[hider=House Baratheon]
[hider=Gris Baratheon]
Name: Gris Baratheon

Age: 25

Personality: Gris is everything one would expect from a scientist gone wrong. He's obsessive, agoraphobic, and short tempered. He spends his nights dreaming about a future of enlightenment, and his days cooped up in his laboratory trying to turn those dreams into reality. 

Gris controls Storm's End, but loathes his position, saying it's a distraction from his discoveries. Usually, he makes executive decisions in his laboratory, with his elder sister Alyssa making them public, or more commonly, Alyssa would do the ruling while he would continue his work.

Gris simply doesn't like people. He never sees his banner men, often using Alyssa as his pseudo-messenger. He locks himself in his lab, and may the Gods save you if you attempt to barge in. The last time someone tried that, he just tossed what was in his hands at the time, a bottle of potent alchemist fire, forcefully at the poor maid. She died horribly, burning down to her bones. There were two exceptions to this rule. His family, and the late Aegon.

Bio: Gris was born to a strong willed warrior of a father and an even stronger willed mother. They both held their family's motto as the highest ideal. "Ours is the fury" they would say to him every day. "All this, my son, will soon be yours, and when we die - which we will, you must show the world the Baratheon might in our stead." Gris never listened. He instead devoted time to reading the works of the old Maester's medicine logs or the ancient records of the Targaryen pyromancers. So when the position of "Lord of Storm's End" was suddenly thrust upon him, he was horridly unprepared.

The dreams began at around 8 years old. He dreamed of large round objects, flying in the sky with nothing suspending it from above and nothing supporting it from below. He dreamed of steel tubes, which erupted fire from the end, destroying castles with ease. He dreamed of a time when strength was an archaic concept, and the most respected attribute was wisdom. He would tell his parents of this, but they would brush him off, saying how silly he was, and how he should go outside once in a while and play with the training swords that daddy got him.

His father died when Gris was only 23. He charged valiantly to crush the rioting in his cities, despite the protests of his family and council, saying "I must go myself. The warriors will be inspired by my presence." And they were inspired, right up to the point one of the peasant rebels tossed a pitchfork that pierced his neck. Gris's mother was heartbroken, and soon grew weak and sick. She now stays in her chambers, awaiting death, refusing to see the Maester for medical help.

Appearance: Despite being a scientist, Gris has the blood of generations of knights within him. He stands tall and broad shouldered, towering over most of the people he meets. However, sitting alone for hours on end have not been kind to him. He is constantly hunched over, never to stand at full height again. One of his eyes took the brunt of a terrible blow from an explosion in his lab, and is white at the pupil while the other is the healthy black of his lineage.
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[hider=Alyssa Baratheon]
Name: Alyssa Baratheon

Age: 32

Personality: Alyssa is a clear descendant of her parents. Not only for her appearance, but her spirit shows the strength and fury of the Baratheon stag. She demands respect wherever she goes, and doesn't take any shit from anyone, especially people who think they are her equals or superiors.

Even at the young and tender age of 6, her parents saw the perfect heir. She listened closely to whatever her parents said, taking their philosophies to heart. She listened as her father taught strategy, and listened as her mother taught diplomacy. She did a lot of listening.

Alyssa doesn't like her brother. He fancies himself a thinker, but he is in reality a madman. Alyssa hates the arrangement that the son must take the throne, no matter how qualified the daughter before him is. However, no matter how much he claims otherwise, her brother needs her. She knows it, and despite her dislike for him, she does what is necessary to perpetuate the Baratheon name. "Family first" and all that.

Bio: Alyssa was firstborn to the Baratheon family, and shows it quite clearly. In her early days, her father and mother tried to teach her everything they knew about maintaining their rule upon their lands. Her father even taught her how to fight with sword and armor. "Nonsense," Her father would say to anyone arguing that ladies should stay in the castle. "My daughter is just as able to cleave through a knight as any boy her age."

When she was 7, another child was born into the house. And to her dismay, it was a boy. Suddenly, her dreams of becoming the Lady of Storm's End were crushed. She could see that he was a weak baby. She knew, because her mother, that healthy babies cried, but little Gris barely ever made any noise. Not even when she once prod him with her training sword.

Appearance: Alyssa, like her parents and brother, was tall and wide, as is common with Baratheons. However, unlike her brother, who is hunched over so that he's almost normal height, Alyssa had a stronger back, and could stand straight, looking down at most of the knights in Storm's End. She has a few scars on her, from sparring accidents and once even a battle, but she never heard the end of it from her mother about the battle, and neither did her father. 
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[hider=House Bolton]
Name: Rimm 'the bull-dog' Bolton

Age: 19

Personality: Rimm is on the outside a very calm person. When at formal events, he speaks quietly, casually jokes with a small smile, and even when he is insulted, chuckles along lightly. He is the epitome of the kind and dashing gentleman, very different from his predecessors, as the courtiers would whisper.

It is only when he is with a prisoner that he reveals himself. He delights in suffering, and relishes in blood. For most criminals of the north, their greatest fear is the most severe punishment. Not "send him to the Wall", or "bring me his head!". It's "toss him to the dog". Once they are thoroughly tossed, they are introduced to a lifetime of pain and fear.

Rimm, unlike his ancestors, is no traitor. He is fiercely loyal to the Starks, and most of his prisoners are Stark traitors in his eyes. Even peasants who slander the Stark name to their friends in a pub one night are often secretly bundled off in the night, and brought to the Dreadfort. He likes to think of himself as the guardian of the Starks, and has foiled more than one attempt on their lives (much to the soul-crushing despair of the people involved).

Bio: Rimm comes from the Bolton line, a descendant of Ergan Bolton, a distant cousin of Roose's who claimed the Dreadfort after the death of Ramsay. One day, when he was twelve, his father gave him something he greatly desired. Rimm was given power. Power over the dog pen, where he oversaw the feeding, birthing, and dying. Rimm loved power. Sometimes, when one dog goes rabid, he would have to finish off the poor thing, and that gave him his favorite power, the one over life and death. He would bring the dog into a world of misery with his blade, slitting the throat only seconds before the thing was about to die anyways.

During this time, he was great friends with the Stark children. They would play when his father had to attend his liege. There was one particular one, the youngest Stark girl. He rather fancied her.

Soon, at fifteen, he discovered a plot. His father was planning to overthrow the Starks and place himself in power. His plan, of course, was to get into a position in which he was the greatest friend and advisor for his liege, then when he is placed behind all the children in inheritance, kill them all. "Will you kill them all, father?" he had asked. "Even all of the children?". His father had said yes. As a direct consequence, he had suffered. Suffered as many had before him, and as many would after.

Appearance: Rimm was a small man. He stood only at the shoulder of most people, and is deathly pale and thin. Some say that if the wind blew too hard, he would snap in half. Those people disappear in the night. He had a young, open face. People who don't know him would even call him innocent. He was almost never without a friendly smirk painted across his face, and his eyes always suggested that he knew things that others didn't, and wasn't about to reveal them anytime soon.
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