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[h1][COLOR=salmon]House Bolton of the Dreadfort[/COLOR][/h1][/CENTER]

Of all the many houses that rule the vast expanses that is the North, it is of little doubt that one of the most powerful and oldest of these are the Boltons of the Dreadfort. The Boltons can easily trace their lineage as far as the Starks- all the way to the Long Night when both houses were kings in their own right. As such, the two houses rivaled each other for centuries, with the Boltons gaining several victories in the process- including flaying several Stark Kings, and burning Winterfell on more than one occasion. The rivalry between the two houses continued on and on until the Starks would finally prove to be victorious and the Boltons were forced to bend the knee, which began an exceedingly shaky relationship between the two houses. Throughout the years, mostly due to failed rebellion, a large chunk of former Bolton lands have been stripped from them, generally making them bitter towards the wolves that lord over them.

Disregarding the Starks, it's well known that the Boltons are only just behind the Manderlys in terms of strength of forces, confirming the fact that soldiers from the Dreadfort are often critical to the success of any Northern campaign. This, however, doesn't alleviate the house from their sinister reputation, with rumors of hidden dungeons and torture rooms beneath their mighty fortress where many men enter and only their screams leave. Further rumors tell that the Boltons still practice the flaying of their enemies, with a room dedicated to showcase these skins. The truth of any of this seems to be known only by the Boltons themselves, since any other men privy to such information no longer are able to share it. Therefore, it's hardly any wonder why so many other houses in the North seem to be overly wary of the Boltons, since the Dreadfort itself just seems to be a place that emanates with ill omens.

The Dreadfort is an intimidating fortress, everything from the architecture to the defenses that deny most outsiders from ever entering into its walls. It has the ability to withstand lengthy sieges, as evidenced by the two years it took the Starks to take the Dreadfort in the past. Therefore, when well-provisioned, it is unwise to attempt a siege upon the Dreadfort, unless you wish to out wait the Boltons by years. Its thick stone walls and massive towers sit by the River Weeping and are built into the mountains, standing tall over everything else within the region. Bolton lands are vast, even to this day, stretching from the Last River to the White Knife. Forests, hills, plains, and mountains are all present within Bolton land, and the recent years of peace have been rather prosperous, if you discount the current winter.

Currently, there has been little that the Starks have been able to find issue with the Boltons. The Dreadfort has risen their banner many times for the Starks- from that Skagosi Rebellion to the Dance of the Dragons. Even so, despite Lord Royce Bolton's every desire, dark rumors spill forth from the Dreadfort like a flood, though none can be proven, it still reminds men of why it is truly wise to fear a Bolton.

[B][color=salmon][u]Important Characters[/u][/color][/B][list]

[*][B]Lord Royce Bolton[/B], The cold and pragmatic lord of the Dreadfort, 57
[*][B]Rogar Bolton[/B], Eldest Son of Lord Royce Bolton, Recently Died of a Suspicious Fever, 35
[*][B]Rodrik Bolton[/B], Second son and current heir to the Dreadfort, lost his left eye during the Dance, and commonly known as the Once-Dead, 26
[*][B]Maron Bolton[/B], Third and youngest son of Lord Royce Bolton, he seems to lack the same qualities as most Boltons, and instead is know for his bravery, determination, and daring, 8
[*][B]Ser Jesper "Crookjaw"[/B], Long-serving master-at-arms of the Dreadfort, large and formidable, known for the ever-present scowl plastered across his face.
[*][B]Silent Tom[/B], A Bolton Man-At-Arms whose tongue was removed by Lord Royce Bolton.
[*][B]Dickon "Dance-For-Me"[/B], A Bolton Man-At-Arms widely known for his frightening skill with the many different kinds of knives that he keeps on his person at all times. He can slice a man's throat before he even has time to pull his sword out of its scabbard.
[*][B]Worm[/B], A stableboy that Lord Royce paired with his young son Maron. He's fiercely devoted to his young lord, and always seems to be near him, no matter the situation.[/list]

[Hider=Lord Royce Bolton]

[img]http://i805.photobucket.com/albums/yy337/AliveButDead/roycebolton.jpg[/img]

Age: 57

Personality: An enigma even in the North, it's difficult to determine his true motives, assuming he has any at all. His reign over the Dreadfort has been with immense stability and security, as he rules his lands with ruthless pragmatism. The legendary cells deep below his mighty fortress once sat empty whilst under the reign of his predecessors, now there hardly passes a day that a new occupant is thrown in, no matter if the crime ranges from petty thievery to murder or rape. Being a cold and distant man, even to his own family, he's become a product of many rumors, and any rumor about a Bolton tends to never be pleasant. He has been accused of flaying his prisoners on many occasions, yet no proof has ever been brought forth to confirm this. He possesses a healthy tactical mind, as shown through his successes during the Skagosi Rebellion, but he's certainly more of a leader than a fighter. Lesser men are easily unnerved by him, once he casts his icy blue eyes upon them, and thus gives him an intimidating presence despite lacking the stature or bulk. He is loved by none, but feared and respected by some, and rather not thought about by the rest. He prefers this, since he seems content to keep House Bolton outside of the spotlight if possible, but more than capable of taking advantage of any opportunity should one ever present itself.

Bio: Lord Royce was the only child born to Lord Ronnel Bolton and his Karstark wife, who had only lived a few years after his birth before she succumbed to a sudden illness. His father hardly fared much better when a hunting incident took his life before Royce's tenth nameday. The halls of the Dreadfort was hardly the best place for any boy to grow up in, much less a young lord, but he was a Bolton, and there was definitely nowhere else in the world where he could possibly fit in better. The dungeons beneath the Dreadfort were vast, but usually strangely empty, something that would slowly change during the length of Royce's reign. Many men would soon find themselves within the bowels of the Dreadfort, a few are added to the ranks, while the rest would only meet a far more grisly fate.

No doubt, the Dreadfort has always seemed to attract the dredges of the North, and is perhaps a partial reason for the man that Lord Bolton now is, as well as the sinister reputation that the Dreadfort has always possessed. Anywhere else, the men who fill the Bolton ranks would most likely would be carted away to the wall, of the few that actually leave the dungeons, it isn't surprising to see them be added as soldiers or man-at-arms, guarding the very gates that they had once been dragged into in chains. One would normally question the loyalty of such men, but all seem to be completely submissive to the Boltons, nearly to the point of devotion, possibly a byproduct of what they experienced in the Dreadfort's torture rooms, though they and the Boltons are certainly not telling. 

Former rapists, murderers, thieves, and more were the sort of lot that Lord Bolton had to contend with whilst growing up, as all other Boltons generally do, and it's probably quite strange when compared to the rest of Westeros with the sons of nobility growing up in lavish luxury. Eerily enough, Royce Bolton thrived in this setting, eventually building off the teachings of such horrible men to become the man that he is today. Perhaps a man that makes most uncomfortable and uncertain when in their company, but also one that has kept that usual stirrings in Bolton lands to a minimum.

Outside of spending time with the Dreadfort's outcasts, Royce spent a lot of time reading inside various hidden chambers within the walls of the Dreadfort. Many of which contained dusty old tomes that haven't been touched in centuries, and even one room that contained much more... sensitive items. Regardless, one had to appreciate the history that walls held, considering how long that the Dreadfort has stood for. Early on, it was clear that Royce wasn't of the type that rush headfirst into battle, which did happen occasionally when wildling raiding parties made it far enough south to cross into his lands. He had always been exceptional with a knife, and more than proficient with a sword, but it just really wasn't like him. His men possessed a ruthlessness that could be found nowhere else in Westeros. Why not use it to its fullest potential?

If anything, Royce is a lord that gives much attention to that of his realm, mostly now in his older age, as he spends equal time traveling throughout Bolton lands as ruling from the Dreadfort. Perhaps this is always a dread to the Whitehills, Overtons, and other houses sworn to the Dreadfort, but none have the luxury to complain about it, nor the gull to do so. Beyond this, he is present on nearly all councils in Winterfell, and is usually the first to arrive and leave, never one to overstay his welcome.

As of yet, he has been married multiple times, but it seems that most women simply don't agree well with the Dreadfort, with his last wife dying soon after birthing his youngest son. Ever since, he hasn't remarried, seeing little cause or desire to do so, though he's a man always willing to form a quick alliance if the conditions are right. His eldest son recently died due to a sudden fever, though in actuality it was certainly poison supplied by his son Roderik, considering that there are no plots or conspiracies that occur within the Dreadfort that Lord Royce isn't aware of. He could honestly care less since his eldest was sterile from a childhood accident, and the inheritance would become troublesome since his eldest would have left no issue behind.

Cold pragmatism seems to rule supreme over the Dreadfort with stunning efficiency.[/hider]

[hider=Roderik Bolton]

[img]http://i805.photobucket.com/albums/yy337/AliveButDead/images.jpg[/img]

Age: 26

Personality: In many ways, Roderik is a mirrored image of his father. In so many other ways, he is greatly different. His true self is hidden behind a thousand different masks, each and every one carefully crafted for the perfect situation. Should his true face be revealed, it would certainly be less than human- an unimaginable beast hiding within human skin. Once hidden behind these many guises, he charming and handsome, definitely the fantasy of many young maidens that he has met over the years. The reality is usually gruesome, as many men who have died within the confines of the Dreadfort can attest to. His father taught him how to use a knife with great skill, and all his cuts are clean and never made by mistake. It could be seen as artful, if one were to ignore the screams of agony that regularly echo throughout the ancient halls. Of all things that he indulges in, he only continues as long as he finds it entertaining, and he still has yet to become bored of some of the most vilest of pastimes. Roderik inherited his father's cunning and quick mind, though he possesses much more ambition and drive than his overly content father. Unfortunately, he tends to be much more reckless than his father, sometimes being overwhelmed by fits of uncontrollable rage, caused by the incessant headaches that were started by the wounds he had been given during the Dance. He can easily flip from being calm and collected from one moment to nearly collapsing from convulsing waves of pain throughout his entire head. As it appears, he's become more skillful when it comes to playing the game, falling behind his masks like a second skin, with very few men being any the wiser.

Bio: Few children are born with evil intention, so perhaps Roderik is an exception. It seems that Roderik always had some kind of strange fascination with pain and suffering, first dealing it out the Bolton hunting hounds, much to the annoyance of the kennelmaster, who could do little lest he meet with a terrible fate. It was hardly long before his own father took notice of this, which was slightly odd, for a man who generally cared little of the welfare of his own sons. He saw Roderik as a special case, seeing how he seemed to be wasting good talents on worthless dogs, and refocused his urges and desires onto much more practical things. That was the day that his father first gave Roderik a flaying knife.

Roderik always remembered that day vividly. How natural it felt in his hand- just the right amount of weight, heft, and sharpness. It would be many long days and nights, having his own father teach him how to properly skin the wildlife that the huntsmen always seemed to bring in. His father always reminded Roderik that there were more reasons than one that their banner was that of a flayed man. If you could not flawlessly skin an animal, then the art of flaying a man alive would be lost to you. It was emphasized that the flaying of a man was a secret that had to be kept within the walls of the Dreadfort, unless he wished to jeopardize the peace that his father had spent so long to achieve. Lord Royce had never bothered to teach Roderik's elder brother the art of flaying, since he always knew that he never had the mettle for it. Roderik on the other hand, he could easily see the urge and desire in his eyes.

The first actual man that Roderik flayed was a loud one. Screaming and screaming, with Roderik absorbing it all. It felt like the beautiful notes of a lute to him, and he never missed a stroke, with Lord Royce always nodding in approval. Boltons no long wear the skin of men as cloaks, as they once did, nor do they display the skins of petty prisoners like trophies. No, it is tossed in with the rest of the dead that comes out of the Dreadfort, with a few sometimes going missing in the middle of the night.

In between this quality time Roderik often had with his father, even a Bolton is expected to do as any lord's son does. As such he often trained rigorously with Ser Jesper 'Crookjaw', the master-at-arms and captain of the guard whose face was always locked into the same scowl. His way of swordsmanship was ruthless and unforgiving, with the young boy barely lasting for any length of time. If the entire garrison was expected to train under Crookjaw, then Roderik certainly was of no exception. His bones were often broken, and he still has scars from the training, making the maester constantly patch the him up. The days came and went, but finally came the moments where Roderik managed to defeat Crookjaw, proving himself to be much more talented in swordplay than his father, though his victories almost always came with underhanded methods- after all, there's no such thing as fighting honorably among the soldiers of the Dreadfort.

Roderik eventually grew to be an very handsome man, save for his icy blue eyes, that can probably peer into the confines of most men's souls. He is undoubtedly an outstanding catch, if there existed a woman alive that could possibly survive him... stranger things have surely happened. Killing women is no different than killing men, though they tend to sing a sweeter tune.

When the Dance finally reared its ugly head, Roderik was a second son, and perhaps had an obligation to join the Winter Wolves to find adventure down south. Certainly nothing forced him to travel into the fires of hell, save for a desire to taste a different kind of blood. Perhaps, that's where he rightfully should have met his end, in the glory of battle, or not, but that would be far too happy of an ending.

If he cared for glory, he would have found it it aplenty, surviving Tumbleton with only a few light wounds to show for it, and he left those he had faced in pieces. It was the bloodbath that was the Butcher's Ball, even this demon couldn't overcome a single arrow that struck true and took his left eye away from him. Roderik remembers none of it, and his fallen body was tossed in with the rest of the dead, and it wasn't long before the looters came over them all, looking valuables, armor, and anything else of worth among the fallen. A looter was met with a dagger in the eye, and Roderik arose from the mass grave that was once a battlefield. A man once left for dead, forgotten, and cast aside, stronger than ever, and wracked with the same appetite that always seems to refuse to be satisfied.

Since that day, perhaps you could argue that the beast within Roderik is calmer, but it still lurks and still hungers for more. So, perhaps it was natural that he would lead Bolton men when the Northern host began to march south. There's definitely more fun to be had whilst hidden behind one of his many charming masks.[/hider]

[hider=Maron Bolton]

[img]http://i805.photobucket.com/albums/yy337/AliveButDead/Lord_Magnus_by_treijim.jpg[/img]

Age: 8

Personality: Maron remains quite the contrast when generally compared to his brother Roderik and even his father, Lord Royce. He seems to have legitimately kind tendencies, almost entirely the opposite of his older brother, Roderik. Oddly enough, like most boys of his age, he dreams of one day becoming a great knight like the heroes in the many stories that he reads and told by his elderly woman who served as the midwife during his birth. Even so, he certainly isn't a meek boy, facing dark terrors deep within the Dreadfort with an impressive amount of fearlessness and bravery. Even though he should have long ago been beaten down in such a place, he's only grown stronger, facing down the darkness of the Dreadfort with a surprising amount of adversity and a sense of justice. He's a stubborn boy, never hiding or shying away from anything, certainly not the monsters that call the Dreadfort home. He already possesses a natural talent for martial-related skills and his father's own quick wit, as well as horse-riding, hunting, and exploring.

Bio: Lord Royce always considered his former wife and Maron's mother as a timid and weak woman, and he long felt that his youngest son to be cut from from the same cloth, though as the years go by, it's clear that Maron is a much stronger boy than he previously thought. For such a boy to survive within halls often occupied with rapists and murderers is certainly impressive, and his father hasn't been as intrigued by something to this extent since his brother Roderik, and that was for far different reasons. He has the icy blue eyes that all Boltons have, but instead of sending chills through other men, it seems to possess an unprecedented strength and determination. One that possibly foreshadows future greatness.

Despite his young age, those sworn to the Boltons have quickly learned that despite how different Maron is to the rest of his family, he's definitely not weaker for it, and that's been completely clear since a very young age. When he often practices his swordsmanship with Crookjaw, even the wiry old captain has less of a scowl upon his face. He cares little for the dungeons, disliking the many horrible things that happen within in them, and already detests the brother who so greatly enjoys them. Of course, this doesn't stop him from exploring the deep bowels of the ancient fortress.

Therefore, it isn't out of question for Maron to spend time alone or with Worm- a pathetic stable boy that his father basically handed to young Maron for company. Worm is mostly submissive and barely possesses his own independent personality, but having him around seems to sometimes alleviate a bit of the loneliness that occasionally plagues the young lordling. So, honestly, it isn't uncommon for the two to be off on some kind of adventure together, though it is always initiated by Maron, since Worm lackx the willpower to really do anything by himself. One of the common sights within the Dreadfort is Maron dragging Worm into some sort of scheme.

Maron has never had any real relationship with his brothers. The age difference being far too vast with both, but his father seems to be beginning to take notice of Maron, probably only for his own amusement. Even his cold father doesn't stir the young boy, who seems to be ready to face off against anything that the world can throw his way.[/hider]