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[b]House Name:[/b] Baratheon
[b]House Words:[/b] Ours is the Fury

[hider=House Information/History] Lord Royce Baratheon assumed rule of Storm’s End in 143 AC, his father’s death coming very late in his reign. Married to a Tarth of the Sapphire Isle, he was blessed with three children - Silas, Stevron, and Shiara. Each would have their own tics and questionable natures - but all were well-loved and very well adjusted, in their own capacity. The family was in a very peaceful place. Disputes with other parts of the kingdom were at an all time low, and the Marcher Lords even seemed to finally be dying down with Dornish tensions. Raids across the strip of sea between the two lands had virtually dropped to nil - dangers had been averted - and grand tourneys like that of 148 were held. All this changed in 150.

The ascendancy of several minor knights in Dorne to holdfasts just past the border had inflamed tensions. Chaos had come to the families of the Marcher Lords - sons and daughters killed on peaceful rides by sandy-skinned raiders. Racist slurs and spittle flew, with anger on both sides starting to swell. The Yronwood/Martell civil war exacerbated this - and conflict blew up between Dornish bandits and Marcher guardsmen. Soon enough, even his lordship Royce was forced to ride south, with a few hundred banners, to fight and defeat a host of Dornish deserters that was terrorizing the countryside. It was there, in 153 AL, that Royce Baratheon fell. 

At age fifteen, Silas Baratheon rose to the Stone Drum’s throne. A boy of fifteen, he was assisted by his veteran uncle Ser Clyde in management of the keep. A man with a silent soul, keeping in horrors of war, Clyde gave only transient guidance to the otherwise increasingly strange Silas. Even in his youth, Silas was exceptionally… bored. Work in school disappeared quickly - it was as if the boy could read a book and understand it in only a few hours - something that took even Maesters weeks or months. This, still, he called ‘boring’. Often found climbing or fencing sideface like some Braavosi, his pursuits focused intently on both his duties as head of the court, and on solving and abrogating mystery. 

He claims, though no one can quite corroborate, that he can deduce the exact spot where the fat king of House Durrendon was slayed by Orys Baratheon in single combat. This spot, north along the coast of the Stormlands, is now home to a small monument that Silas carved during one of his ‘bored’ stages, in between interesting cases of the court. A large stone rock with the Baratheon sigil intricately carved, Silas considers it only fitting to the founder of his noble family.

Thankfully, his siblings are considerably more normal, though not without their own scandal. Stevron Baratheon is an up and coming knight, having taken to combat training where Silas has found it dry and without interest. Quickly becoming a fan of adventure and glory, he has turned this training into a penchant for travel and exploration. A veteran of many a tourney, including those of the Rock and even as far north as the Vale of Arryn, Stevron’s short years have been full of exploring Westeros. His rumors of preferring no female company at said events are something of a scandal in and of themselves. Rumors similarly, however, abound that he is no stable fooler either. It seems as if the man is completely disinterested in the matter entirely - and that such a lack of purpose has seen him on these wide and ranging journeys.

His other sibling is… queer. In the literal definition. Shiara Baratheon is a young woman of marriageable age. She is a warrior, with determined eyes, whom loved her mother and her father more. Where Stevron is witty, Silas madly brilliant, Shiara is calculating and ruthless. She, in her youth, was not brought up traditionally. It is known that Lord Royce and his wife were of a… rather… hedonistic persuasion. Relations were something far more open, far more Dornish, in ways that many a Septon would find unacceptable within a family. The girl lost her virginity at thirteen to a very attractive handmaid. A female handmaid. Though just as into handsome men as any of her sex, it seems that Shiara’s deadliest sin is lust. One she has more than enough problems curing. Despite this, her upbringing as the most straight-edge of the three Baratheons made her the foremost political expert of the family.

When it comes to familial diplomacy, Silas deducts - Stevron laughs away - Shiara deals. If anyone is fit to rule Storm’s End, it’s her. The way she acts as orchestrator within the walls says plenty about that. 

There are two remaining figures of note within Storm’s End: Ser Clyde, and Maester Grasshair. Both are characters of great skill and renown, though for far different purposes. Clyde is the Master at Arms - and alongside Shiara is the sinew that ties together the chaos that is the Stormlands. Suffering from severe war flashbacks in the Marches, having seen his brother die before him, and dealing constantly with the pain that causes - he is the one sane man left in a castle full of hard-charging and often quarrelsome family members.

Maester Grasshair is… different. Having replaced the old Maester that taught the Baratheon children in 153, he was picked explicitly for his different nature. Rumors of Baratheon madness resulted in the Citadel sending their maddest Maester, hoping that he’d be at home. All too well - all too well. Grasshair is from the Iron Isles - one of the only ones to ever visit the school. A follower of the drowned god, he never the less retains a spark of brilliance that seems to stun most - when he isn’t babbling incoherently behind feet upon feet of facial hair. A close compatriot of Lord Silas, the pair are often conducting scientific experiments that would shock even more liberal members of society. He’s a doctor of the first order, though. That’s where his usefulness is best seen.[/hider]

[b]Name:[/b] Silas Baratheon
[b]Age:[/b] 19
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[b]Personality:[/b] Brilliant, highly functioning, a sociopath. All words that describe Silas Baratheon. He holds little regard for custom, little regard for those he considers less intelligent, but retains a moral code that seems more green and yellow than red and blue. A master of deduction and logic, and detail-oriented, Silas is a master at uncovering mystery and solving puzzles - making him oddly suited to the courtly duties of a lord. He throws himself into this work with gusto - for which most are grateful. Silas possesses some skill with a sword in a Braavosi-esque style, self-taught, and regularly retreats into a mental castle where he stores swathes of information on multiple subjects. (Inspired by Sherlock Holmes)

[b]Name:[/b] Ser Stevron Baratheon
[b]Age:[/b] 17
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[b]Personality:[/b] Stevron is normal, compared to his family. He’s a tourney knight that loves japes, adventures, and exploring the wild countrysides of all six kingdoms. He’s even visited Dorne, as dangerous as that is for a man like himself. Having lived as his uncle had prior to his fight in the Marches, Stevron seeks a peaceable life where he fights, jousts, and drinks jollily with friends. He knows, ultimately, such isn’t going to happen. He’ll have to marry - something he personally detests. This isn’t out of dislike or hatred for women - he loves his sister, and any woman he meets… When people talk about them, though, Stevron doesn’t feel like his comrades. They’re just normal people - some might look better… but there’s no stirring in the loins like other men might have. He’s a complete contrast with his sister in that regard. Easily the best Baratheon fighter, Stevron is young, muscular, yet rather wiry. He’s more adept with the sword than the lance, though either is a legitimate weapon in his capable hands. Some say it’s a mule’s talent - never distracted. (An asexual in a land of whores and forced marriages)

[b]Name:[/b] Shiara Baratheon
[b]Age:[/b] 16
[Hider=Appearance][img]http://i.imgur.com/SkFmxol.jpg[/img][/Hider] 
[b]Personality:[/b] Shiara is the opposite of Stevron. Where he loves others too little, Shiara loves them too much. Avoid that for a minute, though - Shiara is more socially skilled than either member of her immediate family. Possessed of great social graces, perfect poise, and a stare that makes people melt, she’s something of a great communicator in her own right. Some might even call her innocent, had they no idea of her true nature. In actuality, Shiara is ruthless. She chases what she wants, is patient enough to enact plans to make it happen, and stays on top of things to make sure they succeed. This is as much so in governance, which she shares with Clyde on many an occasion, as it is in the realm of love and lust. Both are dear to Shiara’s heart. At least six members of castle staff, four women and two men, have spent ‘quality time’ with the lecherous woman. Silas doesn’t care. Stevron doesn’t understand. Clyde is too stressed and harried to have a sit-down, needing her support to keep things going. The Stag prances, mounting as it pleases, as every other beast is soon to see. 

[b]Name:[/b] Ser Clyde Baratheon
[b]Age:[/b] 41
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[b]Personality:[/b] Clyde used to be happy. He really did. He rode the Stormlands on the back of his warhorse, smiling proud as his armor glinted in the air. He’d take his young squire of a nephew and ride for weeks at a time - climbing mountains and visiting dozens of lords, always with a smile and a wave that seemed to transcend any political issue or family rivalry. That Clyde died over six years ago, on a field northeast of the Dornish border. A band of over 1,300 deserters faced a troop of only two hundred horse from Storm’s End. Split in two, Clyde lead his force around the side, smashing into the center as Royce Baratheon rode hard frontally. His brother was thrown from his horse, a pike killing his horse, and was killed on foot in the ensuing skirmish. Clyde failed to reach his brother, surrounded by the enemy, in time. Ever since, the uncle Baratheon has been a silent, calm, and very stoic individual. His wife long passed and children dead young, he tends to all that remains of the stag’s family. It’s really to bad they’re all mad, in their own ways.

[b]Name:[/b] Maester Grasshair
[b]Age:[/b] 49
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[b]Personality:[/b] If Silas is Sherlock Holmes, Grasshair is a Moriarty. He bears no moral code save his vows of service, willing to do whatever he is asked. Thankfully, he’s not asked to do anything other than help people. A master medical man with skill at chemical and historical work as well, Grasshair’s primary job is to assist Silas in various tasks he derives from his basic practices of ruling. Medical examinations of slaughtered individuals - tests for various poisons in a dead knight’s work… recreating crimes with dangerous efficiency. If needs be, perhaps even committing a few. In his spare time, a strange devotee of the Drowned God - though rarely finding converts, he has a small flock at the docks of Storm’s End, whom often congregate in the massive storms that batter the castle. His reasons for these beliefs, whatever they might be, are his own.