and even some of the Ladies of Falor.

As of now, she has just began to work for Christoph Edwards. She hasn't had much of a talk with him, but something about him draws her to him.
Happiest Memory: When she was younger, and her mother would teach her how to read
Saddest Memory: When her mother sided with her new husband rather than Evelyne




Face Claim: Sibel Kekilli

So begins...

Evelyne Spyre's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre

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Evelyne paced around the luxurious bedchamber of her Employer and Lord Edwards. She scanned the room, taking in the beautiful craftsmanship of every piece of furniture, every painting, every stitch in every piece in every stitch of fine cloth seemed to be perfectly placed, with purpose. It reminded her of Christoph. Every move he made was deliberate and thought through.

She sat on the edge of the bed, sighing quietly, her dusty rose colored silk dress loosely hung from her shoulders, her head leaning back, arms extended behind her, letting her lean back in thought. Christoph had chosen to bring her here of all of the whores from his pleasure house. Perhaps she had done something to anger him? But she couldn't have. None of the Lords whom had come to her for company had left with anything less than a wide grin on t heir faces. She frowned and bit her lip in thought, awaiting her Lords return

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Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Priscilla Edwards Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre

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He had always been good at leaving unnoticed. As much as he enjoyed being in the midst of the action and seeing it first hand, Christoph also despised being in such close quarters with so many people. Christoph moved with ease through the people though, weaving in and out and still managing to get a sip of his wine in every once and a while. The beverage had begun to go to his head, he could tell. It only added to his unease at the moment, for he knew he needed his wits during the celebration. Change was coming, and he wanted to be one step ahead of it.

A passing servant received the empty goblet as Christoph placed it on his tray. With that, he moved toward the staircase. Rosalie was there already, looking back at the crowd. "Good evening, Your Majesty," he said as he walked by, bowing his head to her before mounting the stairs.He wished he could have said something in that moment to convince her that his son was the better match for her. Something, anything. He couldn't though, and he knew it. Christoph could plot all he wanted to, but in the end, Loras had to figure this one out.

As he moved down the hall, his thoughts turned to Priscilla. Of course he adored the girl, she was his daughter. He wished she were as cunning as he and Loras, but it did not detract from his love for her. But Nicholas's apprehension was nearly tangible. An awkward air hung about the two. While Christoph had never been an expert in relationships, having never settled in one for too long, he knew those matters would have to be taken into his own hands. He would manage.

Christoph was still half-lost in his thoughts when he opened the door and then locked it behind him. Not to keep Evelyne in, but rather to keep others out. He would stand no chance against an opponent at night. From the rug near the hearth, his dogs looked up, ears pricked intently, before they settled back down once more. His eyes fell on Evelyne then, for he had almost forgotten she would be here.

"I do hope you were not too bored up here, by yourself," he said, pulling the mask off before placing it on top of the dresser. "Politics takes precedence, of course." He was half tempted to pour some of the spiced wine he had brought with him, but he thought it unwise given his current state. Instead, he began to pull the rings from his fingers and remove the outfit he wore over a more plain shirt and breeches.

Christoph then turned back to her and took a few steps in her direction until he stood just in front of her. He reached out and cupped her jaw in a hand so that he could easily tilt her head back to look up at him. His other hand took up a stray strand of hair that he then tucked behind her ear. "You possess a unique sort of beauty, Evelyne," he remarked. "Very rarely do I find a woman with such an exotic look about her." He moved his hands then so that they braced against the duvet, allowing him to lean down and press his lips, which had curled into a smirk, against hers. Soon, his hands cupped her face rather than rested on the bed as he moved his head so as to better kiss her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre

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Upon the sound of the bedchamber door opening, Evelyne's head shot up, her eyes following him as he walked to the hearth, before he looked at her. "I do hope you were not too bored up here, by yourself, Politics takes precedence, of course." She shook her head, shrugging and waving off the comment, "I kept myself entertained with the books, and your pups." she smiled gently, sitting up straight, watching him disrobe partially.


As he began to approach her, and hold her face in his hand, she bit her lip, eyes holding his gaze as she refused to back down from him look. Upon hearing the words of his compliment, she smiled softly, "My mother wasn't from around Falor." she said quietly, before leaning into his lips, resting her hand on his shoulder, before swiftly flipping him back onto the bed, to that he sat where she was, and she stood but a foot in front of him, a devilish smirk on her face as she slowly, teasingly opening the front of her robe, "Tell me my Lord, why, of all the girls from your pleasure house that you could have brought, you chose to bring me?
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"Well, that most certainly explains it," he murmured. Christoph, of course, had not been expecting her next move, and a breath shuddered out of him in response as he watched her strip. He smirked at her question and beckoned her over with a flick of his finger. Christoph leaned so that his lips brushed against her ear. "Because I refuse to settle for anything less than perfect." He placed a hand on either of her hips, drawing her closer to him once more, back toward the bed, as their lips locked once more.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre

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The hunt had been delayed following a rain storm that had lasted far longer than anyone had truly expected. The sky, however, had reverted to a light blue and the sun had begun to show itself a little after noon. The only sign that remained of said rainfall was the softness of the ground beneath the hooves of horses and the feet of nobles. Now, however, the sky was once more graying. Though there was still a substantial number of royals and nobles atop horses, preparing for the hunt, others had chosen to stay beneath tents that had been pitched over ornate carpets.

One such noble was Christoph. He had had every intention to join the hunt that day, but frankly, he cared little for riding about in such dismal conditions. Instead, he had merely ridden his horse out to the site of the tents to avoid wetting his shoes as most nobles chose to. Behind him, his dogs had trailed, and presently, they sat by his feet and watched the unknown people milling about under the tents. Christoph had taken a seat, as had quite a few of the nobles who were not busy mounting horses.

To his left sat Evelyne, for he truly hadn't wanted to leave anyone in his room without the dogs there to guard his belongings. Besides, she was entertaining company to keep in the midst of what was often dull conversation. Occasionally, he would whisper hushed remarks about the various nobles in her ear. Currently, he noticed a man who far too old to walk, let alone ride a horse, attempting to mount a well-bred stallion. Christoph's lips twitched as he leaned toward Evelyne. "I do hope someone puts me out of my misery if I'm ever that daft," he remarked.

He looked about for another victim, and his eyes fell upon Tyrion, the Imp. He stopped himself, however, before saying anything to Evelyne, for as much as he wished to say something about him, he knew Tyrion was a good ally to keep. "How are you on this fine day, Lord Tyrion?" he asked, cocking his head subtly. "Will you be joining the hunt?"








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Alongside the other nobles, Ronan finished adjusting the saddle on his ebony warhorse. The stallion fidgeted beneath unfamiliar saddlebags that, in turn, hit against his flanks with more fervor. He gripped the saddle and lifted himself on to the horse just as a rain drop fell on to the crown of his head. The rain, however, had never bothered him much either way. There was still a dull throb in his shoulder, and it brought about a wince as he yanked himself upwards. Once he had settled on the saddle, he gathered up the reins and looked about.

Ulfric, a little ways off, hefted himself into the saddle of his dun mare. She was much older than most of the horses gathered about, but she was a loyal mount. He'd ridden her for years now, since he had taken the throne, and not once had she failed him. As he settled himself on the saddle, he looked about and met Ronan's gaze. They would have to speak, for now Ulfric found it difficult to tell what was true anymore.

Clicking his tongue once, he walked his horse towards Ronan and then stopped so that their horses were only a few inches apart. "I was wondering if perhaps you would be willing to split from the group with me and hunt on our own," he said, reciting the line he had practiced that morning. "It'll be difficult to hunt with so many in the party."

Ronan blinked for a moment, then two, as he tried to determine how to proceed. That wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Nevertheless, he would work with it. He had to. "Of course, father," he replied, nodding to Ulfric. His father turned the mare around and began to move her past the camp and towards the woods. With a final glance over his shoulder, he caught Celia's gaze. "Look out for you sister, Celia," he called before kicking his horse into a canter.

Ronan looked toward his sister simply because Ulfric had mentioned her, but then he looked to Genevieve. For a moment, he simply watched her, waiting for something and then he nodded once to her before following Ulfric at a similar pace.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Priscilla Edwards Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre

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Nicholas rolled out of bed, his good mood dampened only by the fact they were going on a hunt today. If he saw Renly during the hunt, he would have a lot of explaining to do. Not that he didn't want to see Renly. He did, very much so. But he would just like to be prepared before he saw Renly again. And this, he reminded himself, is why being King was such a nuisance. You find a...

Nicholas sat up straight. What was Renly? They were certainly more than mere acquaintances, and yet 'friend' did not seem the right word for what they were. Nicholas fancied he could still feel the warmth of Renly's lips against his own. No, 'friend' was certainly the wrong word to use and yet Nicholas could not think of a suitable word to describe his relationship with Renly. 'Paramours' seemed too grand and romantic. He doubted a small kiss was enough to grant such a title. Anyway, when you were king and found a new companion, there was always the little voice wondering if they just wanted to get close for the power that came with being favoured by the king. If they didn't know he was a king, as was the case with Renly he assumed, then that doubt faded but there was the inevitability of being discovered.

Nicholas shook his head, clearing his thoughts, though thoughts of the taller boy lingered. He looked out the window and saw raindrops trickling down the glass. And they were still going to hunt in this? Perhaps it would clear up. That wouldn't be so bad. It would be a little muddy underfoot, but Raiden could cope with a little mud. Nicholas dressed himself and headed down to the stables to collect Raiden, collecting an apple from the bowl in his room before he left. If any of the people he saw on the way to the stables found it odd for the boy king to be so fine a mood, they didn't say. Nicholas found Raiden already saddled. He stroked Raiden's face before mounting the stallion. Riding out to the hunting tent, he found that the rain had indeed cleared. The scent of the damp grass was hanging in the air as Nicholas rode down to the hunting tent.

Reaching the tent, he dismounted, handing Raiden's reigns to a nearby servant. Seeing Christoph, he headed towards his advisor, curious as to the identity of the woman sat beside him. Nicholas couldn't recall seeing her before.

"I do hope someone puts me out of my misery if I'm ever that daft," He heard Christoph say.

"Well, that shouldn't be too long then Christoph," he laughed, taking a seat beside him as Tyrion passed by. While Christoph spoke to Tyrion, Nicholas let his eyes wander, searching for Renly. He was disappointed when he saw no sign of Renly, and Priscilla was notable by her absence, "Is Priscilla not joining us?" he asked Christoph.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre

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Evelyne watched the skies as her horse walked forward at a relaxed pace, the scent of freshly soaked earth surrounding her, as she hummed an old song under her breath* it brought a sense of ease to her, as she shifted her eyes towards the various Lords that Christoph brought attention to, until her eyes landed on the elderly man he referred to now. She chuckled at his comment, before turning to him, "I'll make sure to see it happens." she teased gently, under her breath with a smirk, before Tyrion approached them. She watched Christoph and the Imp exchange words for a moment, before Nicholas Brigham approached.

Evelyne bowed her head as he upon herself and Christoph, before watching her Lord, and the King converse freely.

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(*For those curious, the tune was to that of Rains of Castamere, but with whatever the equivalent wording would be here in turn)

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards

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ImageThe conversation between Christoph and Tyrion was short lived, consisting of only a greeting exchanged between the two. When it had transpired, the Count simply turned back to Evelyne as she returned his comment. His lips twitched upward in a smirk. "I appreciate it," he replied, crossing one leg over the other casually. She was quick, quicker than most of his women had been in the mental sense at least. Very few of his women ever joined him outside of his chambers, and the majority of the kingdoms' courtiers knew this, for they eyed Evelyne curiously as they walked by.

His attention turned to Nicholas then as the young King sat beside him, replying also to his remark. "You certainly received that wit and silver tongue of yours from your dear father, Gods rest his soul," the advisor shot back, though not necessarily maliciously, or at least not noticeably maliciously. Christoph toyed with a ring on his left index finger. "I believe she will be joining us soon. It is not like her to miss the festivities."

Lucas made the party one of four as he hurried up to the group. Christoph subtly inclined his head, and one might have thought he didn't hear the guard great him had he not then focused his gaze on the slightly disheveled captain of the guard. He wanted to tear the boy apart on the spot, call him out for leaving his king alone to possibly die, but he decided it wasn't worth the effort. After all, Nicholas had the final say, and the boy still cared for his guard. He was pulled out of his thoughts yet again by another voice.




Priscilla had woken quite early that morning when compared to an average day. She had dressed enthusiastically in light ink silk, adorning herself with pearls before pulling her hair up into an intricate style. In actuality, her hand maidens had done everything, for the girl was helpless when it came to putting an outfit together or braiding her hair. Still, when she left her room, she made sure she looked alluring.
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Priscilla confidently mounted her horse, a milky-colored mare, and she only nearly fell off twice as she moved at a walk towards the small camp where she knew her father would be. Her own guards helped her from the horse to avoid any mishaps. "I can do it myself!" she protested, but she took the hand of one of the guards nonetheless. She gathered up her skirts in her hands once she had dismounted and hurried towards where her father sat. "Father!" she called out as she threw her arms about Christoph's neck, breaking a sort of silence that hung about. She had just narrowly missed the rain that now fell quite steadily outside of the protection of the tents.

Christoph returned the hug with a single arm around her waist as he cleared his throat. She remembered then, at his cue, that she was to greet her King first. She turned quickly to face him, nearly tripping in the process. "Good morning, my King," she said softly, curtsying cautiously so that she didn't lose her footing. The look of temporary panic in Christoph's eyes showed that he was worried such a thing would happen. Priscilla sat herself on her father's knee like a child and glanced about, meeting the gaze of Evelyne for a moment before looking the strange woman over with a questioning look in her eyes.

Priscilla certainly wasn't blind to Christoph's sexual habits, but she also knew that he rarely brought any woman with him besides those that mothered his children. Though Priscilla and Loras were the only two to have survived childhood, there had been more children and therefore more women alongside her father. She wondered if that was why he had brought the exotic-looking woman with him. The young woman turned to face her father then, opening her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by a horrid screech from a few of the women of the court.

Christoph looked up then, noticing a few of the royal family of Ostwall ride back on their horses with an animal carcass draped over one of the horses...but where was Ulfric? He stood slowly, and Priscilla slid off of his knee for a moment, for she watched the figures walk through the rain too intently to notice that her father was moving until she nearly fell on to the ground. "Oh..." Christoph said softly, beginning to discern Ulfric's graying hair from the bear fur of his cloak. He had never been close to the man, but like many there, he too had heard the ballads that sung his praise. He too had heard the tales from the border where Ulfric slew countless men from Falor. Priscilla's brow furrowed lightly as she looked up at her father. "Father...?" she asked, tugging gently at his arm. He watched Ronan, lips pursing, wondering how he could make this benefit him.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre Character Portrait: Simon Bjornson Character Portrait: Guy Priestas Character Portrait: Simon Priestas Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards

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Simon stared at the sight in horror, feeling something like regret and guilt even though he had not killed his uncle. He listened to Ronan's story, not believing this was how his uncle died. He believed Ronan, but was in disbelieving that his might uncle would fall in such a way. "Ronan," Simon begins upon seeing his cousin growing colder by the second. He didn't like that he was speaking to Renly that way, he didn't like it when he spoke like that to anyone.


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Simon moved forward to help his cousin lift his deceased uncle, holding back the feeling he wanted to go crawl into bed and sleep forever. Simon grabbed the reins of his horse as they passed her, helping Ronan guide Ulfric's body on Ulfric's horse. Simon walked solemnly, his face devoid of any emotion. Where was his brother? Simon breathed deeply, not making eye contact with anyone as they moved forward. He hated it, he hated everything at that moment if he was going to be honest with himself.

"Ronan, have you seen Guy this morning?" Simon mutters under his breath, wanting to know if anyone had seen Guy at all. He knew Ronan and Guy had something against each other, but he had hoped the two might at least know each other's whereabouts on such a large day as a hunt.

Simon saw his uncle's arm fall off from where it had been on his chest causing Simon to turn away for a moment. The man who had taken him and his brother in, the one who had practically raised them, their father's brother, gone.

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Guy smiled as he stepped back, looking at the web with drops of dew hanging off it as if it was hanging in his window. Guy looked out to see storm clouds brewing and frowned, pulling his painting inside but keeping the windows open. He liked the humidity storms brought. He studied his painting again, frowning now as he saw that he hadn't caught the light, he had neglected the light! He'd have to start over. He sighed and tossed the half dry painting on his bed.

Guy heard a rush at the door then saw a servant barge in. "Prince Guy," He begins, out of breath and looking horrible. Guy instantly knew something was wrong, something had happened. Was the storm worse than he had figured it would be? "Is Simon alright?" He demanded, fearful his twin might have broken himself should he have gone on the hunt. Simon had figured his brother would have just stayed in bed, not go on the hunt without him. Now he wished he had gone. "No, sir, you're uncle..." The guard hesitated, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do.


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"Well?" Guy presses, moving to grab his vest. "You're uncle... you should come see him," The guard finishes. Guy nods, pulling on his boots and grabbing his cloak as well as Simon's. He had left it in Guy's room after their ride outside yesterday. Guy followed the guard, walking quickly. What could have happened to his uncle that had caused such behavior? He probably was just sick or had pulled something, wanting to have Guy around just so that he felt a little better.

Guy followed the guard until they were outside where the guard pointed to the tents. Guy saw his brother, his shoulders hunched, looking rather unhappy. Frowning, Guy accepted his horse from a nearby squire he looked relieved to be going back into the stables. Guy felt bad for making the kid stand outside for so long, but dismissed it as he mounted and rode towards his brother. He saw something on Ulfric's horse, perhaps his cloak. As Guy rode closer, he slowed, seeing people were crying or staring at Ulfric's cloak. "Simon... What's wrong?" Guy asks as he dismounts, approaching the small procession where he spotted Renly and Ronan as well. Simon's head sprung up, staring at Guy with something Guy had rarely seen from his brother.

"Where were you?" Simon asks, staring at his brother. Guy looks at his brother with surprise. "What do you mean? Simon what's wrong with uncle?" Guy asks as he walks forward, offering Simon his cloak.

Simon takes it only to throw it on the ground, furious at his brother. He needed an out, he couldn't let it out on Ronan or Renly and there was nobody else around that could take his anger but his brother, even if it was a little hard now. Simon looks around incredulously, then walks forward to grab his brother by the vest. "Don't you get it? How can you not see it? That's him, that's him right there, Guy. He's gone," Simon declares, pushing his brother towards Ulfric's body before turning and leaving, having a hard time taking the horror.

Guy looks at what he thought was Ulfric's cloak but catches sight of his uncle's pale hand. "Oh my God," He whispers, looking around and realizing what had happened. He wanted to fall on his knees, but withheld, staring at the body, then Ronan on the other side of the horse, then back at Ulfric.

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Lucas noticed the disapproval from the count and his friends. Lucas nearly ignored Christoph altogether had it not been for Priscilla coming over. He couldn't believe the girl was sitting with her father, in his lap. He couldn't remember the last time he had sat in his father's lap, he couldn't remember the last time he had talked to his father about something like that.

His attention was caught when he spot the king of Ostwall was shown to be dead. He moved closer to his ward, standing right behind him. They had been apart too long, he was afraid now more than ever that he wouldn't be able to keep Nicholas safe, especially when one of the strongest king through the world was found dead, killed.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Lorelle de Croismare Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister Character Portrait: Elanor Lannister Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre Character Portrait: Guy Priestas Character Portrait: Simon Priestas Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards

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The King's hand brushed lightly against the scar that still graced his left cheek -- a bitter-sweet reminder of how he had come to stand here beside Genevieve. His coronation, given the lack of spiritual leaders in the widely-diverse Ostwall, was headed by one of the eldest chieftains within the kingdom's borders, a man of a staggering seventy-seven years. Ronan's hair and beard had grown out to appear more like his people, from whom he required approval. The thick fur of a bear, draped about his shoulders, only helped further that image and reflect the symbol of his father. The pelts seemed to weigh him down greatly. They most certainly were the reason beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow. Or perhaps they came from the worry that, somehow, they'd trace the murder back to him.

The death of Ostwall's monarch had brought the festivities to a screeching halt. Ulfric's burial had been a ceremonious one, and the kingdom had grieved for months, meaning the current coronation had been unable to occur until now, two months later. In the mean time, Ronan suddenly found himself in the shoes of a man he had only, until then, dreamed of becoming. He played the part well, and Genevieve had as well. It was only when they were behind closed doors that she lost her air of nearly-constant mourning. Even then, he had not permitted her to be joyful in public until far after he had announced his plans to wed her.

Ronan moved his hand to brush at his brow then, and as he looked up at the chieftain before him, he noticed Celia just a bit off, holding Volundr. His son. He could never acknowledge the boy as his own, for the kingdom believed he had been the child of Ulfric and Genevieve, but Ronan told himself that the young prince should rightfully bear the surname of Ronanson. It pained him that it should be otherwise.

The chieftain stumbled over his words, causing Ronan to look back at him. Ostwall, unlike the other two kingdoms, had never truly adopted the more traditional concept of coronation until Ronan had insisted upon modernizing the nation. The chieftain had little idea as to what he was doing, and the words on the page made little sense given the fact that he was just barely literate. His stammering ended soon, thankfully, and he moved on to the crowning of the royals. The crown that was placed upon his head was nothing more than a thick band of iron with ornate patterns carved into it. The real beauty and power laid in the heavy chain that was placed about his neck, further weighing him down.

It was a relic dating back to times before even Falor had been unified when the clans of the North would give the chain to the strongest chieftain in the land. Over time, the simple chain had been added to in terms of links and precious stones until it hung heavy enough that it was only used for ceremonies. This, of course, was one of them.

As Genevieve went through a similar ceremony, receiving a less burdensome crown and chain that he had had created, for up until this point, the consort of the king of Ostwall had no political say. Though he had most certainly received the approval of the others in his kingdom, he knew they hardly approved of this action. Nevertheless, he turned around to great his people, hand reaching for Genevieve's as he did so. The chieftain cleared his voice once more before speaking in his thickly accented voice.

"I present to you King Ronan Bjorn Ulfricson, first of his name, and his queen, Genevieve Hansdottir of Falor, first of her name."




The proceeding festivities were a welcome change for all in Ostwall, having been in a period of nearly perpetual mourning for two months. A mixture of traditional and foreign instruments played, inspiring many to leave the banquet table in order to dance. Ronan, a bit too drunk by then to gracefully find his footing, resolved to stay at the table where he held the one month old Volundr in his arms. The King brushed a finger along the boy's cheek, laughing as the young prince gripped it and inspected the calloused finger with fascination.

"It's wonderful, is it not?" he remarked, looking out on the crowd of nobles, local and foreign, who occupied the hall. "It's ours now." Ronan continued to look about, meeting the gaze of a few nobles who watched the pair closely, with judgement visible in their eyes even from at the royals' place at the table. He knew they spoke about him and Genevieve quite often. It was most certainly scandalous for anyone to marry their widowed stepmother, let alone just months after her husband's death, but there were no laws regarding marriage in Ostwall.

Propping the small child up in his lap, Ronan gripped his tankard of ale and sipped from it for a moment, positioning it afterwards so that it attempted to block out the gossiping nobles. It hardly helped, however, and he simply turned back to Genevieve with his arm once more around Volundr.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards

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Christoph, as per usual and to no one's surprise, had carefully placed Priscilla on one side of Nicholas and himself on the other at the start of the banquet. Other than these brief moments of familiarity, the coronation overall was an unusual scene for all involved. Ostwall hardly allowed outsiders into the kingdom, let alone the palace. In fact, many nobles would not see the royals save the decennial celebration. Very occasionally would the northern tribesmen migrate all the way to Falor's palace for a celebration. Perhaps a wedding or a coronation might be enough. Ulfric had been quite public, despite his conservative ways. His son was only more so.

Coronations were unheard of in Ostwall. Christoph was intelligent enough to know that. Already, the new King was proving himself to be different than his predecessors. He looked about slowly, clever eyes taking in as much as he could.

Priscilla, on the other hand, looked about in a more carefree manner. She hardly even noticed the strand of hair that had fallen lose from her intricate hairstyle until she looked back at Nicholas and it flew into her face. Hastily, she tucked it away and beamed at her future husband. "Do you suppose our wedding shall be an affair as grand as this?" she asked, her voice a bit too overexcited and bubbly. She looked about at the people dancing and nearly dared to ask Nicholas to dance with her, but she decided against it, resolving that her father might not want her to. Then she worried that perhaps he would want her to ask her future husband to dance with her, in which case she ought to say something.

Christoph cut Priscilla off just as she began to open her mouth. "I remember when Ulfric took the throne of Ostwall," he mused. "Only two years his senior, and now he's dead. So soon these monarchs die..." He looked to Nicholas then. "He's eight years your senior, this king, yet I must admit he has far more to learn than you ever did when your father died." He folded his hands and looked once more at Ronan, smiling down at the child in his lap. "What is your opinion of the new King of Ostwall?"