Announcements: Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newbies » RPG Chat โ€” the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Impending Pursuit Q&A » Eudaimonia » Loot! » Natural Kinds » I have a funny idea » Life in the 21st century. » Song of the Runes » Platoโ€™s Beard » Clues » Nihilism » Strange Tales From Hadean » Art Gulag [ Come get this Commish! ] » Visibility of Private Universes & Profile Customisation » Presuppositionalism » Aphantasia » Skill Trees - Good, Bad & Ugly » In-Game Gods & Gameplay Impact » Cunningham's Law » The Tribalism of Religion » Lost Library »

Players Wanted: Looking For A New Partner » Hellboy characters » 18+ Writing Partner [Fantasy, Romance, Etc.] » 18+, Multi-Para to Novella Writers please! » Looking for roleplayers » Fun tale full of angels, demons, and humans » Looking for roleplayers » A Fairytale World in Need of Heroes & Villains! » Are You a Crime Addict? » Wuxia RP » Looking for roleplayers » New Realistic Roleplay - Small World Life ูฉ( ยด๏ฝฅัˆ๏ฝฅ)ูˆ » Mentors Wanted » MV Recruiting Drive: sci-fi players wanted! » Veilbrand: The Revolution » Gonna do this anyway. » Looking for Kamen Rider Players » Elysium » Looking for roleplayers for a dystopian past! » Revamping Fantasy Adventure RPG, need new players »

The Price of Blood

Tibera

0 INK

a part of The Price of Blood, by Scarlet Loup.

None

Scarlet Loup holds sovereignty over Tibera, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

1,793 readers have been here.

Setting

Default Location for The Price of Blood
Create a Character Here »

Tibera

None

Minimap

Tibera is a part of The Price of Blood.

21 Characters Here

Ronan Ulfricson [35] "If you think anyone is sane you just don't know enough about them."
Ulfric Bjornson [32] "One man's oppression is another's benevolence."
Nicholas Brigham [31] Power does not corrupt people, people corrupt power
Christoph Edwards [28] "How do we begin to covet? We begin by coveting what we see every day."
Celia Ulfricdottir [25] "Nobody has the right to choose who you are going to be. That choice belongs to you."
Alistair Lannister [25] "By what right does the wolf judge the lion?"
Rosalie Lannister [25] "Such selfish prayers and I can't get enough..."
Renly Arryn [25] "Ideals are peaceful. History is violent."
Genevieve Hansdottir [22] "I'm not some weak little girl anymore"
Loras Edwards [22] "Power resides where men belive it resides."

Start Character Here »


Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image



Image



There was a time, years before, when the Western Palace had been used simply as a retreat for the royal family of Falor or, of course, to host the decennial celebrations. Those who had attended the festivities before would have fondly recalled the way both families, despite almost constant border skirmishes, seemed to unify into one. One family melded into the other, and for just a few days, it was impossible to differentiate them from each other. This year, of course, there was the problem of dealing with the addition of a new family, the one that now permanently resided in the Western Palace. Of course, it did not help that tensions between Seabel and Falor had not simmered down in the past two years. Today marked the first full day of the festivities.

There was a joust on the palace grounds now among the younger members of the royal families now, and Ronan trotted his horse into ready position. Beneath his armored legs, the flanks of his ebony stallion heaved as the horse tossed his head impatiently. The young prince also moved about restlessly on the saddle, shifting his lance in his hand before lowering his helmet once more. Across the field, his opponent gripped the reins of his horse once more. Ronan had never been a skillful jouster, his preference lying in horse racing rather than arena sports, but he had insisted upon competing. Internally, he was quite grateful that they had paired his up with a young knight at the palace. Ronan, of course, was no knight. In fact, the concept of knighthood had failed to reach Ostwall.

His breastplate glistened subtly as the depiction of a bear paw emblazoned across his chest caught the sun. In an instant, the two figures rushed at each other with their lances extended, shields raised. Hooves pounded against the ground. Ronan leaned forward in his saddle.

His opponent's lance caught the shoulder of his armor, unprotected due to his misplaced shield, and the force was enough to unsteady Ronan, who tumbled from the back of the stallion and into the dust. For a moment, he lay in the settling dust, but as it began to cover the holes in the helmet for his eyes and mouth, Ronan coughed and sat upward. His shoulder screamed in pain, and he almost cried out, too. Instead, he merely clambered to his feet and clutched his shoulder. A few servants ran to him in place of a squire, but he waved them away in a hurried manner, nearly striking one.

The helmet only managed to cover the redness of his face, a mixture of little embarrassment and much anger, until he removed it to take his seat in the stands once more. In between his hurried exit from the field and his entrance into the stand, he stopped only once to remove the remaining armor. The gazes of the others seemed to bore holes through him as he quickly sat down in his seat. Despite Ulfric's request to place Genevieve on his right and his children on his left, Ronan took Genevieve's right.

He looked toward his father, perhaps daring the man to state his disappointment. The elder man, however, was far more intrigued by the next round. Ronan's mouth tightened, and he looked forward. Ronan's hand, meanwhile, brushed very subtly against Genevieve's dress. "Damn horse screwed up the entire thing," he said. "That beast can't do a damn thing correctly." He finally looked toward her for a moment. As they made eye contact, his mouth loosened again. The redness faded from his countenance as he gazed upon hers.

It had grown unbearable, in just a day, to have to watch her from afar. Privacy was just about impossible to achieve with a schedule full of public dinners and public activities. Seeking to preserve the moment, he tried to grab for her hand to give it a quick, reassuring squeeze. He was quite unsure, however, who was being reassured.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image


Celia found these tournaments quite... boring? Perhaps that was the correct term? That was most likely why she had a book on her lap and her eyes were fixed on it rather than the competitions. In fact, she ignored the scene completely until her brother's joust came up. She glanced up, watching as he was thrown off his horse and she sighed. She loved Ronan, she really did, but she had to question why he participated in competitions he knew he was going to lose. He sat down next to Genevieve, not that Celia was surprised. In her mind, she reprimanded him; he should be more careful. After all, rumors were a courtesans favorite tool and it was not the best idea to give them something to talk about. Even so, it was not her place to mention this to him, should it arise more suspicion. "Damn horse screwed up the entire thing. That beast can't do a damn thing correctly," Ronan complained and she looked at her elder brother.

"Blaming the horse may not be the best course of action, dear brother. Nobody enjoys the company of a sore loser, especially one that blames a beast trained by said loser."

At least, Celia assumed in her mind that's what others thought. She didn't blame her hawk when she failed to hit her target with an arrow. It was her own folly that had caused the misplaced arrow, not Careen's. However, she knew that her brother's pride prevented him from viewing the world in this way. Celia stood up, noting that it was nearly time for her own competition, making her the first woman to participate in the archery tournament. First, she had to get out of this blasted dress; she never understood how other women could wear layers of cloth so easily. "Shall we go, Annabelle?" she addressed her Lady-In-Waiting, who sat directly behind her. She then turned to her younger sister. "Wanna come with me to get ready, Cori?"

She spoke so quietly that only people that knew her could hear her soft tone. To everyone else, she looked like nothing more than a young woman moving her lips without a sound escaping them. Celia bent down so she was level with her father. "I'm going now, Papa."

Without waiting for his answer, Celia navigated through the crowds and disappeared out of the arena. She breathed in the less foul air and walked towards the castle to change before the her own event began.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image

Corianna had been intently watching and imagining her sitting on the back of a horse jousting. She was dressed in armour with the colours Ostwall and you couldn't tell she was a girl. Her horse was a black and strong. Brandishing a shield she charged, but she lost. In her vivid day dream she was just falling off her horse about to hit the ground when she heard her sisters voice."Wanna come with me to get ready, Cori?" "Sure" She replies slowly, shaking off her daydream.Oh how she wanted to compete in the tournaments. But apparently none of her skills fitted and she was too young. She hated when people sad that. That she was too young.

"Bye papa!" she said cheerfully, giving him a hug as she went to walk away. Even though her father had been distant throughout her childhood, he had never done anything to make her question her love for him. After the death of her mother she began to grow even closer to him.

Grabbing on to her sisters arm while the weaved through the crowd"Can you teach he how to ride a horse Celia?" She asks her sister. Cori scolds her self for never thinking about it before. She could be a great rider now if she had started earlier. She could be practising jousting right now.

Her sigh was barely distinguishable from her heavy breathing, Cori was sweltering in all the clothes her servants had placed on her. "Miss you must look presentable" She certainly didn't feel presentable. She felt like her face was red and she was sweating everywhere. She would much rather be in lighter clothes, or armour.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Renly Arryn
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
๏ผฒ๏ผฅ๏ผฎ๏ผฌ๏ผนx๏ผก๏ผฒ๏ผฒ๏ผน๏ผฎ
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€

Image

โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€

"In trying to be perfect, he perfected
the art of anonymity, became imperceptible
and arrived nowhere from nowhere."

โ€• Dejan Stojanovic

โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
Ren decidedly didn't like the Western Palace.

He had been born in the heart of Ostwall, and Ostwall was the only home he'd ever known. Sure this place was bright and airy, where beautiful young redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers...But he preferred the stubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Back home their thick black trunks crowded close together while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead, and misshapen roots wrestled beneath the soil. It was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the spirits who lived there had no names. Ren rather liked that idea, that feeling of being infinitely small and impossibly insignificant amongst ancient giants...though the concept became somewhat less grand when a human element was added. There were giants among the people here too, and they dwarfed him into near nonexistence with their status alone...but they were kings and queens, princes and princesses; not trees.

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of exciting colors and polished steel; gangs of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders, people of noble and poor birth alike. The tents were hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Every available surface was draped with proud banners. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the cheering crowd, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations. The jousting had already begun, and Ronan Ulfricson road next. They hooted and cried out for their handsome champion but he was soon dehorsed with what looked like a sincerely painful shoulder strike. Renly's lips pursed.

There were timesโ€”not many, but a fewโ€”when Renly Arryn was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them. He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a reticent smile to his face. They were fine company, and Ren relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt. He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the royal party. Here his anonymity was a cherished gift. He didn't have to joust, he didn't have to entertain. He could just be himself, albeit a version of himself that was very far from his home.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image

Image


Alistair watched as Prince Ronan Ulfricson was knocked to the dirt. A dark smirk touched his lips as he watched anger grip the prince and rage threaten. Ronan clambered to his feet and stamped off to change out of his armor and rejoin his father, mother in law and sisters. Ulfrics son was ruled by his mood, a fact Alistair would remember. Alistair had heard that the prince of Ostwall was someone of special skill and distinction, someone to watch. Watching him unhorsed in the first bout of the day was amusing to say the least. The King of Ostwall barely seemed to register his sons failure in front of the whole realm. Odd to Alistair who could only think of how his own father would have reacted. Anger, disappointment and disgust would have hung heavy on Tywin Lannisters face if the roles were reversed. Unfortunately Alistair would not be riding in the days lists, not that he hadn't wanted to. In fact he had been half way into his armor when his wife had found him. She said he should be with the other royals, as he was hosting the celebration it was his place. They had argued and she had won, like she did in so many things. The whole affair left a bitter taste in his mouth, a taste that needed washing out. Alistair reached with his free hand to grab his wine goblet and sipped the rich Arbor Red, savoring the fine vintage. His other hand was imprisoned in his wifes grasp. She had always insisted on these public displays of affection, no doubt to show the world a unified regency. Her very touch caused a storm to brew within the King.

A part of him hungered for it, yearned for her closeness. He needed her, he wanted her like a drowning man needed a breath of air. Another part, a darker part, hated it. He couldn't trust it anymore, he'd swam to the surface and found the air tainted and foul. His eyes flicked over to look upon the face of his wife. Her eyes blue turning to green like pools of cool island water that he could dive right into and stay there forever. Her long blonde hair kissed by the sun more radiant than all the gold in Casterly Rock. He watched as the breeze caressed her locks giving him a fleeting glimpse of some of the few light brown strands that seemed to hide in her sea of golden hair. She was still more beautiful than any other woman he'd ever set eyes on. Yet the person she was, the person who held all that beauty scorned him, sullied him as that damned crown sullied him. So often he'd heard them whisper, how he wasn't fit to rule, how he sullied the crown and the cloak given to him on his coronation. That's where they were all wrong. He didn't sully the crown and the cloak, the crown and the cloak sullied him. They called him king, or Your Grace or any of the other countless tedious titles attributed to him now but he knew what they all thought. He knew what they all really called him. Of all the things they titled him behind his back it was Oath Breaker he hated the most yet in a way it was also his favorite, it had a nice ring to it. They wanted a ruler, they could look to his wife, let her bother with it for he washed his hands of the whole damned lot of them.

"Well... That was anti climactic."

Came his brothers voice at his right. Alistair smirked as Tyrion leaned back in his seat, his short, stunted legs dangling off the edge of the seat as he drank deeply of his wine. Alistair took the opportunity to slip his hand away from his wife, pretending merely to lean closer to his brother but in truth he was grateful to merely free himself of her touch and the feelings it brought.

"To say the least, good thing I didn't place a bet on him."

Alistair joked. Tyrion chuckled in his cup before setting it down.

"Speak for yourself, brother."

Alistair gave his little brother a knowing look.

"You didn't."

"I did and I regret it."

Tyrion replied before the victor who unseated Prince Ronan rode out around the tourney field to chivalrously tip his lance toward his king and queen. It was only then that he removed his helm to reveal who had bested the son of King Ulfric Bjornson with a single blow.






Image

Image


Loras removed his helm of shining steel, polished like a mirror. He set it at his side, his eyes on the beauty that was the queen of Seabel. Long, golden hair, porcelain skin and eyes both green and blue. Her most attractive feature was that she was his. Alistair Lannister, the King of Seabel and Lion of Casterly Rock. Loras sat there atop his white Destrier and watched as Alistair spoke with that freakish little imp of a brother. Beside the brothers was the father, Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock. The whole pride of lions were in attendance to watch Loras unseat a prince. The whole thing made Loras smile but the smile was cleverly disguised as one of flirtation and admiration as he let his eyes hold the queen and her gaze for he knew what it did to her. His gaze flicked to his own father who sat beside the king of Falor, a respectful nod before a final glance at her majesty before he rode off down the field.

So much excitement in the world all culminating on this celebration. Every noble of worth and regent from all three kingdoms were in attendance, so many opportunists for a clever man to exploit. Loras Edwards was a clever man, a clever man who in time would cast a very large shadow. First came his hunt, once the lion pelt was he would rise and take what was rightfully his. Loras rounded the corner and damned near rode straight into a mountain. A man easily eight foot and then some tall, covered head to toe in thick black castle forged steel armor. Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain That Rides was seated atop a war horse that dwarfed most others, black as night. Loras was careful to steer his white pony clear around the dangerous eldest Clegane brother. Gods help whoever he rides against.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image

There was a weight in her stomach. It was nothing to be worried about, she had been assured, but that didn't help much when Ronan got hit right in front of her. Genevieve had thankfully been able to repress her reaction to just a small gasp as she jumped in her seat. It couldn't have been much damage though, she thought. She glanced over to her... husband. She hated the thought, but for now she could do nothing about it. Ulfric hardly seemed fazed by what had happened though, so she did her best to calm herself.

Her eyes followed him the whole time he walked up, her eyes lighting up as he chose to sit beside her despite what he had been told. The girl grinned and her cheeks lifted, her nose scrunching up as she forced herself to not hold tightly to him. She nodded in agreement to his complaints as he sat beside her, frowning with concern as she reached to touch his shoulder, leaving her hand hovering hesitantly above it while Ronanโ€™s gaze challenged his father. โ€œAre you alright?โ€ She murmured gently, letting out a small laugh at Celiaโ€™s remark and turning to wish her well as she left with all of the group but Ulfric and Ronan.

This was torturous. Why couldnโ€™t the old man just find something more important to do? Or she could find something that could conveniently distract herself and Ronan from the festivities. Perhaps examining his wounds would be a proper excuse? Genevieve rose an eyebrow, touching his shoulder gently as he gripped her hand. โ€œYou should go make sure you arenโ€™t hurt, Ronan.โ€ She said, making it sound like more of an order than a suggestion.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image



Image



Cedric Brigham would roll in his grave to see his son and Christoph's daughter so close to each other. So close to marriage, so close to uniting their families. Christoph merely smiled against the rim of his goblet. The wine within had been watered down and spiced to the point that it hardly tasted like wine. Heavens forbid he grow ill on just the first day of the festivities. He did not do it to spite Cedric, of course, for the deceased king had been much like a brother. Still, there had always been a hint of competition between them that pushed Christoph forward. The marriage, of course, was only half of his plan.

Christoph's thoughts were interrupted violently by a mixture of gasping and cheering from the assembled nobility. Unlike previous tournaments, where he had been confined to the higher balconies along with the other nobles, Christoph found himself in the box occupied only by the royals and those in their inner circles. Being the future father in law of the King of Seabel and his royal adviser was certainly enough to finally occupy a seat beside the King on his right with his daughter on the King's left side.

The prince of Ostwall, an arrogant boy from the looks of him, had been violently dismounted by his opponent. As the heir hobbled from the field, his opponent removed his helm to reveal Loras. The boy, a mere nineteen yet truly powerful, looked first at Rosalie Lannister herself. A smile twitched at the corners of Christoph's mouth before his lips finally pulled upward. That, of course, was the second half. He returned the nod from his son with another, coupled with a nod of approval.

It had been two years since he had last seen the boy. He was only seventeen then, and now he was both the head of the Queen's guard and her lover. In truth, he was quite secretive about it, and Christoph admired that. Still, the older man had had a life time to perfect analyzing human emotions, and he could tell that there was more than just respect in the smile he shot her. There was no doubt in Christoph's mind that he had sired Loras, for Loras was a spitting image, at least mentally, of him.

A final glance was shot at the Lannisters, far too proud for their own good, side by side. His eyes could have bored holes into the back of Tywin's head with the glare Christoph shot. He would kill two birds with one stone when Loras and Rosalie finally declared their love for each other and she ended her marriage to Alistair.

In the midst of his thoughts, he managed to retain a, more or less, inexpressive countenance. Christoph twisted one of his rings about his fingers. "I pity the man who must face that mountain of a man," he remarked, leaving it open for response from any party, smirking to himself. "And I pity that horse that must sit beneath him."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image








"Oh my," Rosalie gasped in horror at the sight of Prince Ulfricson getting thrown from his stallion, and felt a surge of satisfaction run through her veins as she
remembered that she had been able to prevent her husband into competing in these brutal festivities. With the hand that was free of her husband, she gripped the edge of her seat; watching as a few of his servants rushed over to attend to him. A minute passed. Two. She sighed in relief as she seen him wave away his attendants and stomped off the fields in rage. "Clearly, these games aren't meant for hot heads." She whispered in her husbands ear, and gave out a soft giggle. "They do make quite the temper, but then again I am sure that is just a men's way of saying that they're of way too much high virtue to be seen in defeat." Pushing a brown strand behind his ear, she studied his hard expression closely to the tightness of his jaw and when he finally turned his attention onto Rosalie she seen the usual softness of his slate-gray eyes along with the stubble that caressed across his chin. To Rosalie, he is truly a handsome man. One that always seemed to have those moods where he felt the need to shut the world out. Even his wife for unknown reasons. It made Rosalie feel excluded, a stranger to her husband despite what all they've been through. Together.

As they studied each other, Rosalie noticed that from within those eyes, his eyes, held a pang of sadness that made her heart sink with guilt that seemed to have
haunted her since the time she had made love to her Royal Guard, Loras. It was nothing, but a one night stand. Rosalie was sure of it, but something deep within her chest told her that it was much much more than that, and it left an unpleasant sensation through the atmosphere similar the time she left her brother to the throne of Falor. Rosalie finally tore her gaze away from her husband, no longer wanting to see the hurt in his expression, and instead rested her eyes on his enthralling eyes, like sparkling kaleidoscopes of color. They were celery green, but also ocean blue. Dashes of chestnut brown specked around his irises. Loras Edwards, was his name. He was sat on the saddle of his beautiful, white Destrier at a distance watching her with his helm tucked under his arm, and a hand that gripped the horse's halter.

How long had he been staring? Rosalie could only ponder at the thought as she returned his gaze though his were more taunting; hers was full of modesty,
an eye brow raised as if challenging him. Then, he flashed her that dashing smile that proved him innocent. A dashing smile that Rosalie knew thousands, no, millions of young maidens would've found attractive. That very same smile that always seemed at triumph against Rosalie as she felt her face grow hot, and instantly whipped her attention elsewhere.. At discomfort, she began reaching a hand up to twirl at a loose golden strand, but remembered that her had been pinned up into a braided crown.

"Well... That was anti climactic." She heard a rather familiar voice say, and Rosalie turned her head to take in the sight of her husband's brother Tyrion, at
, his side. As if given a reason, Rosalie felt Alistair's hand slip from her very own. She stared at it. Her hand bare, cold, and more alone than Rosalie had ever felt. She heard her husband say something, but couldn't quite make it out as a wave of nausea passed through her. Almost instantly, she reached for her daughter's hand at her opposite side and stood as she smoothed at her satin gown. "C-Casie and I are going to the Gardens," She stammered at the two. "We shall leave you two to your discussion." Giving her daughter's delicate hand a small tug she said, her voice broke at her words, "Come along my dearest."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image

Image


She left, and she took his daughter with her. Try as he might Alistair couldn't feign indifference. He was constantly at war with himself when Rosalie was around. He hated her presence, he hated the way she looked at him and the sound of her voice yet there was not a more beautiful sound in all the world than when she spoke, no feeling more grand then when her eyes were upon him, no drug in all the known world could compete with the euphoria of nearly being close to her. She took her leave and Alistair flashed her a quick glance. A look of sorrow, love, regret and shame all wrapped up in a shroud uncaring. He reached and took hold of his daughters hand as she passed him, holding her for a moment.

"Goodbye sweetheart, I will see you later."

He said before gently kissing his little girls hand as any knight would kiss the hand of any lady. He wanted to kiss his wife goodbye too, he wanted to bid her a fond farewell and tell her how the field would be lack of sunlight for loss of her presence. He said nothing and they left.

Tyrion on the other hand was silent, slouching in his seat pretending not to exist as the queen and the princess left and Ser Gregor Clegane took up his position.

"You two seem happy."

He said sarcastically. Alistair flashed his little brother a glare and downed his cup before signalling his cup bearer for another.

"Much has changed since my last visit to the capitol brother, you and your lady wife seem to barely tolerate each other these days."

"We do barely tolerate each other."

Alistair replied ruefully as his cup bearer refilled his cup and was dismissed quickly. Tyrion was not a man of strong body, capable of any physical skill but what he was capable of was thinking. Tyrion Lannister was one of the smartest most cunning people in all the kingdoms and he'd found his next riddle incomprehensibly intriguing.

"Has anything happened? You two have a fight?"

He asked. Alistair chuckled in his cup.

"Of course, we fight every day. It's about the only thing we do together anymore."

"How curious. I remember Rosalie from her days as a princess at the capitol. She was a darling girl, always courteous, kind and loving."

Alistair grimaced at his brothers words, they pained him for they brought up the bitter memory of what he'd lost and who he'd lost. His sword hand clenched into a fist as he drank his whole cup dry in one go and signaled for his cup bearer once more, at least the wine was strong. Once his cup was fill he was about to down the whole thing again when he felt a strong hand clutching his shoulder.

"Do you intend to get drunk at the first day of the festivities in front of every noble, king and person of import in the kingdoms?"

His father's voice cut like a knife and both brothers fell silent. Tywin Lannister glared at both his sons before leaning back in his chair with a scowl.

"Lannisters don't act like fools, drunken or otherwise."

Silent and angry from the reprimand by his father Alistair watched the poor, unlucky sod whose job it was to challenge The Mountain. A young lad of barley twenty years, a knight only recently risen to the rank whose name he couldn't even remember.

"I pity the man who must face that mountain of a man, and I pity that horse that must sit beneath him."

Alistair's brother, Tyrion smiled at Count Cristoph Edwards words as he turned in his seat to look at the older man and royal adviser of the young king of Falor.

"Pity is good my dear lord but think of the possibilities such a contest can have. Should this boy, under matched as he is, win against The Mountain That Rides his tale would be sung from Ostwall to Falor and back. He'd have a literal banquet of women lining up for a taste of the cock of he slew The Mountain, a course in each village and dessert to boot."

A few of the nearby lords who heard Tyrion chuckled at his bawdy words while his father sighed under his breath. Alistair never took his eyes off the boy who was practically shaking in his armor.

"He is going to die today."

Alistair said darkly as the match began. Ser Gregor charged, his monstrous war horse, black as the pit of hell came thundering down the field. The boy, to his credit didn't turn his mount around and ride off in a fright but raced toward his opponent and whatever fate lay in store for him. The crowd fell silent before the moment of impact. Ser Gregor's lance struck first, reflecting off the boy's shield, going up under the chin of his helmet and snapping off after sinking deep into the boy's throat. A gasp shot out from the stands as the boy fell from his horse, blood spurting from his neck and his body convulsing violently. Several aids rushed out to tend to the boy but no sooner had they reached him had he fallen still as the grave. A stunned silence washed over all in attendance like a dense fog, none knowing quite what to say.

Alistair just sighed sipped his wine, his mood was mired as it so often was these days and his fathers presence wasn't helping. At least he had his brother, his daughter and the single combat competition to look forward to. His wife wouldn't talk him out of that.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image




Image




Since the first carriages had arrived the previous day, Cassandra had been in a perpetual state of bliss. There were so many people! She recognized very few of the assembled nobility, but there were also faces from Falor that were so familiar that she identified them as soon as they arrived. Still, she was far too overwhelmed to spend much time reminiscing.

She kicked her legs excitedly as Loras and Ronan raced toward each other. Each moment, her allegiance changed until Ronan was dismounted. Then, of course, she decided she liked Loras better. Imitating her mother, Cassie watched the prince rise slowly from the dust. For a while, she tried to listen in to her father's conversation. However, it soon grew tiresome, and she was far too distracted with the Captain of the Guards trotting his horse about. Enthusiastically, she clapped for him. Her youthful face screwed up into an excited grin.

"Mother! Mother, did you see that?!" she cried, bouncing in her seat for a moment. Of course her mother had, but she wanted nothing more than to join in the excited chatter that the others in the stands seemed to be lost in. Her mother failed to reply, however. Instead, Cassie found her hand suddenly being held and pulled softly as Rosalie stood. For just a moment, she looked longingly back at the others, but it wasn't worth arguing either, for then she knew she would not be allowed to attend the later festivities. "Yes, Mother."

As she passed by her father, he kissed her hand, evoking a giggle from her. "Goodbye, Father!" A few of the royals watched her leave, trotting behind her mother while waving in a very "princess-like" manner to the others. It seemed to annoy her, however, that she was unable to read her mother's emotions. Not that she had ever been good at it, but she had always assumed she was. "Why aren't we staying?" She moved a bit quicker once they were outside of the stands so that she walked beside Rosalie.

A great cry rose up in the stands they had just left, followed by absolute silence. Cassie stopped for a moment and tried to jump in place so that she would see what had happened. Her pause, however, was unexpected by her mother, so Rosalie continued to walk and unintentionally pull the girl along. "Do you suppose we've missed something exciting, Mother?!" She ran once more to catch up to her mother, nearly tripping over her dress. "Perhaps Loras has won again! Do you suppose it's hard to joust? I think I would be rather exciting, don't you?" She continued to shoot out questions, peppered with opinions, as they moved along. "Do you suppose Father will be sad without us?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image




Image





"Why aren't we staying?" Rosalie heard the usual pleasing sound of her daughter's voice beside her. "Because your father is in one of his fits today." She found herself longing to say, but instead she had kept quiet as she focused on the path in front. Suddenly, there was a roar of cheering from behind though Rosalie made no attempt to look back. Whatever happens back at the joust was all in the past now, a past that she certainly no longer wanted to be apart no longer.

She felt her daughter stop in her tracks as her face perked up to find out what was happening only Rosalie continuing to pull her down the pathway. Her heels made a soft clacking noise as they hit the pavement of the sidewalk. A thought came to Rosalie as she should've took the carriage as it would've been much faster, and safer in this case. "Do you suppose we've missed something exciting, Mother?!" she heard the voice of Cassie once more as she made an attempt to match her mother's steps.

Again, Rosalie ignored her as she bit her lip, but that hadn't stopped her daughter. "Perhaps Loras has won again! Do you suppose it's hard to joust? I think I would be rather exciting, don't you? Do you suppose Father will be sad without us?" Almost instantly, Rosalie stopped in her tracks and whirled her attention to her daughter. "Cassandra Laurentia Lannister, that is enough." She said her full name between clenched teeth. Her face was flushed, and she was sure her cheeks were now glistening with tears. She kneeled in front her daughter and squeezed at her small biceps for reassurance "Your father and I aren't...friends at the moment. And I-I'm not well, but you know me and you are going to the Gardens, okay? And we are going to get Otter pops afterwards with or without your father, okay? But I need you to promise me you would never ever do that again, okay?" She squeezed her daughter's arms once more, then planted a kiss at her temple. "I love you so dearly." she murmured.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image

Image


She thought she'd left them all behind. The kings and queens, lords and ladies and the knights. She'd thought she'd taken her daughter and whisked her away from all the false smiles, mock affection and convenient distractions of the joust. She would have been right for not the shadow of shining steel, touched with the kiss of enameled roses. Even in his armor Ser Loras Edwards was surprisingly stealthy. Keeping several paces away, matching the queens movements with her daughter as she made her way towards the gardens. Several times he had to dip behind barrels or circle faire tents to avoid being seen by her or anyone watching her. The castle had many eyes, and many little birds all eager to sing their songs for the right price. Best not give them too much to sing about unless necessary. The pause she took with her daughter nearly made Loras lose her entirely. He had been gauging her speed and where she would end up. When he came out onto the walkway he'd expected to near walk right into her, a clever ruse to disguise the fact that he'd been following her and give him an excuse to walk with her.

Instead she was several paces down the path behind him. Her daughter was just catching up after lagging behind, full of boundless energy and countless questions. He was a short distance away and close enough to hear pieces of their conversation. The daughter had asked about the father, and the father pained the mother. Loras expected amusement, or even indifference to touch him now at the sight of her hurt. Yet all he felt was sadness for her and anger towards he who wounded her so. Alistair Lannister did not deserve her. So much he had been given, so much was his and her he took from him only to abuse and ignore her. She deserved more, she deserved better, she deserved him. Rosalie was the most delicate flower yet He had cast that rose aside and left her out in the cold to shiver and wilt. Watching her speak with her daughter touched something in Loras Edwards he was not familiar with. He wanted to comfort her, to bring her in out of the cold and keep her warm in his arms. Two roses, intertwined, growing strong together. He hadn't even realized his feet were moving until he was standing nearly directly behind her.

"Did someone say Otter pops?"

He said charmingly with a soft smile and a look that drank in Rosalie's beauty.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image


"Can you teach me how to ride a horse Celia?"

Celia looked at her younger sister, surprised by the abrupt question but at the same time, not very surprised. The oldest daughter of Ulfric was actually quite surprised no one had taught her yet. "Of course, Cori. We'll take Nightingale out tomorrow."
Nightingale was one of Celia's two horses and the one she had brought with her to Seabel. She wished she also had dearest Euphemia as well, but her father only let her bring one.

They walked up to the room Celia was sharing with her Lady-In-Waiting and her sister. Immediately, they were greeted by Fallon, Celia's spotted dog. Unlike most people, she let her dog inside her room, seeing as it was well trained. After all, there was a pair of doors that led directly outside should she need to relieve herself. Celia gathered the clothing laid out on her bed into her arms and stepped behind the divider. She stripped off the suffocating dress and put on the relieving clothing.

Finally. Gone was the stuffy dress. Celia was now dressed in a thin chiffon skirt and a blouse. She stepped out from behind her divider and sat at her vanity for Annabelle to braid her hair. How she hated this room, so far from her one at home with her research stacked up to the ceiling. Another exaggeration. She did have a lot of research at her home though. Her fingers itched for a quill. She could take some notes on the humorous interactions of the royals with everyone waiting for the opportune moment to stab each other in the back. Yes, very humorous indeed. Celia briefly wondered if she was a sadist, but she pushed through thought out of her mind once she saw her younger sister. Why couldn't her father let her choose Corianna's clothing? "That dress must be killing you. Honestly, do the servants not know a winter dress from a summer one?" she pointed to Corianna's trunk. "Change into something more seasonally appropriate, Cori."

She dearly hoped that the servants didn't pack only winter dresses. If they did, Celia would have to do some improvising. Something she would hate to do to her sister's dresses. Winters got cold in Ostwall and she'd freeze without proper clothing. Fallon laid down at Celia's feet as she let Annabella do her hair. She was actually anxious for the archery competition.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image




Image





"Did someone say Otter pops?" A voice had said from behind. Rosalie whirled around at the same time she clutched Cassie at her side. She sucked in a startled breath as she looked up. The sunlight stabbed her eyes, and she covered her face with her free hand. At first she could see only a shifting shadow, but it soon turned into a shape of a body- someone was standing there, looking down at her in which only brought her daughter closer. And then, as if the lens of a camera had sharpened its focus, the face cleared.

To her surprise it was Loras. She blinked-twice awfully confused. She hadn't expected to be followed especially by Loras who continued to stare down at the two as Rosalie noticed that his lips started to curve up into a smile. That same smile that often sent a shudder creep up her spine. She turned away from Loras to face her daughter, her eyes giving away that worried expression. With a hand, she smooth down her brown hair. "Honey, why don't you go pick some flowers for me. I want the biggest red rose you can find. And don't you think about going any where near the dandelions either." she recited to her daughter that she was allergic. Then, she shooed her off.

Rosalie smoothed at her gown when she rose to meet Loras' full height, though he was a few inches taller than her and stood there in silence. Her eyes found Loras' and almost regretted it before she turned to find her daughter off in the flower beds. She sure just hoped she wouldn't get her gown filthy. With a smile, she turned to her left as a man with a cart full of breads shouted at the pedestrians, "Pain gratuit! Vous obtenir du pain!" Free bread! Get your bread! Rosalie quickly translated and was happy her mother took the time to pay for her to get a private French tutor. The language did come in handy.

Rosalie faced Loras once more to find that he hadn't let his eyes from her. "I apologize for my daughter." she told him.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image

Image


Loras couldn't help but allow a soft smile to touch his lips as his eyes never left the blue green orbs of his lady, the Queen. The way she flustered when he was around, the way she shooed off her daughter as if the child would learn everything with a glance, it was charming in it's own way. Loras cared little for what the girl thought, she was a child and even if she got an idea of what was going on she was after all, just a child and children do have such active imaginations. Yet as the princess pranced through the flowers Loras had his eye on a rose of his own. His hands were carefully folded behind his back, it gave him a professional posture should someone be looking yet allowed him to be as close to her as he wanted. He could smell the sweetness of her perfume, see the dimples created by her smile and hear her shuddering breath as she fidgeted under his gaze.

"Apologize? I wouldn't dream of it. You never need to say you're sorry My Queen. Not to me."

He leaned in. His eyes on her lips and his hand reaching out from behind his back. He could see her body stiffen, knowing she shouldn't welcome this closeness but doing nothing to stop him. He held himself a hairs breath from her, he could almost taste her lips. He would take her there and then if he could. The two of them in the flower garden, naked as they made love in the meadow with the sun shining above them, what a sight it would have been. When she looked as if she was keen to fall into him he leaned back with a rose in his free hand, plucked from the bush behind her. He smirked, holding the flower in front of him, twirling it in his finger tips.

"A rose for a Rose."

He said smoothly, his voice soft as silk as he offered her the gift.

Image

Image


The tourney field was torn well and good by the end of the final match. They'd all nearly forgotten about the dead boy, slain by Ser Gregor Clegane. Alistair sat in his seat, his leg had fallen asleep the better part of an hour ago and his only real enjoyment, his brother, had wandered off. So there he sat with his father on his right speaking seldom and only when need be. Alistair had half a mind to leap onto the nearest horse and ride off into the night, leaving behind the whole damned lot of them. He sat in his seat, his fingers restlessly picking at the arm of his chair. As the final match came to a close and the lists were closed the field was quickly cleared and prepared for the Archery Competition. The wooden fence divider was torn down and dissembled to make room for the archery butts. Large multicolored targets were painted on the hay butts. They were placed several paces apart so the shooters wouldn't cross their lines of fire. Twelve targets in all for twelve different competitors.

Arching an eyebrow Alistair figured it best to at least attempt some form of small talk with some of the other royals. He turned to the King of Ostwall who had barely spoken all morning.

"I hear your daughter is quite the marksman, Your Grace."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Renly Arryn
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Caille
Image


Annabelle had been watching a few of the jousts while she sat behind Celia. She had been studying the tactics that each one was using and she made judging notes in her mind as she watched it go on. Although the most prodding thing in her mind was how the horses must feel. They didn't deserve to have these guys with their heavy armor sit on them and then joust, talk about animal cruelty. Anna couldn't complain much though, this was what they lived in and horses did a lot for them. Sighing she returned to reading the book Celia was reading over her shoulder briefly, it was a book that Anna had read before and she smiled a bit.

Soon enough her gaze wandered from the joust to the book, and then just looking around the crowds. Anna was wondering where Ren was. She hadn't seem him too much recently, and she'd go look for him, but her duties were to attend to Princess Celia, which sometimes meant helping Princess Cori once in awhile, considering the older princess and little princess were around each other quite a bit.

Watching Ronan do his jousting match, she watched him, fail, and fall off the horse, or whatever. That had to dent the ego, and didn't make him look too good in terms of reputation and she exhaled softly. That was about the point where Celia decided to go get ready for her archery competition and Annabelle followed her to the room she was led to.

Once Celia was finished getting ready she came out and sat in front of the vanity. Soon Annabelle began to brush Celia's hair knowing that she wanted to have it braided and she wanted to smooth it out some first. "If you need help with putting the dress on, I can help you." She said to the little princess with a small smile on her face. She didn't offer her assistance in horse riding, knowing it was a bonding moment for the two sisters to do later. Anna then began to section out the pieces of hair and made sure they were even before braiding her hair down the middle. "Would there be anything else you'd like me to do after this, your highness?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Loras Edwards
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

ImageImage




Image





He continued to gaze at her with those mesmerizing eyes of his. She found herself staring at his features, soft and innocent nonetheless. Rosalie knew boys weren't supposed to be beautiful, but this one was in his on unique that made her continue staring in awe. His hair was a bundle of chestnut curls and Rosalie felt the urge to brush away a strand that fell over his forehead. His jaw was set tight and seemed to ease as he smiled once more. After what felt like a minute or two had passed, Rosalie turned her gaze over to Cassie who had seemed to have found a sudden interest in a bright yellow sunflower. She gave a sweet smile at her daughter and turned her slate-green eyes back onto Loras who seemed to be moving closer towards her with every reassuring step. The more he took a step forward, Rosalie found herself staggering backwards until she felt the back of her gown prickling into a bush of thorns and roses.

"Apologize? I wouldn't dream of it. You never need to say you're sorry My Queen. Not to me." His voice was barely a whisper, but it was clear enough for Rosalie to hear despite the fact that Loras allowed so little space between them. She sucked in a breath and froze as she felt him lean in; his chest touching upon her breasts. She flustered in embarrassment. "Mister Loras.." she pushed softly at his chest, but a red rose had made it's way in the palm of her very hand covered with his own. Rosalie seemed to ignore the fact that his hand had fit perfectly in hers, but the feeling of his large hand around her delicate one brought a small smile to her lips.

"A rose for a Rose." he whispered softly.

"Thank you, but you really didn't have to." She giggled."And How'd you know I wasn't allergic?" She lifted her chin up in defiance.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK




Image




To a man who had spent his entire life fighting, merely watching others pretend to fight would seem, at the least, mundane. But really, Ulfric believed they were nothing more than a mockery of real battle. Obviously, that was what they were intended for, but while the others watched in excitement, Ulfric spent his time sampling the various beverages that were being passed about. His overall lack of interest, therefore, resulted in his lack of interest when Ronan returned. He had certainly seen the young man fall from his warhorse, but had he cared? Certainly not.

He bit back a remark he nearly made in response to Ronan's comment about his horse. It wasn't worth it, though. Tensions were already running to high. Ulfric simply downed the ale in his goblet. Perhaps it appeared that he was absorbed in the match. Instead, he was absorbed in his thoughts. He heard Celia speak then, however, and smirked to himself as he heard her response. If only she had been a male. She would have been a worthy heir, one to finally modernize Ostwall.

"Of course, of course," he replied, nodding as she leaned in front of him. There was more he could have said. He could have wished her luck. Told her he loved her. He didn't though, for he was a man of very few words. His other daughter flung herself into his arms, and he pressed a kiss into her temple. Sweet Corianna, also a woman trapped in a man's world. "You look out for your sister," he called, unsure whether either heard and also unsure which was looking out for the other.

He kept himself out of the exchange between the Lannisters and Christoph Edwards. He didn't even know what he would say if asked to join. Instead, he finally looked toward his wife and his son. She had certainly grown to love him, and he was glad to see that. The boy had been torn apart with Freya's death. Even his daughters seemed to accept the young woman as a mother.

Ulfric was pulled from his thoughts by a sudden gasp to his side as blood began to spray in the field. It had happened so quickly that the king hadn't even had the chance to react or cover his wife's eyes as he ought to do. Instead, Ronan suddenly stood and pulled Genevieve up beside him. "That certainly isn't a sight for one so fair as yourself," the prince said to her as they walked past. Ulfric paid them no mind. Instead, Alistair began to speak to him, and he turned his attention to the younger king. "Oh, yes. She's always had quite a love for it. Don't know where she gets it from, of course. I've never been good with the bow." A passing servant filled his goblet, and he sipped from it thoughtfully before adding his own remark"I'm surprised to see you here rather than out on the field. Has the crown mellowed you?"




Image




Almost as soon as they had disappeared out of sight, Ronan drew his arms about her and planted a heated kiss on her lips. His hands, rather than holding her hand, now cupped her face as he pushed her lightly into the wall behind her. His shoulder throbbed horribly, but he continued to kiss her until they both felt obligated to pull away for breath. "I want nothing more than to take you back to my chambers," he breathed, drinking in her scent as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"It's absolutely maddening to have to sit beside you without being able to profess my love to you." Again, he kissed her passionately. "We'll have time together at the masquerade though. Father dislikes dancing." His arms wrapped around her waist for a moment, holding her close to his body.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image

Genevieve gasped, barely even catching a glimpse of the gory scene before she was tugged off. She played it up even more, covering her eyes and looking as if she would faint as Ronan lead her away. The girl watched as her husband didn't bother to comment on his sons actions, sighing with relief to herself. She knew that he was completely oblivious to their relationship, but she still worried often. She was torn from her thoughts quickly as she felt the familiar warmth of Ronan's lips and his rough hands on her cheeks. The queen smiled into his lips, wrapping her slender arms tightly around his strong neck and giving a quiet breathy moan. His words made her flush scarlet as she squirmed between him and the wall, she wanted to mention that they really should go make sure his shoulder wasn't injured too badly but knew he would brush it off anyway.

Genevieve listened bashfully to his words of love, happily returning his kisses as they came. "Believe me, I suffer as much as you do. I wish for nothing more than to just show my feelings for you without fear of being caught..." She rested her head on his shoulder as he held her. "Ronan, please we should make sure your shoulder isn't badly wounded." She frowned and pulled her head back, gently touching his shoulder. "At least let me see how bad it is.." She pouted her lips and lifted her eyebrows pitifully, knowing that she could easily get her way by toying with him, even though he was fully aware she was doing it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image



"Of course, Cori. We'll take Nightingale out tomorrow."
She smiled excitedly. That would be great fun. She was excited now for this tournament to finish now. As she followed her sister up to the room she had more fantasies about riding and even more about jousting.

As Fallon greeted her, Celia and Annabelle gleefully Corianna lent down and scuffled it's ears. She was ever jealous of her sisters animals. Apparently she was not responsible enough yet. Ever since she left that plant die that her mother...she falls back and spreads herself out on her bed and sighs. She becomes increasingly sad on the inside but does not let this show. Looking sad and weak would just make them worry again about her state of mind and that she could be going back to where she was a couple of weeks ago. That would not help anybody.

"That dress must be killing you. Honestly, do the servants not know a winter dress from a summer one? Change into something more seasonally appropriate, Cori." Her sisters voice breaks through her thoughts. "I did tell the servants that. But they said," Her voice goes into a high pitched mocking voice "No miss you must look presentable". She snorts, then looks towards her trunk and gathers clothes. She changes into a simple brown dress and lets her hair loose and shake it a bit. "How did Ronan do? I missed it, and where did Genevieve go? She wasn't next to Papa when we said goodbye."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image

Image


"Oh, yes. She's always had quite a love for it. Don't know where she gets it from, of course. I've never been good with the bow."

Alistair chuckled as he drained the last of his cups contents, a single smooth gulp.

"I've never had a hand for the craft either. Not a talent for a proper swordsman I'd wager. Fiddling with those tiny arrow shafts and fitting them on that damned string..."

Alistair paused, shaking his head as if in dismissal of the entire art of bowmanship as a passing servant arrived with fresh drinks. Once his cup was once again filled with wine he continued.

"Its too much. Give me a good, clean death any day. A longsword cuts through bone nicely. Or lance through the heart. Be over before you know it."

He said snapping his fingers as if to empathize his point. There was something about the older man that Alistair liked. Quiet and brooding sure but he had a soldiers quality to him. Not one of those preening peacocks from court or the flowery knights bogged down in vows they didn't even uphold. No, Ulfric was a soldier, a warrior. Even his lack of interest in the games endeared the man to Alistair who cared little for watching men fail at something he excelled at.

"I'm surprised to see you here rather than out on the field. Has the crown mellowed you?"

At that Jaimie chuckled sardonically. How the crown has changed him. Mellow may not have been the word Alistair had used but Ulfric was right enough except it wasn't the crown that changed him.

"Ah... If only it was. No Ulfric, it wasn't the crown that mellowed me... It was marriage."

He said with a knowing smile as he leaned on the arm rest of his chair so he may speak with Ulfric more candidly.

"The vows they make you take. I feel like I was being knighted all over again. See you and yours from Ostwall have the right of it. No need of hollow vows and promises of honor you're not going to keep some gods you don't even believe in for a swordsman to kill a man. No, we were trained to do a job and we just do it. Damn the rest. The politicians bicker and squabble and you and I will just keep on killing and eventually, they'll give us a crown."

Alistair offered the king of Ostwall his cup in toast to their united distaste of the hypocrisy of the players of this game of thrones.

"To our crowns, may their weight bend our necks. After all... It's only for life."

Image

Image


"Because I know you."

He replied matter of factly. Her beauty riled him up to a point where he was willing to risk getting caught. At times he didn't even care. If someone saw them he'd kill them. He'd kill a prying bread merchant, a courtier, The Hound, The damned King himself. She was his Queen and he wanted her.

"I know your right pinky always sticks up when you're drinking something. I know you're adorably ticklish, especially when I kiss your neck. I know you have a captivating habit of biting your lower lip, a habit I think I'm beginning to pick up myself."

He said, silent promises hanging heavy in his words.

"Tonight, while your husband drinks I would visit you and...

"Is that the fabled Knight of Flowers?"

Image


Loras paused, nearly growling in frustration as the voice reached his ears. He took a slow, steadying breath and turned around to face, well look down upon The Imp Tyrion Lannister, brother of the king. The dwarf was always smarter than Loras was comfortable with. Not the sword wielding fool Alistair was. No, Tyrion was cunning therefore Tyrion was dangerous. He seemed to see everything and know things he shouldn't, having him here was troublesome to say the least. Loras had already devised several ways to ensure the imp has an accident before he had arrived in the city with his father.

"Lord Tyrion, it's an honor."

Tyrion cocked his head curiously as he looked up at Loras with a mischievous smile.

"Lord? Has my father died and no one told me?"

Ser Loras smirked at the Tyrion's sharpness. The term was meant as a slight disguised as a compliment. Everyone knew Tyrion would never inherit Casterly Rock since his father hated him so.

"A harmless courtesy merely out of respect, my lord."

"The respect is do to you good Ser, unseating the Prince of Ostwall with such ease. At least Prince Ronan fared better than that second fellow. The Mountain ran his lance through the boys neck, bloody business. One must be careful during exciting times like these. Never know when the next lance will come, eh?"

Loras listened to the dwarfs words and realized his hatred for Tyrion may very well rival the hatred he had for his brother. Loras clenched his jaw and allowed a mock smile to touch his lips as he nodded in agreement.

"Quite."

Tyrion smiled innocently walking around Loras to greet the queen with arms wide open to embrace her lovingly. Due to his small stature it looked as though she was hugging a small, gangley child.

"Darling step sister! You are as radiant as ever. The gods themselves are no doubt jealous of your beauty."

Stepping back to take in his step sister Tyrion looked up at her happily. It had always bother Loras how close Rosalie had been with him. They were good friends and Tyrion accepted her into the family instantly. He would certainly be an obstacle to overcome in the coming days.

"How I've missed you Rosie. You've spoiled me for the violin by the way, have I told you? The finest musicians in Casterly Rock are children with sticks in comparison to your skill. You must play for me while I'm here, I beg of you...

Tyrion pasued and turned around as if quite befuddled. He looked up at Loras looking rather surprised to see him.

"Are you still here? Oh, apologies. You can go."

Tyrion said casually. Loras wanted to take his head then and there. With a mock bow Loras took his leave fantasying about all the ways he could kill the little imp.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

ImageImage


Lucas never wanted to watch the tournament from the side, but he knew if he didn't and competed, well... Nicholas was likely to be a larger target. At least up in the box for nobility, by his friend's throne, he could watch his friend with little to no fear someone would hurt him without going through Lucas first. He stood on the king's right side, between him and the count Edwards.

Lucas had been to focused on searching the best ways to kill a fifteen year old king when he heard the conversation finally. "I pity the man who must face that mountain of a man, and I pity that horse that must sit beneath him." The advisor right next to him seemed to be as he always was, bringing others down when he can without seeming to.

Another man by the Seabel king spoke up, "Pity is good my dear lord but think of the possibilities such a contest can have. Should this boy, under matched as he is, win against The Mountain That Rides his tale would be sung from Ostwall to Falor and back. He'd have a literal banquet of women lining up for a taste of the cock of he slew The Mountain, a course in each village and dessert to boot."

It took great power not to roll Lucas's eyes. The fool hadn't been ready for such a competition. Lucas would have to compete next year. He couldn't have done jousting or the swordplay without fear of something happening, and he was perhaps the worst archer in the land even though he trained all year. Then the king of Seabel himself spoke up, "He is going to die today."

Lucas refrained from shaking his head. As true as it seemed, he hoped it wouldn't happen. Just as the thought went through his head, the boy went down and it was obvious should he not yet be dead, he would be momentarily. Lucas took a deep breath, the sight of blood making his stomach twist. Lucas' hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he stood there, growing more and more less concerned.

His eyes moved throughout the tournament, finding some surprising things without really finding interest in them. He didn't want to say anything, but he certainly didn't want to stay entirely silent. It was obvious this tournament should have a competition to enter so young boys such as this weren't killed. Sure there were the rare occasions, but that didn't mean it was still okay. Lucas would have leaned back in his saddle, or pushed the lance away with his own when his life was at risk, for it was nothing but a tournament.

As the archers came out, he wasn't surprised to see a female among the men. As his gaze drifted away, it caught on girl reading. She was near the princess of Ostwall and he looked away quickly. He could not get distracted, yet there she was drawing his attention away again. He found himself leaning forward between the seats to look until he caught himself. What was he doing? He was old enough not to get distracted by someone, especially a girl. He also knew he didn't want the heartbreak again. Perhaps he could talk with... No. He would not. If he did, he'd be doomed to thinking of her all the time. And yet...

He hoped nobody had noticed him leaning forward though he was nearly positive it would not go unnoticed. He just hoped the count didn't see it. The prince would just tease him, but the count... That might be bad...

Lucas hadn't talked much through the tournament, but that was because he hadn't been talked to. He also kind of didn't want to, unless it was to that girl... Lucas took a deep breath and shook his head. He wondered if the nobility around knew him or of him, possibly since he was younger than Loras who was the captain of the guards for Seabel...

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Priscilla Edwards
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image


Nicholas sat, utterly bored out of his mind watching the tournament. Christoph sat to his right, Priscilla on his left and Lucas stood behind himself and Christoph. His interest in the jousting tournament was casual to say the least. Had Nicholas had his own way, he would not be wasting his time watching, but this was one of those occasions where he was required to act a certain way. The Lannisters might be the hosts, but the tradition had always lain with Falor and he was not about to let that be forgotten by being absent. His attention wandered, along with his gaze, through the crowds watching the jousting, through the nobility, the peasantry, down to the squires. He gave a half-smile, thinking that he surely had more in common with those squire boys than he did with the kings he sat among.

"I pity the man who must face that mountain of a man," he heard Christoph say, bringing his attention back to the jousting, "And I pity that horse that must sit beneath him."

Nicholas looked up to see the man known as The Mountain mount his horse. The poor boy facing him didn't stand a chance. This was one of the times that Nicholas was glad he was exempt from competing. As a king he wasn't allowed to compete. He couldn't help but agree with his brother-in-law. "He is going to die today."

Nicholas took a sip from his goblet and shifted in his seat, moving away from Priscilla and more towards Lucas, his attention on the jousting as morbid curiosity made him watch the unequal match. He stiffened slightly as a collective gasp echoed around the arena. The Mountain's lance slid up and under the young knight's armour, piercing his throat. Nicholas stared at the bloody scene, somehow unable to draw his eyes away. He looked to Christoph for some sign that this was quite a normal affair, turning to Lucas would have been to obvious an indication of his discomfort.

The tournament continued and before long the wooden divider was being torn up. The archers came out. He was surprised to see a woman among the competitors. She must be Princess Celia Ulfricdottir. He had heard talk of her, but this was his first opportunity to see her. From all accounts, she was intelligent and kind; a good woman who would make a good queen. His eyes drifted to Priscilla. True, she was pretty enough, but there was little more than air between her ears in his experience. Not for the first time, Nicholas found himself wishing Christoph had another daughter he could marry, one that knew her own mind, or was actually in possession of one. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucas shift slightly. Nicholas looked up, and saw Lucas's attention was not on the archery tournament, but elsewhere in the crowd. He followed Lucas's line of sight to a girl sat reading. He suppressed a mischievous smile and sat back in his seat, waiting patiently for the archery to begin.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image


At long last, she had a quiver on her back and a bow gripped in her hand. Celia tilted her head at the targets, each of them varying in distance. She turned to Annabelle and Corianna, "Would you hold my book for me, Annabelle? I don't know where Genevieve is, Cori. You should go back now, wish me luck."

She gave her Lady-In-Waiting her book and turned back to the targets. Distance. Accuracy. Humility. That was what made a good archer. Judging by the cocky smiles of her opponents and the way they looked at her like she couldn't hold her own, she knew that none of these men had the last piece of the puzzle. It was true that Celia's archery skills didn't come from genetics or pure talent; no, she had to work to become a good archer. Years of staying out until dark until she hit the bullseye at least four times. Blisters covering every inch of her fingertips. Pain was a good teacher and instead of quitting like most girls would've done, she endured it.

Standing there and gauging her opponents, Celia had to wonder why she started archery. Most likely to impress her father. When you're born a woman, you have to work harder to prove yourself. The bell went off and the archers lined up. Celia watched her opponents appraisingly. If you didn't hit a bullseye, you were automatically disqualified. She was last.

100 yards. Celia nocked an arrow and drew back the string of her bow. She blocked out all other noises as she released the arrow into the air. A twang followed by a satisfying thunk. Bullseye

200 yards. Bullseye

300 yards. Bullseye

400 yards. Bullseye

500 yards. The arrow nearly missed the bullseye, scraping the surface of the red dot. She waited for a servant to declare it good and she only smiled when he did.

Sound came back to her all at once. A loud roar. She blinked. She'd almost forgotten she was a tournament. She faced the crowd and bowed slightly, walking past dumbfounded men. Yes, women had to prove themselves in a world like this and Celia knew she just did.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Caille
Image


After Anna had finished helping Celia getting ready and she was going out to do the archery competition she was told to hold her book. Annabelle was alright with that considering she'd likely just read it while she was waiting for Celia to be done outshining the guys in the competition. Anna was almost always around when Celia practiced and she knew just how much she had worked for this and knew how good Celia's shot was.

Annabelle went and took her seat in the front row, so she'd be easily at access for Celia if she needed something and she was close by. Anna knew there was likely nothing to worry about, so she started to open the book and began to read it. Although having read it when she was much younger it was still a rather good read for her. She heard the competition go on for a few moments, as she'd turn the page.

Soon she looked up as the competition was coming to an end, she wanted to see the victory, of Celia's, although as they were adjusting the amount of yards, she was scanning the crowds a bit, and that was when she saw, a male looking at her. How long had he been watching her? She was a little curious per say, and soon enough she looked to lock eyes with his, and she was looking back. He had to be of some form of nobility, not royalty it'd seem, but he sat close enough to be of some form of rank. Her blue eyes just stayed locked on his eyes.

"500 Yards!" someone called out and that broke her looking over at the guy staring at her, and she looked over to Celia, who began to make her shot. It just barely missed the bullseye and it was right on the line and soon, the official cleared that it counted and the whole crowds even Anna stood up and began to clap, some others cheered but to keep her lady-like mannerisms she refrained from it.

cron